Diary of a Lhasa Apso puppy
Saturday 25th Feb
Beth and my brother, Tom, came to stay again last night. I love them sooooo much I get really
excited when I see them. So much so I can barely control myself, and in the case of my bladder, I was unable to exert any control whatsoever, leaving a small circle of puppy pee on Tom’s teeshirt. He didn’t seem to mind and Mum was quickly on hand with a wet wipe.
Later today I met some new people. Simon, who often works with Dad, came round with his two boys, Thomas and James. I am familiar with children because the house I was born in had lots of them. Children are very small people and I like them a lot, but Thomas and James are older than the children I remember and therefore quite a bit bigger. But not as big as Mum and Dad. They were actual real life medium sized people. What’s that all about? I couldn’t make head nor tail of the situation, so I hid behind Dad, then hid some more behind Tom. After a bit the medium sized people gave me some treats, and I liked them after that. And then something life changing happened. The medium sized people gave me a new toy – a cuddly rabbit called Mrs Bunny, who is quite a bit larger than the love of my life, cuddly Mr Fox, and therefore more versatile. I could even chew her label and do lovely thrusting motions on her head at the same time, which was fabulous!
Sunday 26th Feb
Woke up in turmoil with deep feelings of regret. Me and Mr Fox have been together for three weeks, which is almost a quarter of my entire life. We’ve had some great times, but I’m wracked with guilt this morning and deeply torn, because I now love Mrs Bunny too. Is it OK to love two cuddly toys at once? Oh, the moral dilemma. This is when I decided to get Mrs Bunny and Mr Fox together for a chat. Time to ‘fess up to Mr F, but one thing lead to another and before I knew it all three of us were getting it on. Together. At the same time! Wow, puppy life is good.
Monday 27th Feb
Mum is extremely house proud. The sort of house proudness that clashes horribly with a puppy. I know Mum loves me loads and I love her too, but I also love to be messy and if I can add pesky into the mix all the better. Mum loves heart shaped things, like the hanging tealight candle holder in the kitchen, wooden hearts on rope in the lounge and the gingham material hearts with wooden buttons that hang from the basket drawers in the kitchen. The lowest of these caught my attention so I had a little nibble and it was good. A few more nibbles and I had the button off. By the time Dad realised what was going on and had managed to retrieve the button (after a bit of chasing, which was fun) the damage was considerable.
And that’s where the whole business turned nasty – Dad opted for a ‘Robin shaming’ approach – he took a photo of me next to the blackboard with a ‘sorry mummy’ message and an arrow pointing to the damaged button. To add insult to injury, I was placed in solitary confinement and a further photo taken which unfairly suggested I messed up the carpet with a leaf. I did, but that’s not the point. Dad, you will pay for this!
Tuesday 28th Feb
I cunningly worked out a brilliant way of getting Dad back for yesterday’s Robin-shaming debacle. When Mum’s around, my toileting behaviour is impeccable, with all brown and yellow deposits planted perfectly on my puppy training mat. But when Mum left Dad in charge this evening I waited until the dozy old git wasn’t looking, and then I plopped out a soft one somewhere he didn’t notice, but Mum was on to instantly as soon as she came back into the room. And then came the best bit – Dad got it in the neck but I was completely in the clear. It was hilarious. Mum called Dad a stupid banker. At least I think that’s what she said, but I was very confused. Surely if Dad is a banker, even a stupid one, we should have a faster car and a huge house with servants and a guard dog? But maybe Dad is a trainee banker and can only afford a small guard dog? Of course, that’s it. I’m the small guard dog. I’m so smart sometimes I amaze myself.
Wednesday 1st March
I’ve been rummaging around in the garden with Dad. Loads of stuff to sniff and scrap about in, and that’s when I discovered a small bit of tree. Dad said I’d found a stick! Sticks are brilliant but mine wasn’t very strong because after a bit of chewing I broke it. But that was Ok coz it meant I had two sticks. Yay! Dad took a snap of me on his mobile phone and messaged it to Mum. Mum replied that I looked well pleased, and that she hoped Dad hadn’t allowed me indoors with my sticks. Dad threw the sticks outside, texted Mum ‘no of course not xxx’ (with one of those looky-up smilies) and quickly swept up the stick mess!
Thursday 2nd March
It’s been a traumatic morning. I was just doing my normal snuffling business when a man appeared at the window. He had a long stick with a brush on the end, which he menacingly rubbed on the window in up and down movements, spraying out water everywhere. I was terrified and took refuge under the sofa, where I shook uncontrollably. But then the man appeared at another window, and then another. We were under siege, so I did some more shaking, but that didn’t help. Eventually the man banged on the door, but quick thinking Mum sprang into action and gave the nasty man a small brown piece of paper with the Queen on it, and he went away. Oddly enough, the windows are really clean now, so at least that’s something positive to take from an awful experience.
While Mum was watching Grand Designs this evening I decided to do a bit of basket renovation. How's this for a grand design Kevin McLoud?
Friday 3rd March
There are some things a puppy needs to keep to himself, and right now the most important of these has to be the photo that Dad’s just taken of me wrapped in a towel. As readers of my previous dog blog will know, I’m currently having to endure the annoyance of eye drops in the morning and evening just before my breakfast and tea; the imminent arrival of which is the only thing that keeps me from shredding Mum and Dad’s hands. On the whole I am now resigned to the inevitability of this unpleasant procedure, but I do like to occasionally thrash my head around at the precise moment the eye drop drops. My head is the only bit of me that is movable during the eye dropping procedure due the rest of me being tightly wrapped up like an Egyptian cat mummy, but, my dear readers, you’ll have to be content with that description because the photographic evidence has been censored.
Right, Dad…. revenge is going to happen, and that’s a promise old man.
See Robin's earlier dog blogs here:
Robin's dog blog - part 1
Robin's dog blog - part 2
Robin's dog blog - part 3