An Island Off an Island

The indignity, the ignominy, the injustice! M&D have perpetrated the most egregious treachery on my well-being by insisting that I go on a diet. For the last few weeks, I have been fed a much-reduced quantity of gently poached chicken, supplemented with steamed, mashed vegetables and a mere sprinkle of kibble. How do they expect me to survive, let alone, thrive on such meagre rations. The motivation for this is supposedly the middle-aged spread that has been occurring of late. This has been amply evidenced by my difficulty in jumping on the bed unaided. I think my perceived ‘bulkiness’ can be attributed to my winter coat but that hasn’t passed the pub test. I must admit that I appear to be regaining my waistline and the bed problem seems to have been resolved.

I hope all this focus on my weight won’t impact too heavily on my upcoming birthday. Yes, I will be turning seven on 24 November, and I do expect the requisite treats and at least a birthday cake. Maybe all my friends – Norman, Pearl, Baudin Sneaker, Rosie, Chester, Mia, Mae, Masie, Annie, Lily, Murphy and Winnie could come for a play date.

I have to remind M&D occasionally that I am still capable of puppy mischief. Take this morning for instance. I was being ignored by Dad soon after breakfast so I tried bringing in a pillow from the bedroom, then I rescued a tea towel from the kitchen followed by a cushion from the outdoor setting. All failed to get a reaction – too predictable. So, I resorted to a trick from my puppy days at Rowan Street and grabbed Dad’s novel from the bookcase and took it outside where I proceeded to run at pace all over the back garden. It worked a treat! I had him huffing and puffing up and down the garden all the while hurling imprecations at my fleeing form.

On my behaviour, most would agree that I have been much more accommodating of late. The bedevilment that often assailed me is less in evidence. I have only escaped once in the last few months where I led Dad a merry chase down the gully towards the beach for a couple of hours, although that might be more a function of closer attention to closing gates rather than my need for adventure. Socks and handkerchiefs are still in great danger of being hoovered up if I’m given the chance and any excuse to grab a shoe or slipper is seized upon – no distinction between M&D’s or unsuspecting guests. I still continually push the boundaries of acceptable behaviour – M&D expect it to be so. Minor misdemeanours are a part of life and give M&D something to grumble about. And there’s such a thing as a reputation to live up to! Where’s the fun in calmness and order? There are still toilet rolls to deal with, not the cute labrador puppy of advertisement fame who spools the roll from the bathroom, but the chewed chunks under the bed. Why can’t I eat wallaby poo or anything from the beach? Does it really matter that I have dug a hole that a wisdom of wombats would be proud of?

My role as protector of the back yard has come into question in recent times – not always as a consequence my actions or lack thereof. I have been known to wake the household in the middle of the night to alert them that the defences of the backyard have been breached. Quolls under the deck send me crazy because they know that they are unreachable. They just lie under there and hiss up at me. The other night I heard strange noises up the back and I was surprised by a curled-up ball of spikes lying in the grass. My normal bravery was called into question and the ensuing ‘Mexican Standoff’ between me and the echidna was only ended when Dad (thankfully) pulled me inside. Its generally been assumed that my presence has been a factor in keeping the back yard possum-free, but even this was severely tested last week when I again woke the household due to wildlife activity out the back. Dad and I went to investigate and horror of horrors, we were confronted by a possum on the back fence. Luckily for him/her it disappeared up into the bushland before I could give him/her a taste of Ruby retribution.

Apologies for the extended time between posts but I think you’ll agree that life in Ruby land isn’t all bad and with the exception of reduced rations, things are looking pretty good!

Ruby

P.S. Special love to my friends Mayhem and Abbey in Orange. Still in my heart xx