Frankly Speaking – the Last Dog Days (a guest post)

Yes, my dies caniculares are coming to an end for this year. It’s been an eventful time with my star in the ascendent and the adoring hordes clamoring for my personal attention, but I have made it through with my ears perked, tail aloft and nose up. This, despite extreme heat in a restricted space with a neurotic bitch. She knows who she is. Her time will come.

My pack went one down. No, not her (her time will come) – the other male slipped out under cover of darkness. Of course, I knew – how could I not? It’s hard for a leader to recover poise after such a blow, but since that curious incident of the human in the night time, I have been especially attentive. These creatures need a leader, especially those beasts who arrive from the sea confused and directionless. Who better to guide them? Many arrive lost without their own pack, which they have misguidedly left where they call ‘home’. Fools! I can only do so much to help them without a treat incentive. All these tricks and sitting pretty consume a vast amount of energy.

Speaking of which, the remaining human in my immediate pack has instituted a regime. I should have been wary when I started the week on fresh fish and pasta and was given the new name ‘pachyderm’. Since then, it’s been strictly kibble and that human throwing itself between me and digestives shouting ‘NO!’ Females, eh? Embarrassing. I am allowed only a dog treat from an opening in a nearby building. Even for this, I must jump. Occasionally, when I locate it, I mark the vehicle of ‘the one who calls me Fred’ and then my human rewards me.

As these days pass, I spend more time challenging the sea – it keeps moving and remains defiantly undrinkable. I persist. To hide my frustration, I dig furiously into the sand. Sometimes, even I am disgusted by what I discover there. And don’t get me started on the state of the nearby park. Humans! Ugh! Mine still won’t let me ‘clean’ the super-old bits of town, though. Ungracious.

Time flies, now to have a wash, take a walk, find dirt, have another wash, and choose a bed unchewed by she whose time will come. Her head fits in my jaw. Just sayin’. To sleep to dream of treats…

Frank ‘Scrapper’ Tyke, his mark

(Image: © Tori Andrews Photography)

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