Fevered Mutterings v1: 5th November 2004.
Fudge stared at me.
There was a reason I was barking, you know.
“It’s OK, boy. It’s OK. Good boy.”
No, really, there was a
BANG BANG BANG
There it was again! Bloody hell bloody hell!
“Calm down, boy, nothing to worry about.”
Are you DEAF? Even you must have heard THAT. No? Oh for…..Right! Come on!
“What’s wrong boy? You want to go in the garden? No, you can’t go out there.”
It’s out there! It’s right outside, I heard it, and I’ve no idea why you didn’t, your ears must be full of
CRACKLE KA-BRAPPP FRANGFRANG-WHIZZZZZZ BANG *BANGGG*!!
Sodding Nora, you must have heard that! It nearly took the roof off.
“Here, boy, this’ll take your mind off it.”
A chewie? A CHEWIE? We’re being carpetbombed from orbit and you’re giving me a CHEWIE? Oh I simply don’t believe…. Look, we’re being ATTACKED, you two-legged moron. How did your species ever end up dominating this planet? What survival skills did evolution furnish you with?
“What is it, eh?”
Look at me. Look at me! Paw at door, turn in a circle, whine, paw at door again. This should be fail-safe. It worked for Lassie, why doesn’t it work for me? Well, I guess Lassie’s master wasn’t so clap-witted.
“Come on, night-time. Time to go to bed, boy. Up in your bed.”
Oh yes indeed, that’s right, took the words straight out of my mouth – let’s all die in our beds. Good night and goodbye, see you in hell. Do they do walkies in hell, do you think?
Finally! A comment space oipened. I was going to offer to adopt this needy dog and move him to Italy where fireworks are rarer. He does look like he could use some psychoanalysis, too. Bit while I was waiting for the comment box, I became too old to take on another animal.
Another reason Italy is saner than most, right there. Our obsession with fireworks has got really, really daft recently.
Yes, he was a bit jumpy for a few days. That and the way he moved the furniture in front of the doors and windows with his nose (he's a strong begger) and hoarded all his food under the sofa. Then he started leaving messages spelled out with dog biscuits, stuff like "WW3 U FOOLS" and "DEATH FROM ABUV" and so on. Then he went strange, started doing lots of exercises, went really lean and got tattoos. Now he's in charge of house security. But generally, he's fine.
Sounds it. Yanno, my animals all became bilingual almost instantly. Cannot say I need a lean and tattooed anything around the house, but it is a cultural op, sì? He could push Italian biscuit words around for you. Educate you a bit.