Molly smells feet, disgraces herself in Waitrose and meets the mechanic
I'm nearly as tall as my bag of food now!
So. This is what disgrace feels like. A trip to Waitrose, usually so pleasant and friendly and incident-free, besmirched by my lack of bowel control. At the end of the cheese aisle, too. The poor Wordsmith had to hand a warm, squidgy bag to a member of staff and ask her to ‘dispose of it’. She was as red as my newly ordered doggie crate. Me? I don’t know what all the fuss was about. When you need to go, you need to go. Even though only minutes before I’d been hearing the words “busy, busy” and knew I had to do something then, but only managed to squeeze out a little widdle to lull the Wordsmith into a false sense of security. I heard a lady exclaiming ‘oh, dear’ as I assumed position next to the camembert. Someone suggested it was the smoked salmon and quinoa that set me off, but I insist it was the hand-milked organic buffalo mozzarella that did it. Only in Waitrose.
I love my new chewy
Anyway, Molly here, reporting in on my week’s adventures. I’ve had a great week, actually, apart from this morning, but I can withstand the withering looks; I just put on my best sad face and it’s all forgotten pretty quickly! This week I’ve been in seventh heaven. The Wordsmith popped in to the podiatrist to buy some special cream which make her feet smell all lovely and licky (sorry, I’m a dog, it’s what we do). She asked if she could make an appointment to have someone look at her sore pinkies and before I knew it we were in a consulting room and she had her bare feet out. The smells were exquisite in there. I spent an ecstatic 30 minutes lying on the floor taking it all in through my nostrils before being dragged back out in the traffic and made to go to John Lewis to buy a lamp. The Wordsmith looked the other way while the lady serving her tickled my tummy cos she was desperate and kept saying what a good girl I was. After a sniff around the kitchen department, we struggled home on the bus, the Wordsmith laden with lamp and a brand new basket to keep all my toys tidy.
This is the basket for my toys. I'm hoping that the fact that it's half empty at the moment means there might be more toys on their way!
Unexpected item in the bagging area!
The posh black car had to go into the garage this week to have things serviced (a bit like me going to the vet, only more technical and with more tools). So the Wordsmith took me to meet Steve the mechanic and I learned what a mechanic’s workshop floor smells and tastes like. (Oily and stinky, that’s what.) I was lucky enough to have a similar experience the next day when the Wordsmith had to take the posh car to get a new tyre after Steve found a nail in the tyre on the corner under where I travel (it was nothing to do with me). We went to Hawley’s in Hillsborough but I wasn’t too keen on that wretched car harness and it took the Wordsmith quite a long time to get me togged up for the journey. While we waited for the tyre to be looked at, we went for a walk to the park and the Wordsmith took me into a library. It was lovely and warm and sunny in there, so she borrowed a couple of books and we sat in the sun for a while until the man at the garage rang to say the car was ready. We went one stop on the tram, which was great fun, but then I disgraced myself again. I chose the narrowest bit of pavement at the busiest bus stop to do my busy. It was very obvious to the poor woman waiting for the No 83 that I’d had a carrot the night before. The Wordsmith wasn’t best pleased, but I did my best trotting and her thunder face didn’t last long.
I feel pretty relaxed with the Wordsmith
I’ve been playing a lot in the garden this week, which I love. I hear my name called now and again and go flying back into the kitchen in case there’s a treat in it for me. Sometimes there is, sometimes there isn’t, but I like to let the Wordsmith know that I’ll come when I’m called. I’m longing to do a free run, you see, so I’m proving to her that I know my name and will come when I’m called.
It’s very exciting, because next weekend I understand we’re going Down South to visit Auntie Leanne and Uncle Smokes and I’ll get to meet Auntie Leanne’s dog, Bess. I think they’re worried that Bess will be jealous of me going on her patch, but that’s understandable. I’m a puppy and I’m adorable. I suppose I’ll have to be on my best behaviour, but it’ll be fun to have a four-legged friend to play with. (I hope Bess plays games. I’ve heard she can be a bit aloof.) I’ll tell you all about it, and about how I cope with a 200 mile journey and meeting Auntie Brenda with her rollator and Uncle David in his wheelchair when I see you next time. I'm also going on my first march tomorrow, something about saving the NHS, and we've got some leaflets to deliver locally although it's pouring with rain so the Wordsmith decided we'd come up to her office to do this instead. We might watch some snooker later. I like to see the coloured balls on that big moving screen.
I have my own self service shoe bar.
Better go. I've just made a hole in the Wordsmith's leggings and that's the second pair I've done that to, so I'm in Big Trouble and have been told to lie down and be quiet.
Woof woof till next time!
