Cushions and carpets

Today I am wearing my red logo-bow.





‘Johnny. Sit’


I’m pretty sure Old One that you need to keep that doctors appointment to get your ears checked. No. I will not sit down just because you want to have a chat with the Postie. And why am I being difficult? Why stubborn? Why downright obstinate? Well, because it’s cold and wet. The leaves, and there’s plenty of them falling at the moment, are soggy. And to be honest I don’t want to put by bare behind and whatever else might be in that downstairs area onto nippy pavements shrouded in dead, decaying leaves. Would you?

‘Sit Johnny. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with him these days’.

Let me ask you then. What would your reaction be if the roles were reversed and I asked you to drop your everythings, treat yourself to a thermal shock and allow the damp to ingress?  What would it be? I bet you a red bowtie ( currently looking stand-out smart with the russet and auburn leaves still on the trees) you’d say ‘No’ and refuse. So Old One, why is it different for dogs?

So this little stand off continued until the Postie managed to get away from the Old One. As the Postie went on his way dressed in shorts ( that man is crazy) the Old One scowled and tugged at the lead. ‘Come on then, it that’s OK with you.’

And yes it is OK because a bit of wet on the paws is fine. Paws were designed for walking. Derrières were made for sitting on cushions and carpets. I only deal in facts. So we strolled, the Old One seemed to forget his bad mood and soon we reached the park. Now, bear in mind that the morning dew is heavy at this time of year and to the best of my arboricultural knowledge, wood soaks up moisture. So you would fully expect a grown Old One to know that a wooden bench having been out all night (and for years according to the little brass plaque stating that ‘Betty and Ken loved this view’ – a view that I think might have changed from one of rolling countryside in their day to Lowry-esque landscape complete with booming wind turbine and a great view of Asda’s roof) would be at best damp. Perhaps more than damp. Maybe sodden? But the beauty of this moisture is that it’s invisible.

‘Go on then Johnny. Run off your temper.’ And I was let off the lead to wander, sniff, rummage and furtle in the hedgerows and around the bins. The Old One sat and watched. I wandered. He watched. I looked up from sniffing. He sat. He watched. I rummaged in the undergrowth. He sat some more. I furtled in a McDonald’s cast off. I looked up. He still sat. He sat still. And all the time the moisture was rising.

‘Come on lad. Come on Johnny.’ Of course, no problem. I trotted back as he eased his aching bones up to discover the biggest wet patch on the back of his trousers since, well, the last time. He wasn’t best pleased chuntering all the way home, avoiding round two of Postie chat and when back at HQ quickly got changed.

See what I mean. Cushions and carpets my friends, cushions and carpets. No-one likes a wet…….

Your bow tied dog blogger.