Exercise for dad

You skins don’t realise just how helpful a dog like myself can be. This morning dad was eating breakfast while watching some league cup highlights he’d recorded from last night, Alf was in his favourite place on the windowsill, guarding the house. Jess and I were locked in a battle to the death and we were loving every minute of it.

Eventually dad got a bit annoyed because we were making so much noise while he was watching football (but really because his team were knocked out of the competition) and he told us to behave; obviously we ignored him. He said we’d got until the count of 3 then he was going to get up. We looked at him for a second, stupid skin – dogs can’t count – then carried on fighting. “1….2….3 – right then!” He got out of his chair with a growl and Alf yelled “Get ’em dad!” Jess did her usual trick of sitting down and smiling sheepishly (shameful thing to do if you’re a sheepdog) and of course dad’s a big softy for that, but I tried to do a runner, hard to do when you’re laughing that hard but skins aren’t that quick and I was around him, under the coffee table and out the door before he could catch me.

I heard him heading back to his chair so I ran back into the living room. He turned and made a grab for my collar but again my superior reflexes kept me out of reach and I lapped the room while he shook his fist and threatenened to have my hide when he caught me, but dad you ain’t gonna catch me!

This time he was determined and followed me through the hall to the kitchen; if I go through the kitchen into the garden he’s got no chance…..ooops, back door’s shut. I turned around and there he was, towering over me like a huge towering thing. He lurched forward, “Gotcha, you little shite!” I went straight at him, feinted to the left then dodged right and I was past him. He turned and followed me into the hall again, his breath coming in gasps as he lumbered along behind me like an angry ogre.

I was already back in the living room again and gleefully lapping the coffee table like a furry olympian. Jess had hopped up onto the  settee, her and Alf yelling abuse at us both. Hapless dad filled the doorway, his eyes burning with hellfire, every sinew shaking. “BONES!!! STOP RIGHT THERE!” he thundered. Erm…..no.

I paused only to see what his next move would be; he took a step forward and I shot around the back of the table once again. This was getting too easy, he was slowing down, if he slowed any more his engine would surely stall. I was getting too cocky by this point and darted towards him, intending to peel off at the last second. As I approached he started bending to grab my collar, the hand like a bulldozer’s shovel coming closer. I dipped a shoulder and went to change direction but disaster! The wood floor below me was too slippy and my paws couldn’t gain purchase. I was like Wile E. Coyote after running off a cliff: no matter how quickly my legs moved, I wasn’t going anywhere. The massive claw descended like a golden eagle’s taking a lamb and my collar was snared. Dad was breathing like Darth Vader with asthma by this time and I was still chuckling as I was led on the walk of shame back to my play pen.

Locked up now, I tried to look all sad and cute but I couldn’t hold it and just started laughing again. He wagged his finger at me but the words wouldn’t form between gasps for breath. He stumbled off to watch the rest of the football, he cast an icy glare at Jess and Alf and they were quiet – the creeps!

Dad should be grateful, that was probably the most exercise he’s had since…well….the last time he tried to catch me, I suppose. I’m only thinking of his health and well-being…….honest!  ; )