To be honest this whole lock down thing has been fine for me.
The family are being kept captive in the house which suits my needs.
There is always someone around to feed me, they have become nothing less than slovenly to be honest. So the ‘Don’t feed the dog at the table’ ‘Don’t let the dog into the bed’ ‘Don’t put your plats on the ground and let that little hairy fart clean it with his tongue’ have all gone to hell in a handcart.
I pushed my luck a bit today I admit. She was having her soup and the doorbell went, usually I would answer the door, barking like a maniac but she keeps telling me ‘she’s got it’ so I just left her to it. As she put on her mask, shouted to some poor unfortunate who was about 5 metres away and did whatever she was doing, the waft of soup got to me. My nozzle was full of onion, buttery, lentilly delights and before I knew it, I had done a triple salco onto the chair, then the bench and with a wing and a prayer I actually wheeched myself onto the kitchen table. My heart was going like the clappers, I knew she would have a hairy fit but I couldn’t help it.
My hooter was full of the aromas of homemade soup I might add here he’s the chef in this house, she’s just an enthusiastic eater, like me…so anyway I slid over the table towards it and after a tentative whiff stuck my snout in there an inhaled. It was a joy. A great big bowl of lentil soup, guzzled in a matter of moments.
I heard her footsteps coming back but I couldn’t stop. It was too good. I blocked out her hair as it stood on end, her stomp as she approached arm outstretched ready to scoop me up and plop me back on the floor. Yes I know it was wrong but this the lockdown revolution. Get this human soup eaters of the world. I do not care. There. Said it.
The Sausage Revolution is upon us, as is terrible wind. It’s only been an hour but the are noises emanating from my distended belly are like the percussion section of the Scottish National Orchestra. So I am paying the pride…but it was worth it…..slurp. Wag. Fart.