Christmas Day 2015


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.
So guess where I sat on the way home.  I get my way in the end.



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