Being not too fond of weekdays in general, and Mondays in particular, I haven't done very much today. That said, BC hasn't been in touch with my partner today, so that's another one to me! I'll use my second blog entry to write about my favourite topic: myself. I don’t recall any of my earliest moments; I didn’t have a very nice puppyhood, but my seven years have been full of happiness since coming to live in Hampshire. With paw on wood, nothing seriously unpleasant has happened to me personally, but I have been trying to pick out the best highlight and worst lowlight that the past seven years have brought me to share on the blog. The most interesting thing that has happened to me recently is that, last year, I played ‘Bullseye’ in two different versions of Oliver! To take this in its context, you have to understand that I have SUFFERED in the past for my resemblance to this fictitious mutt. I cannot go anywhere outside my street without someone stopping me to say that I am Bullseye (the pooch belonging to nasty old Bill Sykes); a woman once ran the length of a beach in Ilfracombe just to confirm that my resemblance to him is uncanny. I was force-fed four bags of pork scratchings in the Horse and Groom pub by an unknown inebriated gent because he thought I actually was Bullseye (admittedly, that wasn’t too bad). Well, it took six years, but I finally made it (twice) – the first set of performances were my favourite; tiring at the time but fantastic fun. OK, so I didn’t get to sing a song on my own, but I did join in a bit at the end. I’ve had quite a lot of good luck in the last few years, but the start of my acting career is probably the nicest thing that’s happened to me recently.
But what about the worst thing? I’ve had my fair share of cuts, bruises and dodgy tummies. Chicken for tea when I wanted beef – a stick of carrot as a so-called treat when I’ve known for a fact there’s been liver in the fridge - but nothing really much worse than that. I was thinking about this while I was on holiday in Devon this summer. We go to Dartmoor every year and have the most fantastic walks. I think it’s my favourite place in the world. I remember the first year we went. This was in the days of The Lead (I was a bit of a pickle in my younger days) and we had a special very lengthy one especially for Dartmoor. One particular day, we were on our way back to the car after a very long ankle-popping walk of many miles. We could see the car, despite still being a number of miles away from it, as we were standing on very high ground at the top of a quarry. The ground was very boggy and my partner decided that the safest way was to take a small path down into the quarry. I’d have preferred to take my chances with the bog, quite frankly. As I anticipated, my partner lost her footing (women – honestly!!) and began to tumble down the quarry wall. Given that I had been against the quarry from the beginning, I found it hard to suppress a wry grin at the sight of her rapid descent, trailing a length of slack blue rope behind her. It took me only a few seconds, coincidentally the exact same number of seconds it took for me to be wrenched violently off my paws, to realise that I was in fact firmly attached to the other end of this blue rope. Woman and impossibly handsome dog ended up crumpled in a heap at the foot of the quarry – thankfully my partner’s body cushioned my fall, so I remained uninjured. She wasn’t quite so lucky, but I won’t repeat the rich salad of exotic words she chose to entertain me with on the remaining two-mile walk back to the car. This is a family-friendly blog. We tend to give quarries a wide berth these days.
I have had a very busy evening, chasing a stick. The executive life is full of these challenges. Good night.