The most spoilt dog in the whole of Ireland is currently curled up on the beanbag with #2 son, her silky ears twitching as she obviously has a lovely, bunny-chasing dream. She took hubby and #2 for a drag around the field this morning. He also let her off the lead (I know I did too, but I learnt my lesson) and had to wait for half an hour until she’d finished rocketing backwards and forwards from one side of the field to the other like a large, furry pinball. Once again she came back though, which is surely more than a fluke?

I have noticed that she’s already absorbing some of the madness that is inherent with living in this household. She’s also started back-chatting, so she’s certainly fitting in well. My Mum, who has sadly gone home now, and who has no truck with this pampering of pets stuff, told B in no uncertain terms this morning that she would get fed after, and only after, she’d drunk her tea. B threw herself down on her blanket, muttering in an unbelievably sing-songy growl, which translated would surely be: ‘bloody hell, I’m starving, move your arse and make my breakfast woman’.

The bunnies, who have taken a severe knockback by B’s appearance, have regrouped, rallied and come up with a new plan. We found this out yesterday when B was on her bed by the large front windows and all of a sudden there was such an unholy row we wondered what the hell had happened. Rushing to her aid, we found that a couple of the bunnies thought it was very funny to parade on the front lawn, shamelessly goading poor old B, and waving their fluffy white bottoms in her direction. No amount of yowling, barking and hurling herself at the front door could stop their little games, and we did wonder whether the little devils were actually enjoying themselves. Bunnies 1, B nil.

B’s other worrying habit is tidiness. We’re not sure exactly why this strange behaviour is manifesting itself, and there seems to be no particular purpose in her tidying, but she seems to find it quite satisfying. Yesterday when I was in the bath, she sauntered in, picked up the bath mat and walked out with it. Okay, I thought to myself, I’ll just ignore it and see where this is going. Then she came back and picked up my undies, which had been discarded when I hopped into the bath, and walked out with those. This was slightly more worrying, but my Mum intercepted her in the hall with my knickers so no harm done. My favourite is when she picks up her blanket, gives it a good shake and a bite for good measure (’grrrrrr, take that, bastard blanket’), then drops it again in exactly the same place. It must accomplish something, we’re just not sure what. Still, seeing as she’s the only one in the house who ever picks anything up, I’m happy to let her get on with it.

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