Wednesday, 18 June 2014

Misty's diary: the dog, the cursed dog

Another entry from Misty’s diary. In which he considers the reprehensible behaviour of the dog, bad enough when it’s simply messy, unforgivable when it borders on treachery.

June 2014

The domestics were away again this weekend. Well, they need their time off, of course they do, and I don’t begrudge it. And they didn’t take me: at least that’s a lesson they’ve learned. Honestly, they used to coop me up for hours in that ghastly metal cage of a car, but I showed them. Not by peeing everywhere, or even getting the claws out, as some of my pals tell me they’ve done; oh no, I find a constant prowl, interspersed with occasional growls and sustained low-pitched mewing gets the message across quite strongly enough.

“Five hours and he hasn’t stopped that intolerable racket,” the male domestic said. 

Yes, well, I had to spend those five hours in that ghastly contraption.

It’s a mercy to be spared that fate these days. Though I have to confess, a little bit of me did feel just slightly put out that they didn’t even ask if I wanted to come. I could have given them a haughty shake of the head, and a sniff, which would have been much more satisfying than just being left behind without a by-your-leave.

They took the bloody dog, Janka, of course. Great lump. She just trots along faithfully behind them, wherever they’re going, and however long it takes. No mind of her own. No pride. No willpower.

That was a lesson the domestics had to re-learn, I understand, while they were away. She has no power of discrimination when it comes to food. “That’s edible,” she exclaims when she sees something that might just be. And she flings herself on it, vacuuming it up in two shakes of a pair of whiskers. Apparently, that’s what she did with the bowls of the two other dogs who were there.

The results were apparently spectacular. What’s it the medical specialists among the domestics call it? Output? Yes, that’s it. Input’s what you eat and drink, output’s from the other end. Seems Janka’s output went through the roof.

Well, not literally. Not really through the roof, or even on the floor, but since like all dogs all she can do is wag her back paws instead of making a proper hole, the output actually went into lots and lots of little bags. Evil-smelling little bags which the domestics had to deal with.

Poor dumb animal
All input and a lot too much output

I suppose dogs just aren’t civilised. Though to be fair, I’ve been tempted to behave that way myself, ever since the female domestic turned the perfectly comfortable garden we had into a terrible desert of gravel paths and vegetable beds protected with mesh I can’t get through. Fortunately, the neighbour’s decided to do something about her own garden, so I have alternative toilet facilities close by. But Janka wouldn’t care anyway. Just makes her mess and leaves it for the domestics.

Honestly, there are times I don’t grasp what they see in her.

Although I’ve perhaps begun to understand why the male domestic likes her. The footman. An event after they got home made an important point.

Back on the chief Domestic's lap
My way of saying "welcome home"
I was generous as always on their return, and came to lie on the Chief Domestic’s lap. No hard feelings, I wanted to say. And to show the footman nothing had changed with him either, I had a good pounce on his arm later on. But, would you believe it, before I could plunge the teeth and the claws in, Janka, who was lying right next to him, snapped at me. 

Snapped at me! 


At ME!

What can she be thinking of? Does she feel sorry for him? He basically relishes it when I have a go. He feels I’m at least paying attention to him. Yes, of course it hurts. A bit. But nothing he doesn’t recover from pretty soon. And it teaches him such a useful message, about relative importances in the scale of things. By sabotaging all my careful educational work, Janka just does so much damage.

To say nothing of being downright disloyal.

Well, she should have learned by now that crossing me’s not a smart move. She got reminded yesterday when she tried to get back into the house after her evening pee. Brilliant. You should have seen that great lump cowering outside the back door as I – little me – just lay across the doorway. Watching her whimper. I
’m not sure she has sufficient brains, but I hope she realised she was being taught a lesson.

As for the footman, when Janka snapped at me, he told her “good for you, you show the vicious little beggar.” Oh dear, oh dear. Doesn’t learn his lessons any quicker than the dumb dog. I don’t forget. And I know how to wait for my chance. He can expect his correction any time.

When he least expects it.

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