There’s nothing better than playing in the snow. We had a big old fashioned scrap this morning, every dog for themselves; Jess and Alf chickened out after a while and went back in but your pal Bones keeps playing until dad drags him in.
It seems that I am so busy these days I don’t have time to do anything; rush, rush, rush.
Yesterday we had some snow, not a great amount, I wasn’t digging my way from the front door to the end of the drive to go for a walk – although that would have been great fun – no, it was just a couple of inches, a light dusting you might call it. Now, as you know, I love it when it snows, we all do. Alfie and me run around like maniacs and Jess just wants to roll about in it. I like the cold on my paws and ploughing a furrow with my nose to see what’s hidden underneath.
There is a problem when it snows though. I have to spend ages re-marking my territory. This is not just in the back garden either, there is the fields, the bushes up the park and of course every lamppost and gatepost in the street. It seems that for the next day or two after the come comes I am permanently balanced on three legs. How I don’t run out of widdle I don’t know.
I gotta go there are one or two bushes and rocks out the back I need to sort out…
I am not being cocky when I write this but the truth is plain to see: I am a perfect machine. Mother Nature has made me this way. Sometimes the old girl makes mistakes and we get aberrations like Jess and Alf, but usually she gets things right.
I have bright eyes that let me see for miles, even without them my nose is so sensitive that I can picture the world around me just from scent. My ears can pick up the slightest sound and my brain is instantly alert. My fur is thick and wirey, it keeps me warm in the harshest of conditions and protects me from brambles and suchlike. I have a deep, broad chest that contains a heart that is so strong that I have almost limitless stamina. My legs are short but incredibly strong. I can run as fast and as far and jump as high as an olympian thanks to my broad, powerful hindquarters.
Therefore I resent my dad saying things like: “Hasn’t Bones got a fat arse?”
This morning we headed out across the fields for our morning run with mom. As you might have guessed, dad was still in his pit snoring his head off. Jess was sniffing every blade of grass, I was running around her legs trying to wind her up and Alf had gone off somewhere. Next thing I knew, Alf came barreling over to me, “Bones, there’s a big pack of giant dogs in the next field and I think they’re looking for trouble!” He panted.
“They’ve come to the right place then, leave this to me.” Off I went to the next field to have a look and see off this giant menace. When I got there, all psyched up for a mega scrap, I realised that as usual Alf was making fun of me; they weren’t dogs at all, they were cows. Someone in their wisdom had put a load of cows in one of our fields! This means from now on it is off limits to us – not fair, we were here first.
I trotted back and told Jess, “They aren’t dogs, they’re a bunch of cows.”
“Herd.” She said.
“Herd of cows.”
“Of course I’ve heard of cows!” She must think I’m stupid or something.
I can’t believe it has been so long since I tapped out the last entry into Bones’ Diary. I wonder if anyone has missed me? You were probably wondering why it has been so long? Mostly it is because my dad has been hogging the computer too much trying to write his book: “Me & Gus on the Roof of the World.” At the same time he is writing his own blog to promote it and tweeting or twittering or being a twit…whatever, it’s just annoying! I suppose I could use my mom’s netbook but the keys are too small and close together for my paws. What’s a dog to do?
Maybe I could put in my letter to Santa that I want my own PC (puppy computer), and that if he brings me one I promise to be a good little dog. Which brings me to the other reason I haven’t had much time to write: I’ve been a bit of a bad lad. I developed a taste for furniture design and busied myself the other day reshaping the sofa; it’s not difficult, anyone can do it – a little chunk here and a little chunk there. Dad didn’t seem impressed with my artistry and went a little crazy, “You little ******* you’ve eaten the sofa!” Obviously I hadn’t eaten it, even chubby Jess couldn’t get that down her neck, I’d spat the pieces of foam on the floor.
He went out with mom for a couple of hours and when they returned he announced that they’d been and ordered a new one; he turned to me and thanked me for my efforts and said he was so pleased he had to pay all that money out. “My pleasure dad, would you like to consult on my redesign of the new one?” I don’t know if he understood that or it was the big smile on my face that he saw but he pointed a threatening finger at me and hissed,”Bones, if you even look at the new sofa I will beat you to death with your own freshly severed tail!” Hmm, a bit harsh methinks.
I’ve been keeping my head down recently, staying out of his way and behaving as best I can. That’s partly the reason I haven’t been on his computer, I don’t want to antagonise him. He’ll forget about it eventually and I can set about my next project, an armchair that I consider a tad overstuffed.