My looks are ruined. I was a handsome, upright, distinguished specimen of the Labrador breed with a certain standing in the neighbourhood and now look at me. People have come to expect my face sticking out of the cat flap in the front door as they pass by. Not now. My eyes are watering just thinking about doing it. My head’s bald, I look like I’ve got a golf ball in my cheek and the wounds from that blessed bitch are on display for all to see, encrusted with dried blood in that annoying shade of grey that us dogs hate. Before they went off, he’d made a joke about changing his T shirt from the one with the nice dribbles down the front to a red one.
‘It’s not a bull we’re going to pick up, is it?’ he asked her. I ask you. If that’s not an omen then I don’t know what is.
‘No, it’s a dog and they’re colour blind.’
‘But it might be a really annoying shade of grey’.
‘Ha. Don’t be silly’. I rest my case.
I’m not going to go over the ins and outs of what happened, you can read her blog if you fancy being really bored (at least that much hasn’t changed). All I can say is that I thought I was a gonner and if it hadn’t been for the bigger boy, I would have been. Worse still, the old lady came off worst of all and she’s my most exciting food source. Got to rest now, these drugs they’ve given me make me feel good but I just want to sleep. Some beauty sleep.
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