I must not eat wood
I’m in detention and have to write out a hundred times ‘I must not eat wood’. What I actually feel like writing is ‘if you put me on a diet I’m going to eat everything I can find’. The problem is that the last couple of nights I’ve been sick in the night with all the bits of wood my body can’t process. Mum is usually very patient about these things, but she had to push me off the bed on Saturday night as I was threatening to be sick right there on the duvet. Mum says she just doesn’t know how to stop me. We spend a lot of time outdoors and our garden is quite large. Short of putting me in some sort of security pen, (her idea and not mine), she is at a bit of a loss. I can see her point but this diet is really getting to me. It’s been going on so long and has just stepped up yet another level. Why can’t she accept that I’m just big-boned?
Two-thirds of the way there
Ari is two-thirds of the way to filling his new vegetable troughs, but is now worrying they won’t be ready in time. It’s amazing just how much compost he’s managed to make in his compost bins. Dad helped him dig some more out and move it to the troughs, but they still have a long way to go. Mum is helping move everything that isn’t ready to give it more time to break down. As usually Aristotle is getting impatient. He’s hoping to start sowing things into the those troughs in the next few weeks. On the bright side, that should mean we have to spend a lot of time outdoors.
I love evenings when Dad is around and we all get to sit on the settee. Mum never bothers sitting in the lounge when Dad isn’t here, which is a shame really. It all works really well until Ari complains we’re making too much noise and he is ready to go to bed because he’s tired. He’s such a funny dog.