Dexter Dog Diary, Week Two, Sunday

Sunday (pazar, 14 mart, 2010)

I can’t believe it is a week since Wiggie and Co. left for England. Sometimes it seems like only yesterday – and sometimes it seems like forever! Mostly, I am not sure; but this morning I am in a very positive mood. As soon as the bedroom door is open, I pop in to say “hello”. This is the first time I have tried this and I am not sure what kind of reception I shall get – especially as Sonny’s presence overnight is strictly verboten, as a cute little dachshund pal of mine used to say. But, no worries! I am welcomed with pats and hugs. Not wishing to “spoil” them, I decide to ration my early “good-mornings”. Soon X and I are off to the pasture and, to my surprise it is he who is dotty about a flower. Oh God, not another flower-freak! Needless to say, when breakfast and the morning chores are done, we are all out there, cameras and all. I am pleased for him; much to his delight, she loves the flower he found – and the myriad others in the pasture.

While they snap away, I settle in a delightful little nook among the gorse, out of the gentle breeze, with the late-morning sun warming the top of me while the rest nestles in the spring grass. Life does not get any better. This is the greenest spring in living memory. All I want to do is just to be. We dogs are good at it. Humans do not have a clue! They think they know it all; but they know nothing about relaxing. I hear that Latin scholar again; esse, “to be”.

Having had his own grooming-session this morning, after lunch X thinks it is a great idea if the “animals” have theirs. Sonny is like an old tart: “No, no, no; don’t stop!” – it is not my scene, though. I realise that X is trying to corner the market in black and white hair. It seems to me that I am already the main supplier. Combing out my coat is, to me, like killing the goose that lays the golden egg; and I am the goose! Suddenly he decides it is time we all went for a walk. I am relieved, but, when we turn left out of the gate, my heart drops; not the beach, again? Unaccountably, my old injury starts to play-up, making me lame. She gives me that old-fashioned look and I know I am sussed. She assures me we are only walking to the Crystal Bay apartments. I decide to play it cool. We cross the highway and I surreptitiously hang a left, up the hill where the shell of an old jeep is adorning the skyline. They laugh, amused – bless them – at my ingenuity, and go along with my plan.

A young boy is minding the cows. As a precaution of some kind, they put on my lead (on me - that is). I am going to chase the cows? I don’t think so! When they think we are clear of the cows, they undo my collar. I feel the need to prove to them that the cows understand that I am not a threat; so, I hold back – even edge towards the cows a bit. If a cow can be “macho”, the one that is walking over towards us is macho. Pretty darn quick X replaces my collar and is giving me the “bum’s-rush” down the road, round the corner and back towards home. A non-macho cow is sitting in the long grass and wild fennel to our right, so they keep me on the lead. It is like being branded “public enemy number one”.

Once we are safely past the recumbent cow, I am off the lead again. Free… until we cross the highway. I am getting quite used to their quaint routine: they seem to believe that I am about to run into the road and plaster myself over the front of the next lorry; never mind. Soon we are back at home for tea and to chill-out. Ah… Sonny and I are definitely winning the “influence-game”: after their supper, he gets the cream dish to lick-out and I get the left-over gravy. Mm… Very-late-night TV for them and another hard evening’s chilling-out for me. Sonny gets locked-out.!