~~My name is Taffy and this is my story~~

Thursday, 1 July 2010

Still here - just

No, I haven't gone barking mad.  I thought this photograph might put an end to the moggie shots.  Not only do I look fierce in this snap but I thought it might cool us down a little.  I have heard no more about the cats although there was a discussion about names for them - once they know they know if they are bitch cats or dog cats - if you get my drift.  Who cares, because once you're adopted, you get taken to the vets and lose all your bits anyway.  I know - it happened to me.  Long before I knew Those who must be obeyed, I belonged to a family in Plympton.  They'd paid good money for me and I believe I had show potential.  Then my first owners got an English Springer Spaniel, who didn't speak Welsh.  I think that was the problem.  He must have told them bad things about me in English and the next thing you know, I'm getting the chop in my down belows and then I'm put up for adoption.  So, dear reader, I come from a broken home.  I was an unwanted pooch.  Then one day they who must be obeyed turned up and took me on holiday to a caravan  near Beer in Devon.  I was unaware I was on trial, otherwise I might have been a bit better behaved. 
Why oh why did they take me to a donkey sanctuary on day one?  I spent the afternoon walking around on my hind legs trying to attack each and everyone of those poor orphaned creatures.  I was young and foolish in those days.  I chased cyclists, joggers, sheep - anything really because I didn't know what they were.  Since this has turned into a confession spot, I may as well tell you I once killed a pet rabbit.  There ~ it's out.  I do regret this incident and I cannot promise it won't happen again but honesty is the best policy and anyway, I wanted you to see why I am the way I am.  I realise it's too late for therapy but quite frankly you cannot beat a bit of raw bunny.  (I left the head)  Where was I?  Oh the nice caravan.  My new owners closed all the curtains in the caravan all day long because whenever I saw anyone walking past, I barked the place down.  We sat in semi-darkness for a week and they played cards with a torch.  I had such a nice time though, that I left the owners of the caravan a little gift. Yes, you've guessed it - fleas.  The owners of the van were glad I had a nice vacation and were too polite to even mention my little gift.
I can't remember why I'm telling you all this now. Back to the present. While I was depressed yesterday, I mooched around the house and worried about how I was going to be a doggie version of Bear Grylls, when I ran away today.  I was given my usual chicken and rice and at the end of the night just before we retired to bed, I went out with SWMBO on slug patrol.  They both went off to bed and I found a delicious bowl of chicken and dog meal, which was left out for Mr. Reynard.  I didn't realise it but I was locked out of the house.  My survival skills were being tested sooner than I had anticipated.  Well, I'd nearly eaten it all, when I was suddenly dragged by the collar back into the house.  I settled down with a big sigh and passed just a little gas - to demonstrate I was replete and I  had quite a good night's sleep all in all.
This morning I noticed I was being cossetted a little more than usual and in the park, I was unable to stray far away from her side.  Benson was running sheepdog rings around us in any event, so my escape will have to be postponed I fear.  I think she may have read my blog because she keeps getting down on the floor to cuddle me.  I'm not keen on such slushy demonstrations of lovey-dovey and I always get up and move as far away as I can.  Under the current state of play however, I may have to endure a few love-ins, to make sure the cats are kept at bay.  Hey ho!

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