At Xmas time Mr B went away (he came back two weeks later with a sun tan
but that is another story – he said it was work). On Xmas day F took me to Chichester. I know it was Christmas Day because she said
so. And because there was a tree in our
lounge with lights and enticing shiny dangly things. And because there was lobster to eat.
And I know it was Chichester
we went to because I have been there before.
F doesn’t let me sit on her
knee when she is driving. She shut me in
my favourite big cardboard box and put that on the passenger’s seat (with a seatbelt
around it). That means she is taking me
to the vet! I’ve had quite enough of
vets. Don’t get me wrong; nice people
but I wasn’t feeling poorly. So, no
vets.
I tried to scramble out of the
box. F pushed me back. I yelled.
She said ‘nearly there’. She was
lying. We weren’t nearly there AND she
took a wrong turn (I heard her muttering about it) – so I sicked in my box. She would have to stop then. And she did.
We stopped right outside a house I recognize – how convenient is
that? I do ‘pet visiting’ there. It is where the other Mr B lives (an older Mr
B – I know him from when he stayed with us) and M – the lady in the chair-with-wheels.
I like their house. It’s warmer than ours and has stairs I can
sit on to look down on the dining table.
That’s how I know there was lobster to eat. I didn’t get any!
F didn’t clean my box – she put
it outside the car when we arrived. By the time we packed
up to go home the rain had turned it into a soggy mess. Ruined. Shame.
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