Way-aye, Roscoe here.
I was going to tell you how much cheek I thought Mam had, saying she loved the way I ate my cucumber. I was going to tell you about how she eats something called an icecream.
But that has been overtaken by events yesterday afternoon. We were cruelly and outrageously ripped from our afternoon slumbers and treated to torture!
Well, it started ages ago, because Mam said we needed baths. She was going to do it ever so many times, but then she thought we should have grass time. Then she was going to do it Saturday, but she said it was a bit cold.
Then today (after she ate the icecream), she said she’d have to wait because we were all having our mid-afternoon snack.
Then she came in and picked Biggles up, and took him off into the kitchen. Admittedly we didn’t hear any complaints, although we did hear a highpitched whirring noise just before he came back. He looked very clean, and smelled… funnier than usual.
Then she approach Nev and me, and Nev was wisely having a tea-time snack, so she picked me up! First there was the grease gland clean, which is bad enough. I mean, she’s very gentle, but very thorough. And it is a sensitive area, believe me. BUT THEN….
She put me in the sink of water!
I wasn’t having that, I can tell you. Well, we had several discussions about it, and I made my point of view quite clear. Eventually she managed to coat me with soapy stuff, and rub it in all over, and I did a lot of complaining, as you can imagine. Most of the time she had to hold me up with one hand and rub in places I don’t usually expect to be rubbed with the other. Then I had to go under the tap for a rinse off. And then she did it again! And made me wait for hours before she rinsed it off!
Then she mopped a lot of the water off me and wrapped me in a towel and took me through for a rub down and relax in the lounge. She may have relaxed. She thought my hair looked very funny when it all fluffed up in the damp. ‘Bouffant’ she described it, whatever that means.
Then I went back to the kitchen to sit on the other side and be blown warm air at, all up the wrong way on my coat, with the thing that made the nasty high-pitched noise.
At last I could go back to my run and it was Nev’s turn. He had the cheek to ask me what the problem was when he returned. Although he did agree that having the soap on for several minutes (he said three, but I’m sure it was hours) was a bit cooling.
So anyway, I hope you’ll agree that it’s outrageous treatment.
I’ll tell you about her icecream next time, unless something more important happens.
PS We’re already more than halfway through our mourning period. Bertie has already been gone for over four weeks. Can you believe that? It seems like yesterday… or the day before.