Dear my-humans
I promised another update from Camp, so I have engineered
some time at the computer and am carefully poking my way around the
keyboard. Thank goodness for the
spell-checker, which covers a multitude of awkward paw-toe mistakes.
It’s been all fun here, and we’ve invented so many new indoor
games while Noah’s deluge carries on outside.
My favourite is Battleground Sofa, which involves charging round the
living room, using the mats as skid-boards, and seeing who can launch themselves
highest and fastest onto the furniture – Harry is our current champion, and
even managed to grab a mouthful of the ornamental ivy as he flew past! My second favourite is Recycle Bin Forage,
but the proxy-humans have cottoned on to that ruse and now empty it daily –
spoilsports. I quite like Water Dribble too, where we take a long, long drink
and see how far we can dribble it across the room.
Apparently, I am the Ring Leader for the Log Liberation
Front, or at least that is what Badgerbeard calls me. We wait patiently until
attention is elsewhere, then sneak out a piece of kindling or, if we are
feeling particularly bold, a whole log … and then either hide it under the
Battleground Sofa or surreptitiously strip the bark and chew the wood. When
caught, we are full-dog-named, which means we have done something naughty – I
get the whole Shackleton, while poor Harry is shamed with a complete Harold P.
Eddison, and believe me, you can hear that full stop.
There was even more excitement the last couple of days when Millie
and Jasper visited. We had been told
that The Squidgies were coming, but I was not sure what a Squidgy was. Turns out it’s a slightly overweight Jack
Russell (of sorts), and after our initial caution, there was much haring around,
noise and drama. They did seem to get a lot of privileges that were not
afforded to the rest of us, such as sleeping on the bed – most unfair.
We also have a sworn enemy now. The Devil Vacuum Cleaner crawls out from the
pantry and roams around as if he owns the place. For our safety we are shut
away in the Utilitarium, but help out by barking with gusto to try and scare it
back to whence it came. I have to say
that Badgerbeard is our hero – he fights it with strength and resilience,
swearing only occasionally. Gingerbeard must be afraid of it like us dogs, as
he never goes near the monster.
And most shocking, we found out that there is now a cat –
yes a CAT! – in the sheds (and the humans knew it was there all along!) Gingerbeard has the audacity to feed it, and
while it’ll never be a pet, it seems pretty at home on the straw…a prime rat-spotting
hideout. Our noses are seriously out of joint, especially as it seems to have a
name too, the rather silly Alexander Pusskin.
As I sit typing, I do have to say that social media does not
have sufficient barkicons to cover the full range of dog emotions – it’s very
species-ist and discriminates against hound-kind. I would love to sprinkle my
missives with barking-at-the-cattle, gazing-wistfully-at-cake and the very
useful
face-that-looks-like-I-farted-in-church-on-a-wooden-pew-and-everyone-is-staring-at-me-now.
Just so you don’t think it’s all play, the humans have been
doing some work, including putting in new fence-posts.
Love, as always
Your Shack
PS – I received yet another award! “Collie most likely to bark at random noises”
(especially the mouse that lives under the back step and who cavorts around in
the dark taunting us). I also had a bit
of a ballyhoo with Scout over spilled bird food (why, we have no idea), and in my
defense she started it. However, as you
can see here, we are still friends.
