Hi all. Roscoe here.
I don’t know what this blogging business is all about. I haven’t got anything else to say. I said it last time.
We’re often out eating grass.
Mam is often out doing whatever she does on the grass. When she’s not out she’s either upstairs with Percy and Bertie, or in the garden pulling things out of the flowerbeds.
I hear Bertie was a bit huffy last week. He’s like that. Full o’ hisself. Mam says I’m full o’ meself too. Well, at least I’ve learnt to put a g at the end of my doin’ words.
Bertie was right scared when Midge had his fit. He was right next door watching. He’s grown up a lot since that night, I can tell you. Mam even left Biggles out on the floor the other day when she put Bertie down for his run. Once it would have been blue murder straight away, or so Percy says, and I’ve met Bertie and can believe it. But no, I watched Bertie eye up Biggles, and Biggles eye up Bertie, and Percy look from one to the other and snuggle in his hay box to keep out of the way… and nothing happened.
They still size each other up and play it big when they’re out in the garden with a cage panel between them. But it’s not too bad. Nothing nasty, like.
So he’s growing up, and Mam calls him a good boy to encourage him some more.
So forgive him if he’s still totally self-centred. I mean, all pigs are, really, aren’t we? And don’t forget, we’re Rodents with Attitude.
Where’s my cucumber, Mam?