Woofologies – Lady Doodles here. Pack Mistress send hers apologies but says she is too busy to write blogs because she’s far too busy writing woofin speeches. First there was the eulogy (can’t woof that) for her dear friend Erik. Even though she practised for days beforehand she still choked up apparently when addressing the assembled throngs in the crematorium and sounded like a croaking goat.

“Unaccustomed as I am to public peaking,” she began, tongue in cheek, “I’ve spoken at Blackburn Cathedral, on the sofa on ITV’s This Morning and even on News at Ten, but this is worse.”

Too right it was, everyone just thought she was blowing her own trumpet – she can’t play one of those either, hasn’t got enough breath from smoking too many rollies.

Now she’s working on her presentation for the Annual Conference of the National HIV Nurses Association in Cardiff City Hall, entitled ‘Late Diagnosis.’ She’s going to be late for that too if she doesn’t get a move on. She’s going tomorrow, I know because I heard her arranging for the dog sitter to pick me up. 

She’s getting nervous now because there will be hundreds of people there and a great big screen like in the cinema. She keeps reading her dialogue out to practice her timings, so I know it woof by woof; she’s even added a picture of me and that stupid collie with a melon on its head with the caption, “Feeling melancholy – get a dog.”

Get a dog! She means get a dog like me, not any old dog – one who is a multi-tasker, who can chew sticks, toss shoes and write blogs at the same time. She should take me with her; say I’m her therapy dog. I may not be everyone’s idea of a therapy dog, because although I am half Labrador I’m less willing to please than that soppy lot. I’ve got a mind of my own and I like to do things in my own time. Pack mistress excuses me by saying, “Oh, it’s the poodle in her.”

She can talk, she does exactly what she pleases when she pleases since we’ve been living on our own and acting even more eccentric/mad than usual. Not only does she walk around spouting speeches, she’s started talking to the crockery. “When did you plates start getting so heavy?”she asks them – and worse still, singing to them, “You’re the one that I want…. oh oh oh…. the one I need, oh yes indeeeeeeed.” 

She’s packing now and faffing over what to wear – I did offer her the shocking pink cowgirl hat I wore to Ebony’s birthday party, but she turned her nose up. Hope she doesn’t end up looking like a dog’s dinner, talking of which, it’s about woofin time she fed me. But she’s wandered off doing something else – must be the poodle in her!



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