For example, the other week, I asked Dru...
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| Whatchya doin' at that pooter when you could be throwing balls for me? |
Well, Nobby, she said to me, apart from my own work and household needs, I have to tend to yours. First, there is the matter of making your next grooming appointment (and seeing my ears droop and eyes go wide, she distracted me by rushing on with...) and I have to order in a batch of your foodables. All the stuff that Gail left you is gone.
Food is most important. I was glad to see, when it arrived, that it was substantial...
Dru discouraged me from emulating my good blogpals, Da Phenny and Da Nelly, by making mince of that box.
Anyway, there was that. Then there is the daily exercise obtained from throwing, chasing, hunting, and returning my balls. I demand a minimum of twenty minutes a day, but I'll take as much more as Dru or Stephen can provide. I have several balls of varying sizes...
...so I am not short of choice. However, whichever one I choose for the day has my total focus. That one and that one alone is my playmate for the session. I will follow it wherever it goes. Sometimes, that brings the risk of taking a leap... but Dru isn't too happy with that, so she gets down on her tummy to execute the extraction on my behalf. No photo of her doing that, but there is one of me making shapes enough to encourage her intervention!
Hehehehe, our peeps are so easy to train, aren't they?
Mind you, we do have to tolerate some nonsense in return, like the grooming malarkey. I endured it once more but put up a bit more of a protest about my whiskers being fiddled with. I'm going for the Steampunk Hipster look. (On a side note, did you know the term 'hipster' comes from the days of the British Empire's opium trade, when all the takers in the dens would lie on their side to smoke their pipes? That's your bit of trivia for the week.)
Anyway... all that debate with the groomer took up a bit of energy. I needed a nap when I got home!
See you next week with more about events in the Lake District.
