How could anyone take exception to my enthusiasms? To my leapings and boundings at the first sign of Kemo Sabe going upstairs or moving from room to room? To the fact that I will always follow her, faithfully, because where she is, there I must be, no matter how little room there is for me under the desk; or how often my squashing in there switches off the electrical connection to the internet (accidentally of course; why would I ever do such a thing on purpose?). To avoid disconnecting her from catching-up with Indian Summers, as happened the other day, I have now been assigned an attractive tweedy bed, from the same stable as young Nico’s; you can see from this picture that I am unhappy about it, though I have fallen asleep within it on a couple of occasions!
How, I ask myself moreover, could anyone mind my utterly unconscious and unintentional vocalisations which burst forth like a bubbling stream whenever something exciting presents itself? Routines are never just routine for a spaniel, and when I am thrilled, know you not I must speak? Here I am ‘at rest’ as it were, but were I to glimpse Kemo Sabe touching a lead, or moving towards Jo’s cage, or about to hoover the landing, I’d be up and doing, ready for whatever action seemed to be about to present itself, and then whining and whimpering as the world of fun began to unravel and I took my place in it, like a master of ceremonies. But enough is apparently enough, it now seems, and in the face of renewed training sessions I am having to try to keep a lid on the excitement, particularly as I tend to wind everyone up. When it all comes down to it, I am being asked to grow up which, being only three, is a bit more of a challenge than I had anticipated, though I am determined to do my best.
I am undoubtedly at my best on the morning run, when I am always to be relied on to eschew seaweed-eating while still running free. I am no trouble, and this knowledge pleases me. What a lovely time we had of it, too: as we stood listening to the skylarks over the dunes, and watched the sandpipers scuttling towards the surf, our first swallow swooped in front of us, safely returned from Africa to grace our summer months. The weather has been truly glorious lately and the creatures of all kinds are out in force. Just now, for instance, Mr Frog plopped into the pond, which we’d been weeding, and stared up at us as we stared at him. With such wonders all around us, how can I possibly mind being asked to gain a little more self-possession?