Wilma wouldn’t listen. You know what puppies are like, though you might think that statement just a little rich coming from me. I told her that when Alfie and I had bones the other week and ate them too quickly we ended up getting the runs, but she thought she knew better. “Oh no, Ari, I can eat anything. I’ve got a cast iron stomach. Or so Mum says.” Well who’s laughing now? Actually to be fair none of us is. Our Mistress is not laughing having had to clean up in the kitchen and spend the night on the settee with her. Alfie and I aren’t laughing as it means Wilma has been taken off bones for 24 hours while everything settles down, so we don’t get to nibble them when she’s not looking and of course Wilma is not laughing as she is missing her bones. Shadow’s just not that sort of dog. She’s still grumbling that Wilma is being given special treatment and there is an unfair distribution of the bone supply.
I should have headed this ‘Dear Mr Farmer…’ but I’m not very good at asking. Because of having to walk on grass so my legs can recover I’ve been going on a different walk and the grass is really long and comes right up to my back. I keep getting quite wet as I walk and you should see the state of our Mistress’s jeans. Usually the farmer cuts the edge of the field quite regularly to make walking easier, but I guess everything has grown really quickly over the last couple of weeks and it’s a big job. Our Mistress said I shouldn’t complain as it’s very generous that he lets us walk there at all, which is true, and I do love those fields. Ah well. I can be patient… no, I can, really!
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