It's all gravy

Another week over and done with. All my days seem to be blending seamlessly into one long, tedious, mind numbingly dull period of my worthless existence, due mainly to the long man and my current status as, at least technically, a pair of homeless bums. Tramps. Bloody hobos. The weekends are, however, considerably better, but then how could they not be? I'd have to spend my weekends with my head stuck in a rabbit hole and my tail set on fire for it to be less preferable. Anyway, once again I digress. As I was saying, the weekends are considerably better since we tend to spend them at the clicky ankled lady's house and I get to see plenty of Audrey. I'm no great Audrey fan but at least we speak the same language. Trying to get one of my people to understand what I'm trying to tell them is like, well, I don't know what it's like, it's unique but safe to say bloody difficult.

This weekend was a little bit of a break from the norm in that the long man didn't stay with me. He left me at Audrey and the shouty woman's house, then buggered off to some place called Brighton on a stag. I think he might've been lying. For one thing it would take ages to ride a stag all the way to the south coast and for another I found a train ticket in his pocket when I was rifling throught his jacket looking for chewable stuff. And biscuits. He's a bloody fantasist. He'd spent all week looking forward to his trip but I don't think the reality lived up to his expectations because when he returned to collect me he seemed very down. He was walking ever so slowly, he was moaning and groaning, he was rocking and reeling, he couldn't stand for more than a few minutes at a time and he was a very funny colour. In fact he was, alternately, several very funny colours ranging from a bluey-grey through to a very Simpson-esque yellow. He lounged on the settee all afternoon telling everyone that would listen that he'd had a great time! See what I mean, fantasist, I don't know who he thought he was kidding. Nothing that leaves you looking and feeling that rough could possibly have been in any way enjoyable. Maybe he will think twice before dumping me for his bloody mates next time.

To his credit, before he left, he did take me for a very long walk and then made me a delicious breakfast with extra gravy on. I know it was only because he was feeling guilty but hey, gravy's gravy. And he gave me a brand new bone which had loads and loads of bits of dead cow still attached to it. Very tasty. Unfortunately he neglected to tell the shouty woman that we had already been for our morning meander around the heavily scented streets of Salford, and so just as I was settling down for a morning in front of the telly thingy I was attached to my lead and dragged all around the estate again! Oh and just to add insult to injury, although he didn't mention that important nugget before dumping me he DID tell her that I'd been fed, so I didn't even get seconds to make up for it. That said, the shouty woman is pretty damned generous with her biscuits, and if there's one quality I admire in my people it's generosity with biscuits.

In other news, I was extremely perturbed earlier today when I saw an advertisement for an upcoming movie release. The movie in question is called "Hachi: A Dog's Tale"! Plagerism I thought. I'm not having that I thought. And so I engaged the help of my legal team. Well, when I say "legal team" I actually mean Audrey, but she's pretty clever generally. Her response, as ever, was something less than satisfactory. She told me to get lost. Typical. And this was AFTER she'd eaten the biscuits I gave her in anticipation of her help. The cow. My next idea was to google legal advice on the internet whereupon I came across some disappointing news. Some guy with mad hair and a bushy moustache, Mark Twain, wrote a short story called "A Dog's Tale" slightly before I did. In 1903 actually. All things considered I think I might drop my plans since there's a bloody good chance I'd get my backside sued. You know what people are like these days. Compensation culture and all that. In these litigious times one can't be too careful. I'm still not happy, and I bet the film's crap.

I have become quite obsessed with gardening lately, and I think I have quite an eye for floral design. There was this big, long flowery thing growing up and around the gate in the clicky ankled lady's back garden which was nice but I thought would look better lying on the decking. So, very carefully, I dug it up and placed it there. I was just standing back admiring my work when the clicky ankled lady turned up and, far from being happy, she screamed "My bloody clematis", followed by a load of verbal, and very rude, abuse directed at yours truly. Then, get this, she picked it up and put it in the bin! If that's not a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face then I don't know what is. The long man on the other hand seems quite keen that I should keep on gardening, I heard him on the phone earlier arranging to get me a spade next weekend. I can't wait for that.

Trailer for that film I mentioned...