Torvaig
10-Apr-08, 01:08
Today I had to leave Ben on his own for a few hours. Ben does not like this. However, as he gets older and wiser, he seems to have accepted that I cannot be with him all the time. It would not be his choice, but he has learned to suffer in silence. Actually that is a lie...he is a male after all.
When he was younger, anytime he was abandoned (his words, not mine) he would attack, worry or eat anything he could get his paws on. As this involved a telling off when I returned, he would hang his head in shame before I saw the damage but was secretly delighted with the attention. He is a male after all.
To avoid newspapers, rugs or my secret stash of cash stuffed in the cushions being reduced to pulp (I have written a book on 50 ways with papier mache) I continually had to tidy the house of any debris before I left on whatever business was important enough to extract me from my main aim in life. My main aim in life being to feed, clothe, groom and perpetually amuse Ben. He is a male after all.
Up until today, I was feeling rather smug at how I have gradually built up my faith in Ben in that I could vacate my home occasionally without living in dread of what would face me when I arrived home. Today was different. Today was the day Ben learned to comunicate.
Having divested myself of my coat, handbag and gloves, checked the telephone for messages, switched the kettle on and checked for Reds under the bed, I entered the living room to a sight I had hoped I would never see.
I love my books. Books on anything. Books on antiques, old cloth covered classics, song books, self-education books such as "Teach yourself the bodhran". No, I am not joking.
Ben knows this. Having lived with me for nearly four years he knows the amount of time I spend with my nose in a book (when I am not practicing the bodhran that is) and he also knows he is not allowed to touch my books under any circumstances, no matter how much I declare my undying love for him. But today our lives changed. They changed forever.
Ben had been annoyed that I left this morning without saying where I was going. Ben had to teach me a lesson. Ben did.
Ben took yesterdays P & J and reduced it to small pieces. Not quite the size of confetti but more a size that ministers would possibly approve of in that they were bigger than confetti. Much easier to sweep up.
Ben also removed several music books from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. None were harmed. Every page intact. Every shiny cover unslavered on. Except one. A hard back. A book I had purchased to show my dedication to striving to understand one who had come to live with me in my maturing years. A book I had read from cover to cover.
And the name of this book? "Talk To Your Dog. How to Communicate With Your Pet" by Susie Green. Honest...
I should have known; he is a male after all.
When he was younger, anytime he was abandoned (his words, not mine) he would attack, worry or eat anything he could get his paws on. As this involved a telling off when I returned, he would hang his head in shame before I saw the damage but was secretly delighted with the attention. He is a male after all.
To avoid newspapers, rugs or my secret stash of cash stuffed in the cushions being reduced to pulp (I have written a book on 50 ways with papier mache) I continually had to tidy the house of any debris before I left on whatever business was important enough to extract me from my main aim in life. My main aim in life being to feed, clothe, groom and perpetually amuse Ben. He is a male after all.
Up until today, I was feeling rather smug at how I have gradually built up my faith in Ben in that I could vacate my home occasionally without living in dread of what would face me when I arrived home. Today was different. Today was the day Ben learned to comunicate.
Having divested myself of my coat, handbag and gloves, checked the telephone for messages, switched the kettle on and checked for Reds under the bed, I entered the living room to a sight I had hoped I would never see.
I love my books. Books on anything. Books on antiques, old cloth covered classics, song books, self-education books such as "Teach yourself the bodhran". No, I am not joking.
Ben knows this. Having lived with me for nearly four years he knows the amount of time I spend with my nose in a book (when I am not practicing the bodhran that is) and he also knows he is not allowed to touch my books under any circumstances, no matter how much I declare my undying love for him. But today our lives changed. They changed forever.
Ben had been annoyed that I left this morning without saying where I was going. Ben had to teach me a lesson. Ben did.
Ben took yesterdays P & J and reduced it to small pieces. Not quite the size of confetti but more a size that ministers would possibly approve of in that they were bigger than confetti. Much easier to sweep up.
Ben also removed several music books from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. None were harmed. Every page intact. Every shiny cover unslavered on. Except one. A hard back. A book I had purchased to show my dedication to striving to understand one who had come to live with me in my maturing years. A book I had read from cover to cover.
And the name of this book? "Talk To Your Dog. How to Communicate With Your Pet" by Susie Green. Honest...
I should have known; he is a male after all.