Molly goes on holiday, makes friends, marches against Trump and disgraces herself in the bacon aisle

It’s me! I’m back under the desk, woofing away, trying to keep out of the heat. We’ve been gallivanting all over the place since our coast-to-coast adventure so it’s been really difficult to keep up with my doggie blogging (I nearly contracted that to dogging, but the Wordsmith tells me that has another meaning amongst you humans, and as dlogging doesn’t work in your language, doggie blog it’s going to have to remain).

I keep telling the Wordsmith to keep a diary of our out and about things, but she tells me she’s too busy to do that and that between us our memories will have to do, but I’ve only got a doggie brain and the Wordsmith’s is full of other stuff so there’s probably loads we’ve forgotten, but the most exciting thing I’ve got to share is that I’ve been on holiday!! A proper holiday by the seaside. Seven whole nights in one place. Bliss, it was, and I’m in a sulk this week because I miss my morning walks on the sand along the beach, dipping my paws into the salty-tasting water and playing with all the lovely doggie friends I made over the week. Apparently, the place we went to was called Norfolk. It took a long time in the car to get there and it was very hot cooped up in the back but they kept stopping for rests and had the windows open and I was as good as gold, especially as Grandma Betty was with us. As soon as we arrived at our little bungalow I was taken down the slipway, past the lifeboat station and onto this huge stretch of sand and allowed to wet my paws and stretch my legs after such a long journey. That was it then; when I wasn’t on the cliffs or making friends in the village, I was on the beach every day, sometimes 4 times a day! I met lots and lots of other dogs, big and small. Most were friendly except the bunch of six pitbull types who were scooped onto their leads and led away as soon as I approached on my belly for a game of chase. My favourite friend, though, was Bramble. She was only 2 weeks older than me, although I was bigger than her. She was a black Labrador, like my dad, and we had the wildest time. We got so excited we knocked her human over and she fell onto her knees on the beach and got a big bruise. Bramble tried to tempt me out of my depth into the water but although I splashed around and got the wettest I’ve ever been, I didn’t go right in. I know I’m not allowed to swim and didn’t want to worry the Wordsmith, who doesn’t like the water very much at all.

This is me with Jazz; Auntie Angela looks after her sometimes and she came round to meet me before we went to the seaside and I LOVED her and we had such fun in the garden. The other pictures are of me in Norfolk on the beach and in the ford - where the river goes over a road - at Glandford. (It was fun watching a big 4x4 come splashing through there; it had to wait for me to get out of the way!)

I got to meet a working guide dog one day as we waited to go on a boat trip. He had a funny name starting with a J that I couldn't get my lips round; his human must have loved him because he had a picture of him and his name tattooed on his chest. The Wordsmith told me I’d be doing that one day. I wondered whether she had a picture of me tattooed anywhere about her person, but gathered because we hadn't been to one of those parlours together, she probably didn't. I hope that doesn't mean she doesn't love me as much as that man loved his dog. Anyway, after meeting Jacinta or Jackinda or whatever he was called, we went on this Mississippi paddleship steamer-a-like down the river from Horning, and I had to sit upstairs and pretend to be interested in all these riverside homes with parking bays (sorry, I’ve just been told they’re moorings) for the flashy boats and balconies for lying on. All I could think about was getting back and running across the grass and down onto the beach, but I had to hang around while they ate cream scones and drank tea because apparently that's the law when humans go on holiday. The things you learn when you're a guide dog puppy.

This was our 'paddlesteamer' (only it didn't have steam. And only a pretend paddle. These humans do have their conceits) that took us on a boat trip. I was more interested in eating what the long-necked, two-legged, feathered things had left behind on the grass.

Before we went on holiday, the Wordsmith took me to a place called Renishaw Hall Gardens near Sheffield. We went with Auntie Caroline, for a birthday treat, and we called at Auntie Caroline’s house first on the way. Well, the Wordsmith met up with Auntie Caroline yesterday for the first time since then and the beans were spilled. I thought I’d got away with my little misdemeanor but Auntie Caroline told the Wordsmith about the little present I left for her at the top of her stairs. She didn’t seem too cross, and they laughed as they talked about it. I just lay quietly under the table in the café hoping the Wordsmith wouldn’t share my latest little accident but she couldn’t help herself. This time I didn’t make it as far as the cheese aisle in Waitrose; we’d passed the bacon once and the Wordsmith was on her way back to the meat section to return some pork mince when I just couldn’t hold on any longer. The Wordsmith was so embarrassed; I heard her tell Auntie Caroline how grateful she was she’d asked for a plastic bag at the hairdressers earlier as she’d left the house without my special poop bags. She was so quick picking it up, she said the look on the fellow customer’s face coming down the aisle in the other direction hardly had time to register shock before we were in front of the yoghurts as though nothing had happened. The Wordsmith tells me we’re going to Lidl next time. To be honest, I’m only really interested in disgracing myself in higher end stores; I am a guide dog puppy, after all. (The Wordsmith went to her first Lidl in Norfolk and was pleasantly surprised, although a fellow customer had to help her out when her loaf was too big to go in the one-size-doesn't-fit-all bags provided in the bread section.)

It’s not just me embarrassing the Wordsmith recently. She’s been making a pretty good job of that herself. Apart from looking helpless in Lidl with a loaf in her hand, she also keeps falling over. We were walking home from the allotment not so long ago, the Wordsmith’s sidekick carrying a box of potatoes and other produce with big leaves (something called rhubarb; looks weird to me) when all of a sudden, the Wordsmith went from being upright to being flat on her face with her arms above her head. I got really excited thinking it was playtime, then a man in football shorts came along and told the Wordsmith to stay where she was and not to move as they were getting first aid and I started to worry if everything was ok. Well, when she did lift her head, all this red stuff started dripping from her nose onto the grass where it collected into a little puddle. I did try licking it up but was told off and eventually they got the Wordsmith onto her feet and the three of us limped home wondering why the Wordsmith had dropsy when she hadn’t touched a drop. She did the falling down thing again when we went out with Auntie Liz for a walk a couple of weeks later. That time, she fell off a stile and right into a hedge onto her bottom. It’s very confusing when you can suddenly look down on your human who’s usually taller than you. It hasn’t happened since, so hopefully that little episode is over, although I don’t help sometimes when I get all tangled up with my lead and nearly send the Wordsmith flying. She’d be no good for proofreading then!

So anyway, life as a guide dog pup continues in a whirl of pubs, cafes, walks, buses, trams, puppy classes, dental appointments, shopping trips and days out. (Sometimes, days in when I forget to do my busy before we go out; then I get to watch tennis all day, which is very BORING.) I even get to go on political demonstrations; I need to be assigned to work for someone who is an activist, because I'm trained well in the art of marching! It's mainly stop start, stop start, wait, start, stop, and lots of shouting. I just take it in my stride. I mean, even the man with the saxophone outside Debenhams doesn't phase me anymore, so I can handle a bit of 'Hey ho, Trump must go!' in my ears.

This is me being activist. Not much different than going shopping to Meadowhall really. Only with more whistling.

I wasn't much impressed with this Wimbledon nonsense. Some of those matches went on for HOURS. And as for the World Cup....the shouting kept me from my slumbers.

Mind you, it’s not a bad life. Being a guide dog puppy and living with the Wordsmith. Everyone wants to talk to me and stroke me and go AHH. The Wordsmith keeps telling me I’ll be a working dog one day and that she wants to give me as much freedom and happiness as she can before I have to start earning my keep. Auntie Jackie from the Guide Dogs people was really pleased with me the last time we met up and told the Wordsmith she should be proud. I even got a little jacket to wear. I try really hard to be good when I’ve got it on and not to get too distracted by things. I’ll let you know how I get on with the annual family picnic and when the Wordsmith’s lovely niece and nephews come to stay next time we meet. I'm off back to sleep to dream of the sea and my friend Bramble.

Woof woof till next time!