Dexter Dog Diary, Week One, Sunday

Sunday (pazar, pa-zaR, 7 mart, 2010)

I hear stirring next door. Yep, someone is definitely awake. He staggers through to the kitchen and makes their morning tea. Poor old soul can hardly walk – serves him right for dragging me out so often yesterday! But, oh no! In not half an hour he is standing there with that stupid “What-about-a-walk-Dexter?” look on his face. Up the old track again then straight back. I can see why he has that stick – good job he’s not a dog, he’d have four cranky legs.

Breakfast for them: a few measly biscuits for me (I don’t know why, but I don’t get the delicious biscuits that Linda makes especially for me - there are plenty in the fridge) some pottering about from him: some industry in the kitchen from her and then they are off in the car again! This time there is only one little bag when they get back, so I suppose they forgot something yesterday – these humans!

Next, it is mid-day feed for them, then a bit more whittling for him, followed by lashing some blue string to his silly stick. X is obviously getting a great deal of pleasure from collecting this discarded stuff from the beach and converting it into his very own “designer rubbish”. Y is not feeling too frisky today – delayed shock, I suppose after the little accident at Tim and Helen’s: most people open a glass door before they attempt to pass through it! She was amused by the cut-out butterflies that Linda has stuck in the line-of-sight on the patio doors here.

But… no! She has rallied and all three of us are off up the old track. We get a big “hello” from Keeno. God, that overgrown pup is a pain in the posterior. Everyone else seems to love him ’though.

Today it is “flower power” again. You’d think she’d never seen one! We’re up the track, then up the old terraces and back home - but not nearly as quick as that – for a bit of “p & q” before tea which is served somewhere near the correct time. You would have thought that these humans with all their hours and minutes and days would be able to ascertain precisely when it is tea-time. But… no, they always need a reminder! …And, after tea? You guessed it! There he is with the collar, lead and silly look. Just to make a point, I let him go all the way down every flight of steps. By the time he gets to the gate, it dawns on him that he is alone. Admittedly, it is only when I reach the upper-outer landing (the flights are in a double zigzag from the first floor to the ground) that I realise that strike-action will be required. I smile my special man’s-best-friendly smile (it’s all in the eyes with us dogs), wag my tail to confirm that this is a peaceful demonstration and send him the unmistakeable vibe to say that enough is enough. Much to my amazement, he gets the message!

I ought to explain at this point that Wiggie and Co. speak in a clear, lyrical way that is music to my ears. When he says: “Dexter, are we gannin oot?” you know exactly what he means. Not so the Axes! You can understand some of what they say but, fortunately, X doesn’t say much. So, I can continue the pretence of canine ignorance, read his thoughts and send my instructions.

Yesterday’s visitors, Tim and Helen arrive and they all feed together. Everyone seems pretty shattered, so I’m not surprised when the party breaks-up early. Y helps with the drying of the plates and crawls off to bed leaving him scrubbing the pans when Sonny does one of his “tricks”… two nice neat little piles of vomit, one on the living-room rug and one just to the side of it. X is not pleased but, to his credit, answers Sonny’s clear request and calmly opens the door to let him out without the slightest (well, maybe a teensy bit) sign of rage. The cleaning-up doesn’t take long, unfortunately. I always feel that when a colleague is in deep shadow, it makes one’s own light seem all the brighter! With an air of consternation X mounts a concerned, but fruitless, search for Sonny who is nowhere to be found. He has his own plans for the night.