Aren’t Sundays a sod? Robert bugs out to play tennis, Christopher gets sozzled and I twiddle my paws.
So I take a Peke at The Spectator attracted by a headline: Walkies! Great Scotties, large Labs, huge Huskies – unbelievable or incroyable as I learn when I am in France with R and C in 2019. If I may digress, I do not like the name Kennel Club – I belong to the not-in-a-kennel club. The KC, according to the Speccie, says I should take out R and C for thirty minutes a day. I chew this advice before Robert or Christopher can see it. I don’t know what a Trade Unionist is but Christopher tells me I’m one. I demand and get three hours a day out walking.
If I might, again, digress. I see Christopher shoving his nose into a glass of wine and sniffing. He simply doesn’t have a clue. I feel sorry he cannot appreciate the rich odours on every leaf, twig and lamp-post. He can’t tell a Pomeranian from a Petrus; his tongue’s too short.
Now it’s time to examine the terroir- well hurry up.
Guest Blogger: Bertie MW.
Finally, a guest blogger with proper
pedigree.
Is Bertie now a dlogger?
Not before time. I was becoming concerned that Bertie had been muzzled!