For those of you who followed Fred’s story from abandoned street puppy in Antigua to the lap of luxury in the UK this post will be boring, sorry. Oh balls, I’m not sorry really, but British convention states that we ought to apologise, all the time, for everything, even when it was someone else’s fault, we are sorry. It’s strange that we’re sorry when someone else stands on our foot, sorry when some wanker in a pub spills our red wine down our brand new white top, but we’re never sorry about the things for which we should be sorry; sorry for all the times we hurt those we love with harsh words, sorry for ignoring the silences in conversation which screamed ‘help me’ but we were too wrapped up in our own self-importance to listen. So no I’m not sorry about some repetition. People always have the option to ignore me and if reading some pointless crap twice in a week is the worst thing to happen to you, well you’re fucking lucky.
So, things Fred has learned in his 6 short weeks with his new humans (and Holly).
The first lines being day 1 of his capture and final lines being today.
He can’t fly. Bolshy and Rat-bag, the bullfinches, have spent the day tormenting him.
He has a tail.
His human doesn’t like him staring at her on the toilet.
There needs to be 2 more hours in the day for sleep.
The puppy in the patio door is unsociable and won’t play no matter how much he licks and woofs at it.
Bikini tops are not chew toys and his human gets very cross when she finds a chewed one.
Fish do not make good friends.
Knows what his winky is for and tried to sexually assault Sandy the beach bar dog.
The puppy in the patio door is still an unsociable twat and the human is getting a bit pissed off with dog snot marks all over the door.
England is cold, no really it’s COLD, seriously.
If he eats puppy pads his poo turns blue.
Oinky pig (Holly’s dog toy) is the new enemy and is not to be trusted.
The puppy in the patio door followed him home from Antigua and lives in the big television, it’s still not learned any social niceties, and woofing at it still doesn’t help. Puppy will be ignored from now on.
He likes tennis.
He really really likes Yorkshire Puddings.
His jury is still undecided on rivers, but at least you can drink them, or at least try.
Running through long grass is awesome right up until you lose control of all 4 legs, go arse over nipples and sprain your front paw. Then it stops being fun very quickly
But most of all Fred has learned that it’s worth living with an emotional ranting human, at least the food is regular, the cuddles are lavish, and even the flea baths are tolerable. It’s a lot better than living under a dock on a harbour, being eaten by ants, ticks, fleas on the outside and worms on the inside, not knowing where your next meal is coming from.