A day both troubling and satisfying.
Maisie gave me a bath today, which was very pleasureable, and I have been enjoying some delicious sliced meat lately. The reason being that I have suffered a grave resurgence of my patchy skin infection, which was causing severe discomfort. It has bothered me for some time, beginning a long while before my latest Oliver! show, but I have refrained from mentioning it for fear of causing alarm. Anyway, last week, I was tricked into going to the vets' and had two - TWO! - huge injections, a stash of tablets (hence the meat) and instructions for twice-weekly baths. All somewhat tiresome, but it is doing the trick. And, happy day, yesterday for the first time in at least two months, I awoke with a swollen Little Jasper! A SURE sign of recovery!! Even my partner was pleased to greet him, which, I can assure you, is not usually the case. Consequently, I am much happier today.
My enjoyment of the day was only increased at Abbotstone, where my partner and I took our evening's exercise. In the big field, I happened upon a large and beautiful red deer grazing. I gave chase but wisely left off at a convenient point, remembering only too well the events of 12 September 2006 and how I was nearly on the receiving end of a severe kicking (cf. The Stag). I paused only momentarily to get my breath back and moved in the direction of some pheasants.
Only a few minutes later, however, there came the sound of barking followed by pursuit. I re-entered the field to see the same beautiful hoofed lady being chased by a dog I did not recognise. Its partners were some way off. "Hey!!" I shouted, running in his direction, "That's MY deer!"
"Bog off, you fat turd!" came the breathless reply, "I saw her first!" He didn't even stop running. I gave momentary pursuit, intending to whip him good and proper for his crude insult, but stopped as I caught a distinct whiff of stale testosterone, wafting over from the other side of the hedge.
"You're right!" I barked, "I AM a fat turd, and I submit to your greatness. The deer is yours." And with that I scuttled off back to my partner, on the path back to the car. I heard the interloper dog laughing at me. I paused in my journey, straining to hear the inevitable.
"Hur hur hur..." I heard, as he continued his pursuit, "Stupid bull terrier. Those fools are as thick as pig shi--- urk!" His mocking laughter was abruptly cut off as he skidded but failed to avoid crashing into the legs of the herd's Head Stag. A conversation similar to the one the Stag and I shared on 12/9 began. I heard the satisfying thud of hoof against flank and a very enjoyable yelp of intermingled pain and fear. I hesitated just long enough to listen to the whimpering of the upstart as he hobbled back to his partners and then trotted quietly back to the car, chuckling all the while.
Somewhat troubling is the idea that my partner has had for turning my journals into some sort of book, perhaps for publication purposes. Oh dear. She has been bitten by some sort of bug, I fear. Her Jane Austen script from the events described in February and March was turned over for inspection to the BBC. Rather than dismissing it out of hand, they informed my partner that they would be reading it for consideration - we are waiting to hear from them. I fear the poor girl may be getting ideas above her station. Whilst I would obviously be happy to go on press tours, TV chat shows and photo shoots to promote my work, not to mention seeing crude fakes of my pawtograph being sold on Ebay, it would be too much for my partner. This sort of vainglorious self-promotion must be stamped on swiftly, and I know just the Staffordshire Bull Terrier to do it. I will keep the blog posted with my progress.