Monday 11 August 2014

And So It Begins

This is Molly's blog. Molly is a rottweiler who joined us from Battersea Dog's Home in March 2013. Having had a tough start in life, she's blossomed into one of the 7 great dogs (ref: Dean Spanley - a must see film for doggy people.) She's gorgeous. I wondered what it might be like to see life through her eyes and write about her experiences from a human perspective. It may or may not work. There's only one way to find out. 

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It's funny when you first wake up, stretch, sniff, scratch, stretch again, offer yourself for a cuddle and a scrabble. It just seems to get the juices flowing. Sometimes literally, that's when it's good that the back door's open. It's also easy access to squirrels, pigeons and foxes. 

That unseen hand that ruffles the tops of trees, now that's something I'd like to get my teeth into. But I'm always just that little bit late; always just slipping through at the last minute. Almost like it's not quite there. Makes a heck of a lot of noise, though!

This morning's gallop to the back of the garden resulted in a cloud of pigeon feathers and the frantic scrabbling of at least 2 rodents with bushy tails as they hurtled their way up the big tree at the end. If they weren't squirrels they'd be chicken! Arf!

Main topic of chat round the breakfast table was alcohol. Usually that's just my humans grumbling about how it made them not feel right. But that's HOURS after they finished wobbling around the living room, singing, or slouching on the table in the kitchen. There's also that fumbled scrabble of my ears and the too-loud murmurings of affection. Still, it's better than being shut away like that grumbling old cat. Although he seems happy enough. I'll never understand cats. Spiky little furballs! I nearly got him when my boyfriend, Harvey, popped over while taking his human for a walk. Dog, can that cat scratch and jump. Like some mental ninja! My big human, Mars, got me just before I could properly introduce myself - like I've been trying to for 18 months! Then he grumbled about some carpet burn on his knee. I heard my other human, Claudia, say "Big Girl's Blouse". That made me laugh. But I don't know what it means. 

Anyway, alcohol was what everyone was talking about on the news. Grumbling about telling people about sugar content and units and how it's really just a new ploy to get women to stop drinking because it makes them fat. Nothing about the blokes and their run-stopping bellies. And nothing about how it makes you stupid and heavy-handed and unbalanced and loud and smelly and shouty, confusing charm for volume and being way too brave. Normally when that happens I just go and lie in another room and let them get on with it. Much more fun. Especially after long walks. 

Walks are good. I like walks. I like reliving them. That's almost as much fun as being on them. Remembering the smell of the earth and taste of the grass and feel of the water on my paws and the mud in my claws and the air with its unseen hand flapping my ears and tugging at my face when I run; all the sounds, the birds singing, the people talking, other dogs talking and shouting and laughing and grumbling and passing on the news. 

I've got a motto: If you can't eat it or play with it, piss on it and walk away. 

Life. It's much easier than humans let you believe. 


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