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Sunday, 4 May 2014


Now I think it would be fair to say that I don't get on with everyone. And I don't necessarily blame Midge the farm dog or that Golden Retreiver from up the road for not liking me. After all, I make my feelings pretty clear so why shouldn't they. It's not that I wasn't socialised properly as a puppy. I had lots of friends, including a Golden Retreiver and a Border Collie. It's just that we dogs, like people, make up our minds on an individual basis. 

There are some dogs I do like however, and Henry from next door is one of them. He's a hound, so he's a lot bigger than me, and he's a rescue dog, but his manners are impeccable and it's all waggy tails and polite sniffing when we meet. Last week, our owners met at the turning point of our walk, so we came home together. As we were walking along amicably, tractor man saw us and laughingly described me as Henry's side kick! Bloomin'cheek! I see him more as a kindred spirit, or potentially a body guard. Anyway, I learnt that Henry had been injured in action - too much digging which, apparently, is his little weakness. He was on medication and had to be kept on a lead to prevent further mishap. I have the occasional problem if I chase my ball too much. It's an old injury caused by jumping, Grand National style, over the Guinea Pig's apex run, as a youngster. I don't really like to talk about it. Still, us old soldiers must stick together.

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