I firmly believe that our Bert should have come complete with a little handbook strapped securely around his scrawny neck. Never, ever have I come across a creature so endearing, yet so totally and utterly infuriating and perplexing.
Let me elaborate: in our house, it’s often difficult to try and establish what Bertie might try and eat next, the fruit bowl being his current target of choice. The fixation before that was the Christmas tree chocolates: expertly donning his karabiners and heavy-duty tinsel rope, he would scale the lofty heights of the Christmas tree to get at the tasty morsels, foil and all. Then it was lip balm, swiftly and expertly extricated from where they nestled, in the top of my handbag or on the coffee table, we’d come home to find him burping contentedly, empty tubes of lip balm in his bed, his lips soft and luscious. He moved swiftly and strangely on to satsumas. So at the moment we have this daily dilemma as to where to put the fruit bowl so that Bertie the Christmas Kleptomaniac can’t reach it. Not easy when he’s probably as tall as Hubby when he’s on his hind legs. Arriving back from the dogs, then, we found that the breakfast bar hadn’t been a good choice, and that he’d carefully swiped each piece of fruit, given it an experimental chew, then, dependent on its yumminess, it had either been devoured or spat out. Yes, okay, I know that as obsessions go this isn’t the unhealthiest, but having established that he doesn’t really like satsumas, he’s seemingly unable to resist temptation to keep nicking them. Like the kid in the candy store, they’re there and he just has to have one more.
This prompted yet another interesting text conversation with J’s lubly other half, C (our resident greyhound expert) about our general lack of luck with greyhounds (racing or otherwise) and Bertie’s current bonkers obsession. ‘That’s our Berts’, remarked C, ‘rewriting centuries of indoctrinated beliefs about greyhounds: rabbit killers? Nah. Agile? Nah. Satsumas? Yes please. What a dope’
Inevitably then, every morning the children stumble out of bed to discover new patches of luminescent orange vomit, usually on my new carpet at the top of the stairs, prompting cries of ‘Mum! The dog’s hurled again!’ and more swearing than even the Power Plate elicited the week before. What next, I wonder, on Bert’s gastronomic tour of the house? Condiments? Leather goods? A trip to the bathroom for a shampoo sundae? Give me strength.
poops the consistency of Mr. Whippy’s,
sparkly tinsely ones, and now
luminous orange vomit.
Can’t beat it for variety, but I don’t envy the clean-up.
Comment by Sandra in Maryland — December 18, 2007 @ 8:00 pm
Comment by SUSAN B — December 18, 2007 @ 9:58 pm
Susan: I find the worst thing is fighting the temptation to have a really close look to find out what exactly it is!! The people in my village already think I’m a complete loon, but inspecting his poo would surely have me committed to an asylum hee hee!! I know, great shot that one isn’t it - he loves the kids! xx
Comment by englishmuminireland — December 18, 2007 @ 10:21 pm
Comment by Sandra in Maryland — December 19, 2007 @ 2:42 am
PS EM and SusanB - do you think we could persuade Sandra to adopt a new addition to her family sofa in Maryland?!!
Comment by Taffy's Mum — December 19, 2007 @ 10:41 am
Taffy’s Mum’s right: can we interest you in a little fast friend? Hmmm? Hmmm? xx
Comment by englishmuminireland — December 19, 2007 @ 6:46 pm
Ahem… I’ll gloss over the orangey upchuck bit…
You do know that the Abhaile Returns Department is closed for Christmas, don’t you? LOL!
Comment by jennynib — December 20, 2007 @ 3:08 am
Comment by englishmuminireland — December 20, 2007 @ 12:41 pm