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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When the Gods go bowling, a walk is not a good thing. (It's the only time!)
Sometimes, lying on my back, my legs stretched out, the peace and calm of the world lying on my belly with the soft sweep of my humans' hands, my thoughts drift to another place. I don't know where it is, but it smells good. It sounds good, too, mingled with the warm, gentle sounds coming from my humans. That's a good place.
A lot better than outside in the thunder and the rain and the lightning that drove even the cats into hiding and foxes underground and the birds into the trees and the squirrels into their secret holes. Yeah, thanks a lot to the big human who got me all excited about going for a walk, grabbed my bag, filled it with treats and pooh-bags, got me to sit for a collar and a lead - and hey, those are excited farts, not toxic ones! - and then led me out into a darkening morning. We hadn't even completed one over before the rain came. And it came hard. He was alright, huddled into his waterproof skin. And that's something, where's mine? It's all very well getting me out and about for excitement and exercise and smells and playing and running and jumping and meeting new dogs and old dogs and friends and strangers and wheels and boxes and bags and leaves and earth and grass and the like, but where's my removable waterproof skin?
Just at the top of the hill, about as far as we were going to go, the sky got really big and wet. And then it burst. I mean it. The sky literally burst. I thought I was wet on the way up the hill but what happened on that hill was just wrong! The ground wasn't hard any more it was moving. Racing away down the hill. My human was laughing in that weird kind of this is fun when it isn't sort of way. And that weird air hand was pulling at my ears and my mouth and my tail, pushing me this way and that. The leaves in the trees looked like they were one piece of tree, catching in the air, moving like a sheet on the washing line. And then the noise. Now I'm not really frightened of anything, although wheels on wheely-bags are the work of the devil, but that noise from the sky was like a thousand heavy balls hitting a wooden floor all at once, cracking the clouds with their laughter. I could feel my fur tingling as it was plucked at by the air.
Yeah, we'd had enough. I pulled him, he pulled me. We were home. On a towel! Under a towel! Biting the towel! Throwing the towel in the air! Catching it, biting it, swinging it, growling at it, barking at it. And it still got me dry, sucking all the water off my back and legs and leaving me tingly and bouncy and soft and shiny.
And then food. I like food.
And then sleep. I like sleep. Especially lying on my back with my legs stretched out and my mouth open and my tongue hanging out and my humans' hands sweeping softly on my belly. I am at peace.
Hey, maybe this walking in the storm thing isn't so bad after all.
Life. It's much easier than humans let you believe.
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