Aha! (grrff... snuffle..httt...snort)
Hang on... (sssfhhh...snff)
And... I'M UP!
Phew! I am not used to doing things for myself. I am used to better attention than this from my staff. My partner has been MOST neglectful in lifting me into the typing chair to update my blog. I have been most dissatisfied with the enforced separation. However, my partner has gone out with Dolores to see Maureen Lipman and, as you can see, I have managed to log on and haul myself into the typing chair unaided. I think I might have strained something.
As an illustration of just how tardy my partner has been can be taken from the fact that this entry was originally begun in the local pub, being paw-written on a sheet of paper before I returned happily home to type up my notes. This was LAST Monday. A full week has elapsed since then. And this despite my very clear squeakings and hints to my partner. I suppose, when you love someone, you have to love them even when they are annoying but, really, this is a bit much.
I have also had a most trying weekend. It is no small wonder that I have kept my sanity. Yesterday the weather was so foul that I could not be persuaded into taking my exercise. Well, neither would you, if you had to clean yourself with your tongue... But the day before, Saturday, was more testing even than that.
My partner's dramatic society had a stand at a local "fayre" (and I'll tell you frankly now: I didn't find the fayre fair at all). She and her colleagues were promoting their next production - a pantomime for December; this year it is to be Robin Hood. I had benevolently agreed to accompany my partner to this, knowing as I do that my presence always attracts much positive attention (see the recent photograph of my charming mug from the local paper in a previous entry). As a way of drawing further attention to our forthcoming theatricals, it was agreed that one or two bods would dress up in suitable Robin Hood/Maid Marian/Merry Outlaw-type costumes.
Now then. The perceptive among you may have already twigged as to what might be coming next. I still struggle to find the words to describe my opinions on the subject. So instead, with barely-concealed indignation, I share with you now the following photographs featuring the lovely Helen dressed as Maid Marian, her boyfriend Tom costumed as one of the two Robin Hoods and one other "volunteer".
How can I show my face in the park again?
My partner informed me that, if I wished to continue being fed, then I would enjoy myself. True, the lady in the ice-cream van DID give me a few broken cones to eat, and I did attract a lot of adoring attention. But I believe it came at a rather high cost to my dignity. I learn, however, that it could have been WORSE. The other outfit that my partner was considering for me was that of a medieval court jester. My partner ultimately decided that the little bells on the hat would be too irritating for me. And for this I am supposed to be grateful. I am still considering what punishment to administer. But I believe it may involve a light supper of hard-boiled egg, broccoli and Jerusalem artichokes consumed just before bedtime. Oh yes. There will be nothing "merry" about that.
On to easier topics: My partner and I attended the local pub quiz the other day (the day I composed my now-outdated paw-written article, in fact). We usually do quite well, winning at least a free drink or two and sometimes even some cash. My partner is good at history and general knowledge and I like the meat-related questions. The evening was also a bit of a compromise between us - I wanted to go out that evening, but was too tired for sport, as I have been somewhat overdoing it of late in the woods. On a previous evening, I had been en route back to the car after a highly satisfying time chasing wily beasties, when a rather chubby fox unwisely crossed my path. Naturally, I gave chase and a frenzied pursuit ensued. I was somewhat surprised to scent that my quarry was actually a young lady, and it didn't take all of my nasal capacities to detect that she was mighty attractive. Pondering this fact slowed my pace a little, and the fair bloom outran me. I was so busy watching her magnificent behind swish away that I tripped and fell face-first into a stagnant and befouled old puddle.
I returned, stinking and filthy, but exhilarated, to my partner who was seriously unimpressed. I was taken directly to the river and told to clean myself immediately. This I proceeded to do with a very bad grace. But I was laughing on the inside.
A day or two later, while pursuing the same route, I picked up the sweet maiden's scent again. It seemed ripe with messages of attraction and invitation. However, not wishing to appear precipitate with the young damsel, I decided to seek the advice of my girlfriend Candy in the park the next day. I asked Candy a variety of probing questions - "What could the scents mean?", "If the vixen was indeed attracted to me, then why did she run away so?", "Did I stand a chance with her?", "Where might this relationship go?". And so forth. Candy listened for a while, and then pursed her lips and rose to leave. She turned her back on me and began to stalk off.
"Come back!" I called, "What d'you think?"
"Jasper." Candy replied, without looking at me and speaking in a strange, high-pitched, rather strangled voice, "I might not have time to play with you in the park tomorrow. I might be busy." And off she padded - and she hasn't spoken to me since.
Eh? What did I do? I don't understand women.
Oh, for goodness' sake.