Sunday Scribbling - A Dog's Life

Over at Sunday Scribblings, this week's topic is the Inner Life of your Pet. I've enjoyed imagining what my dog's musings might be. Here goes with Trixie's first entry for Sunday Scribblings:





It’s too late for new tricks with me. Not that there ever was much in the way of tricks in my life. My lady has always had too much respect for me, treated me as a companion animal, not just a pet, and she seemed to know that, while I might have enjoyed the attention that goes along with being a show-dog, I wouldn’t have stood still to be examined by strange hands, and certainly wouldn’t have gone in the direction some rules said I should. So we lived our lives without all that brou-ha-ha, thank you very much. The grooming would have been pleasant…. No, the result of the grooming would have been nice – a silky coat down to the ground, a little velvet ribbon for my top-knot, but all that brushing and having to wear a coat all the time, with my hair wound into little piles. – No, thanks, not for me. I may be long in the tooth, but I still prefer a no-nonsense puppy-cut, that I can roll in the grass with, and not worry about picking up “stuff” too much. My lady gets it out for me, keeps me (relatively) clean. Neither of us really want to go overboard on the grooming. Tidy and clean does us both just fine.

These days – as you gathered – it’s just my lady and me. There was a time when there were men in my life, but not any more. They come visit, the young one and the old, and I’m always glad to see them, but when they go, I don’t notice their absence until I get a sniff of a shoe or something falls from the hot press with a familiar scent. It’s true there’s something pleasant about a man’s hand on your rump, and I used to enjoy the way he’d rub my ears, but I’ve learnt to live without, and me and my lady have pleasant tummy-rubbing moments. The old, when he comes – only once in a blue moon - always says “Hello, Trixie, how are you?” and I wag and wag (to let him know I’m fine), and he rubs my head, and gives a sigh. The young comes more often, but his greeting is a strange one. He asks “Is the rat still alive?” He calls me the rat, and pretends not to like me. It’s not my fault that I’m small. That’s the nature of my breed. And he should remember my puppy days, and all the puppy-cuddling he did when we first met. In fact (and this is a secret, a big secret) he does remember. When my lady’s watching TV, and he’s on the floor, making phone-calls to his girlfriend, he puts me on his lap, and idly rubs my back, and my head, over and back, gently, very gently. And I have heard him whisper my name. Now the secret’s out!

My name. Trixie. Seems silly for an old lady like me. It suited me as a pup, but sometimes I think I should claim my full title, now that I’m a grand-dame of 14 years. Lochokell Kirsty would be a more suitable name, I think. But then, I climb to the top of the garden, sit in the sunshine a bit, and think – Get over it, get over yourself, Girl. Trixie’s always been your name. Stick with it. So I will.

I don’t have much choice anyway. My lady would never call me anything else. We rub along fine, me and her. She spends a lot of time out of the house, but she makes sure there’s water and biscuit for me. Mind you, these days, I just sleep, to tell you the truth. Life is one long round of naps and feeds. I do amble from room to room, - rocking chair nap in the kitchen, couches in the study and living-room, cushion on the patio (if the sun’s shining), patch of carpet in the hallway, just at the bottom of the stairs. Those are my sleeping spots. Yes, I have an official bed. Yes, I even sleep in it sometimes, but mostly it’s whatever room my lady is in, I like to be there too. She has allowed me to sleep on her bed, and I don’t abuse the privilege, I can tell you. I really appreciate that, because for many years I was in the kitchen, and would have to make a very undignified racket to let them know if I wanted to go outside, but now, I only have to nudge her around the knees, and I can get to go out without having to so much as whine.

Life is good. There are times I wonder about those dogs that have freedom to wander about the street, and the idea of having puppies – what would it have been like? Sometimes, I wish I enjoyed traveling in the car, but I just can’t get past the idea that we were meant to move about on four legs, not four wheels. My world is a small one, but my life has been a good one, with no trauma to speak of, and I’ve always been loved. That is what counts. To love and be loved. And… I love my lady. She is my world. And I think I am a very important part of hers. Yes. Life is good.







What I might have looked like! Imagine! Supermodel material!




See what other Sunday Scribblers had to say HERE