This has been a weekend of small, fluffy dogs.
On Saturday, we had a visit from Bella and her human, Annabelle’s friend Sian. Bella is a cross between a Bichon Frise, a Border Terrier and a Tasmanian Devil. Still, one must make allowances, she’s only a few months old.
We all went for a walk on Three Cliffs Bay so Bella and I could have a run. Pearl stayed on the lead because there were loads of kids and she gets so scared of the noise they make she’d run home if she wasn’t restrained. I chased Bella around a bit – I wanted to catch her so I could roll her in the sand – but party pooper Annabelle put a stop to that.
In summer, Three Cliffs Bay fills up with kids and cows. That’s right, I said cows. There are one or two farmers around here who seem to think it’s a good idea to keep cows on the beach. This means that people – especially kids and dogs – are in constant danger of getting POO on them while they’re trying to enjoy the sun and the sea.
There’s no animal like a cow for producing poo; their bottoms are like taps with liquid poo continually pouring out. If I did that I’d be taken to the vet, but the farmers just let the cows carry on pooing for Britain. (There’s a word for pooing that rhymes with Britain but I’m not allowed to use it.)
Bella loves cow poo. She really thinks it makes her look and smell good. She rolled in it twice on the way back from the beach and Sian had to wash it off in the river – not an easy task, because Bella kept running away.
Sunday’s visitor was Hope, a miniature Schnauzer. I managed to restrain myself from chasing her, but it was touch and go – when you’re confronted with something small and fluffy, it’s hard not to treat it like a toy. Even when it’s got a face like a grumpy old man.
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