I can't believe Georgia is letting me get a word in here. She must be in a good mood because her birthday's coming up. Anyway, I'm really chuffed at the chance.
Anyone reading this blog would think I'm a decrepit old dog that does nothing but fart, pee and poop in front of bakeries, dress shops and bus stops.
Well, okay, so I do stuff like that. So what? Wait till YOU'RE 90 and see how well YOU do.
I understand I've once again been portrayed as a dim-witted, incontinent, recalcitrant old grump in the last post. Oh, what a surprise.
That is so far from the truth. Here's what really happened on Sunday.
It'd been raining all night. I'm not talking one of those pretty little autumn showers here. This was like something out of Darwin, pounding down on our tin roof, keeping us awake. By morning, the ground was soaked, slugs were oozing along the soggy pavers, and Alfred was croaking so loudly, we all wished he'd croak.
It didn't take a genius to figure it'd be the sensible thing to stay indoors and sleep in. Especially since it was Sunday.
So there I was snoozing in the kitchen, when I heard The Typist bouncing down the stairs. She yelled out something cheery like, "Goo..od mo..oo...ooorning Rooo.fus!" Then, she unceremoniously threw my raincoat over me and started to shake my leash like it was some kind of noose. I tried to ignore her. She got upset. She tried to get me to stand up so she could pull the raincoat straps on.
Now, why would I want her to do that? I had no intention of going out in the rain. I'm old, not stupid. I tried telling her that, but would she listen? No. As usual, she just HAD to have her way.
So I gave up, and followed her out the gate. And what did we see?
"It's okay. Don't panic. I'm alive. My goodness, that was hard. I think I might be ready for some sustenance now."
Give it to me!"
All that water was dreadful for an old dog with bad legs like me. And yet, that wasn't the worst of it.
All through the walk, The Typist kept rustling poop bags in my face like I was deaf and blind or something.
"Poop, Rufus, poop!" she went. "Come on, Ru, you can do it.. pooo...oop!"
? ? ? Where? In the rain? On the soggy grass? In a puddle??
It was too ridiculous. So I ignored her and did what every sensible dog would have done in my situation.
I waited till I got home.Found somewhere dry and comfortable.
And THEN, I did a nice big poop.