The gooseberry thief turns meat eater

And a very proficient meat eater I am too. This is me - Four-Legged-Friend - talking about my favouritist thing in the whole world: fooooooood. Mmmmm - makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

The meat I refer to is skittish. It clickity clacks across the floor, bumps into the walls and kind of floats up to the ceiling. It seems to have a particular fondness for lights. But I think this fondness is misplaced and a bit too extreme for something so small, because when the meat gets too hot it panics and drops back down to nose level. That's when I strike. Yum!

The meat alone is a little bit crunchy; like eating a small stick stuffed with gooey jelly. And it doesn't exactly fill you up. But the good thing is it seldom is alone. Mum opened the back door earlier and a whole load of them came in - a flock, a herd, a clatter? I didn't hear the doorbell, so quite why she opened the door, I don't know; perhaps she wanted to give me a treat. Except, I don't think she likes them very much; when they stumble too near to her head she ducks and goes, "Oooooh!" Sometimes, they make her shiver. Not me - I just wait, casual stance, giving nothing away, until they flutter temptingly close to my muzzle and then snap, munch, swallow, it's over in seconds and, already, I'm waiting for the next one.

Mum helps sometimes, too, although in comparison, there's no real sporting skill to what she does. She just uses the fly swat and flicks it at them. Pathetic really! I, of course, oblige and eat the daddy-long-legs she kills for me; I don't want to hurt her feelings.

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Walking The Dog

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