Its about time: that fake tree is gone and Bones’ racetrack is officially open for 2012. Free at last, free at last. I’ve been lapping at a tremendous rate and I think I’m back up around my pre-christmas times already. One added element that I’m quite pleased with is one of the chairs blew over in the garden during the recent high winds and dad hasn’t righted it yet, so it has created an extra obstacle. I find that if I go into it fast enough and dip my shoulder at just the right time, I can slingshot off it and head for the kitchen door; I am launching myself over the step from a bit further back now so I don’t lose momentum and don’t break my stride, like a hairy hurdler. I remember when I was that small I had to be lifted over that step.
After my run I’ve started getting up onto the windowsill where Alf likes to guard the house; now I’m a big lad I think it’s only fair for me to help with home security and keep a watchful eye on the street. I climb up from the arm of the sofa and behind the curtain, problem is I can’t get back down. The curtain swings back and I can’t see the arm to step back down on. Alf jumps down but my legs are stumpy compared to his, so it’s a bit of a long drop. Dad tells me off when I get up there, he thinks I’m crazy enough to try jumping down but forget that. He comes and picks me up and puts me on the ground but its not long before I’m back up there; if I’m getting down then I’ll choose when.
Skinny Alf told me that dad doesn’t want me to jump because I could break all my legs and if that happens the vet will cut them all off and feed them to stray cats, then I’ll have to go on a cart when it’s time for a walk. I hope that’s not true, if I haven’t got any legs, how will I have a scratch?