A couple of weeks ago, Jenny went to Bristol for the weekend and I stayed behind with Keith - all boys together, you know the sort of thing - he lets me on the bed all night, gives me extra biscuits etc. But this time, I messed up a bit, well a lot actually. So much so that I have only just felt able to write about it, sensitive little chap that I am.
It happened on the Saturday. Keith had a job to go to out in the sticks and took me with him. I love going in the van. I get to sit on the passenger seat, sniffing all the lovely smells out there as we go. Anyway, Keith left me in the van, securely attached by my lead (as he thought) while he got on with the job and I was quite happy watching the world go by - at least, I was until an enormous truck went past. Nothing remarkable about that, you might think, except that this truck was filled to bursting with squealing, fat, juicy pigs!
Well, how could any self-respecting terrier not react to that? As it happened, I was able to get out of the van quite easily and raced after the truck as fast as my little legs would carry me. The truck was going slowly, so I easily kept up with it and, very cleverly I thought, dodged in and out between its wheels in an effort to see more of those delicious pigs.
By this time, of course, Keith was following in the van, flashing his lights and hooting the horn. I think he was trying to get the driver to stop, which he eventually did, at the farm down the road. Very thoughtful of them, I thought, it would give me a chance to get at least one mouthful of pig, but no! Why is it that humans always spoil a dog's fun?
The driver, the farmer and Keith started chasing me round, trying to catch me, which they eventually did, but not before the driver had done a flying tackle and wrestled me to the ground.
Keith didn't seem very pleased. I guessed this from the loud voice and rude words he used as he dragged me back to the van. He tied me up again, but this time very securely and I heard phrases like 'back to the rescue centre' and 'swap you for another dog' which didn't bode well.
When he was telling Jenny about it, I heard him say that I was lucky to be alive and not to have been squashed under the wheels of the truck. Well, cats can have nine lives, so why not dogs?
Anyway, maybe I won't try that again, not for a while, anyway. So for now, I'm doing my best to keep my head down and be good -
but it is such hard work!