Saturday, 9 February 2008

The Journey Begins

OK, so I've realised I was telling you about how I came to be here at “Xerika” and then got a bit sidetracked by the all important issue of food.

As I said, my mum was a chicken-guard on this farm and she had these two boyfriends – or maybe it was three....

Now listen here a minute. I know what you're thinking and you can stop that right now. Capiche? Having more than one boyfriend at a time is perfectly normal in the dog world and no reason for you humes to start tut-tutting and banging on about my mum being no better than she ought to be or whatever.

So now that's cleared up, I'll get on with the story. Right?

Anyway, these two boyfriends were called Sammy and Rory and it just so happened that they lived on this farm called “Xerika” a couple of miles away.

To cut a long story short, a while afterwards us pups were born. [Ed. On the 14th July 2007.]


ED: Sorry. Just thought I'd add a bit of background information.

BUSTER: Well don't. Just butt out and don't interrupt when I'm on a roll. Right?

ED: Er.... Right.

Jeez, I'm sorry about that, folks. These humes think they're so damn clever. Yeah, well if they're so damned clever, how come they never learned to lick their own bits. Case proved, m'lud.

What happened after we were born is a bit hazy. I mean, give me a break, I couldn't even open my eyes for days afterwards.

The next thing I know is we wake up one morning and Mum says, “Right, kids. It's time you met your fathers.”

[Ed. It is not commonly known that a litter of pups can be sired by more than one father.]

BUSTER: What did I just say?

ED: Sorry.

So Mum gets up and shakes herself, ready for the off.

“Mumma forget stuff,” says I. (And before you all start having a go, I was a very young pup then and didn't always talk like I do now. Right?)

“What stuff is that, ********?” (I absolutely refuse to make public my mum's pet name for me when I was a pup.)

“Mother dearest, it would appear you are tethered to a chain and are totally incapable of venturing more than a few yards,” chipped in sister Poppy. (Oh, all right, she was always a bit further advanced than me.)

Mum gave her one of those grins she does and says, “No problem, sweetie.”

In an instant, she was off the chain and off up the track before you could say Jack Russell.

“How she done that?” I looked at Poppy, wide-eyed and four-legged.

“No idea, sweetpea, but she done it nonetheless and I suggest we leg it after her toute suite.”

Toute suite? Toute bloody suite??? Smart and pretentious. What a bloody combination.

It turns out later that Mum had done the Houdini trick loads of times, but more of that later.


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