Well this has been a rather different day.
First - just as I was beginning to think it was time to stretch; to push my uncle's legs off my tummy and wonder about what might be causing the beginnings of an itch behind my right ear - our mum woke the whole house up. She ran around upstairs - at 6:08am - telling our two-legged sisters to get up. Because she thought they'd slept in. Because she thought it was 8:06am. Because she hadn't put her glasses on. She then giggled loudly for about ten minutes. Which our two-legged sisters thought a bit odd. And a bit unfeeling, given that they would much rather still be asleep.
So we got an early breakfast.
Littlest - our smallest two-legged sister - did sleep in after that. And had to take her breakfast to eat on the bus on the way to school.
Mum had stopped giggling by the time she had breakfast. I think the look on Littlest's face probably helped.
Anyway ... next we overheard the W word. And jumped around and Wriggled and Wagged our tails, which are both good W words too.
My uncle likes to pretend that he is taking himself for a Walk, which (in case you hadn't guessed) is the W word; the marrow-bone of W words.
I just wait. That gets a small w because waiting is boring so it's a very poor W word.
Here we are ... waiting.
This was no ordinary Walk.
On this Walk, we got chained to a fence. This is not normal. My uncle was not happy ...
It's his eighth birthday tomorrow and being tethered to a fence is no way to treat a soon-to-be-birthday boy. He's quite an elderly gentleman and elderly gentlemen become curmudgeonly and restless when tethered to fences. I think curmudgeonly must be an -itis because it was catching and after a couple of minutes I had it too.
Then one of our two-legged sisters came out for a chat. Please note that mum didn't tether her to the fence.
Next we went to look at a sign. And Mum told me to sit. Which I did. I was just grateful that she didn't tether me to it. It said Poll Tat apparently.
She said there's a thing called #dogsinpollingstations. So we licked the sign clean ...
... then asked if it was time for that Walk. Ple-eeee-ase.
Apparently, this is a thing too. Personally, I think it's two bottoms in a Wheat field. Well behaved bottoms. Walking along a path. Through a field of Wheat.
Running through the Wheat cured my uncle of his curmudgeonly demeanour. Unfortunately, that only works for dogs.
Mum says these are dogs too. Dog roses apparently. I think she got up too early this morning.
She seems to have a thing for Wheat fields today. Dreamy Wheat fields, below summer skies. She needs to sleep.
My uncle is behaving himself again here. He says it's best not to run through the Wheat - it gets up your nose; gritty, grainy, gnarly bits lodge in your teeth; it scratches your legs, and trampling it annoys the farmer. Being a two-legged creature, the farmer would remain afflicted by curmudgeonly-itis if forced to chase naughty tramplers. And the act of chasing would risk escalating curmudgeonly into something irrational and raving. So, it's best not to run through Wheat. Or chase after Wheat tramplers.
See! What a day!
Despite the early start, it ended up being a good day. Because I love Walks. They are simply the best thing.
As A.A. Milne almost said, I'm ... a dog. No, he didn't write that; he wrote this about Tigger who, apart from the stripes, is a lot like me - he's 'bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun' ... And always, also like Tigger ... 'I've got a lotta bouncin' to do.' Like this ...
Continuing the Tigger theme, 'Well, I gotta go now. Hoo - hoo - hoo - hoo! T-T-F-N: ta-ta for now!'
P.S. #dogsinpollingstations ...? What's a hashtag? I have a dogtag. And a microchip: maybe a hashtag is a very small fried potato. Pity I didn't find one at the poll tat station. I like chips.