Not to be outdone by Mama J and Granny’s training regime, last Tuesday morning Grandpa felt my physical prowess in full force (whether he wanted to or not) and could’ve made a natural history documentary to rival Sir David Attenborough’s in the process.
Grandpa and I were set to go for our morning stroll around the village. I was harnessed and leaded up with my red tartan coat on top. Grandpa had his Barbour coat on and his green Hunter Wellington boots on his feet. Not really an outfit to be taking a jog in but hey you’ve got to be prepared for all eventualities with me around! As he opened the door and we stepped outside I noticed movement from the area of the bird table. Was it a bird? No. Was it a plane? Not unless it was in model form. Was it Superman? Sorry folks there was no red cape or pants worn over tights in my front garden. No, it was Flora the cat waiting for the sparrows to come feast on the nuts and seeds Grandpa had just put out for them.
On spotting Flora and more importantly Flora spotting me, I began giving chase after her through the open gate and up the grassy embankment towards Mama J’s car. This sudden spurt of energy from me caught my poor Grandpa completely off guard. He hadn’t had chance to secure my lead in his gloved up hands when I was off like a bat out of hell. Meat Loaf you can sing along if you’re reading this. I went faster than any other Yorkshire Terrier had ever gone! However Flora is obviously a descendant of a cheetah and totally out ran me and hot footed it back up her driveway and into the safety of her house without even drawing for breath.
As I was slowed down by my now trailing lead which was now nipping at my heels and the cries from Grandpa of, “ELSIE! STOP! ELSIE!” I decided that my hunt for the prey that is Flora this time was totally fruitless. Therefore I stopped and let my badly panting Grandpa (this man actually passed a beep test with flying colours on many occasions) take a hold of my lead (securely this time) and take me for my walk. Ah a morning sprint always does you good, eh Grandpa? I must blame Planet Earth II for giving me such a wonderful set of role models. It was those pesky racer snakes chasing the helpless marine iguanas last week that proved my inspiration in my hunt for Flora, that and my wild animal instinct that matches my equally wild hair!
After my sprint that morning you’d think the rest of the day would be relaxing for me and my lovely family. Well, it was until Grandpa decided to give me a tasty piece of chicken coated in (no people it wasn’t mustard sauce this time, Mama J is relieved by that point) garlic and coriander. Now it went down rather well and was total scrumptious until a few hours later when unfortunately it had a funny (it wasn’t too much of a giggle for me actually) effect on my tummy. Please don’t read on if you are eating (especially chicken in garlic and coriander) or have a weak stomach, this may turn it quicker than The Big Dipper in Blackpool. You have been warned!
Mama J was tucked up all cosy in bed and I went up to join her while Granny ran a bath. All was fine until I started to feel a bit peculiar in the tummy area. I decided to let Mama J know that I felt a bit peculiar by shooting up the bed to her side and then shaking like Ed Balls doing Gangnam Style on Strictly Come Dancing at the weekend. Mama J sat up and began cooing at me, “Elsie? Oh Elsie sweet pea what’s wrong?” With her loving words and caring caresses I spewed up all over the duvet cover! “Oh Elsie you poor thing, you’ve been sick!” Mama J said, her voice full of concern for my wellbeing. Now Mama J not being at all good at domestic duties just sat there pandering over me until Granny came charging in like a superhero, tissues in hand and cleared up my sick.
Once my sick was wiped off the bed and seen as it was now 10.22pm Granny thought it best not to change the bed until the morning so blasted the bed, Mama J and I off with the hairdryer then sprayed the duvet cover with some perfume from Mama J’s drawer. Thank goodness Mama J doesn’t have midnight gentleman callers as I don’t think they’d be very turned on by the aroma de spew, do you?
Now I’m not going to be turning into a political activist here and challenging the result of the US election. I’m a Yorkshire Terrier and as long as I get my Lily’s Kitchen covered with some Chappie alongside the occasional doggie treat, oh and some cheese and chicken (not covered in garlic and coriander you’ve heard what it can do to a girl’s waistline) then I’m a happy pooch.
However Mama J found the whole thing highly amusing not least because she can’t say the name of the next First Lady, Melania. She kept trying to say it with Granny promptly her over and over again of election result day. Sadly over and over again getting it completely wrong. To Mama J it was like red lorry yellow lorry or she sells seashells on the seashore. A complete tongue twister!
Therefore if Fiona Bruce ever fancies an evening off presenting the BBC News it might be best not to give Mama J a call should there be an item about Melania Trump to talk about.