My bloody Valentine

So, there is this flower, (Pictured), and it is called a rose. The name, it would seem, doesn't really matter because it is said that no matter what it was called it would smell just as sweet, at least according to some Arab bloke called Sheik Spear. It signifies love, and is one of the most beautiful blooms in all of nature. I saw one today for the first time in the mumbly man's garden and it was indeed a lovely looking thing, and yes, it was rather fragrant. I just had to go and examine it more closely, with a view to seeing if it tastes just as good as it looks. It has these pointy, sharp things all over it called thorns. Now here is a little tip for you, puppy fans - if, whilst having a good sniff of a rose, you get one of your big, soft, floppy ears snagged on one of the thorns do not panic, and more importantly do not, under any circumstances, back off and try to pull it free as I did. That is why I am even now, several hours later, still licking the blood off my coat and sporting a three inch gash on the inside of my ear! So much blood. How much blood do you think a baby puppy has? Well judging by the state of the mumbly man's patio it must be quite a substantial amount. It looked like a scene from C.S.I. by the time I'd finished spurting and dripping all over the place. The-man-who's-name-I-refuse-to-utter was there, fixing the mumbly man's scooter, and called me over saying he would "bathe" my ear. That sounded quite pleasant and so over to him I went. He said he would bathe it in something called "Sir Jiggle spirit" which itself sounded very nice. It bloody well isn't though! By gum it burns! That man is fast taking his place as my number one target come the revolution.

He, you know, that man, he went out last night and left me stuck in with the clicky ankled lady. She's not a great conversationalist, she just sits there staring at the telly thingy and burping. I was bored to bloody tears by nine. I do try to connect with her but for all the good it does I might as well be barking at the wall. That said, she does tend to give me a lot of biscuits, and I do love being given a lot of biscuits.

When "he" went out he was smelling all posh and fruity, but when he came back he smelled of food and was all smiley. It must've been wind though because at the moment I'm sure a smile would crack his miserable face. He has been very secretive about this particular nocturnal wandering but I'll get to the bottom of it, you just mark my words. I don't like being left in the dark.

The clicky ankled lady and the shouty woman went out together today. The clicky ankled lady brought me back a gift! It's about bloody time I started receiving gifts, I was beginning to feel left out. It's called a "Kong" and that man I no longer mention stuffed it full of corned beef. It's VERY nice. It's chewy, it's meaty, it's big and it's bouncy. It's got it all, everything the discerning puppy could want. I urge all you dogs out there to pester the pants off your people and get them to provide you with one. If they refuse, start chewing the furniture, they'll soon change their attitude. Now I'm not a great fan of product placement BUT... if anyone from the manufaturers of my new most favourite toy happen to be reading then a few boxes of biscuits wouldn't go amiss. Let's call it sponsorship. Or a bribe. Whatever. I don't care, a bribe of biscuits by any other name would taste as lovely.