Psychology

The puppy has been a less than popular addition to the household. Miss Kit’s views of infant Jack Russell terriers are roughly as you might expect, and involve boiling oil, but we thought Miss Best Friend might be a bit more accepting. She is in the main, a motherly old thing, but a young puppy in her house has brought out absolutely the worst in her. He came on Wednesday night, and his commodious cage/playpen was set up in the back kitchen. He received little attention apart from a walk last thing, but all the same, by Thursday morning, the old labrador was (in the memorable phrase of Noel Langley) as purple and jealous as a purple stick of jealous rhubarb. We had allowed her bed, by the way, to remain right in the middle of the floor in the interests of sweetening her temper, but I can’t say it helped. She beetled out first thing, ate half a pound of grass, and sicked it up in the hall. After that, she spat out her pill, meat-paste and all, then she spat it out again. And again. We gave her a pill without the paste, she spat that out too. Finally the Professor, enraged, rammed it so far down her throat she had no choice but to swallow it, whereupon she asked to go out when I took Miss Kit for her morning walk, and I observed her bolting more grass, clearly in the hopes of sicking it up. I then took her and the pup out together, which was not a good idea. He has to be walked on lead, because he doesn’t know me to come to, but I thought Miss BF would just potter about her own business in our vicinity. No way. After two minutes of his meandering progress, she left us (it was freezing cold), and went back to the house where she barked persistently at one of the doors. Since the Prof had gone to Edinburgh by this time, this didn’t get her anywhere much, but it ensured that by the time I brought the puppy back to his canine Colditz she was cold, furious, and aggrieved, so she broke into our bedroom and went to sleep on the bed. Never in all her life has the old thing behaved worse. I ended up getting a good deal of healthy fresh air, what with walking the puppy, the cat, and the dog, seperatim. Last night, she broke into the spare bedroom, and slept there. I heard her coming upstairs, but didn’t realise she’d managed to get a door open. On the bright side, she did at least take her pill today, but I think she had registered the look in my eye.

2 Responses to “Psychology”

  1. The Man From Maryport Says:

    It sounds as if she’s channelling Violet Elizabeth Bott 60 years on . . . very disturbing. What has happened to The Good Old Thing we know & love . . .? (demonic spawn of Johnny Rotten & his punk terrierette aside . . .)

  2. Jane Says:

    Surprisingly, Miss Kit has refrained from joining this hatefest. I was passing through my garden with the Unpopular Puppy when I saw Miss Kit goggling at us through the glass of the door. She indicated that she wanted to come out, so I took a firm grasp of the puppy’s collar and opened the door for her. To my considerable surprise she walked straight up to him and touched noses, though he was trembling with terrier enthusiasm, before taking herself off a-voling. I’d expected her to react more like the Rough Cats, one of whom nearly took his eye out this morning — a Colman, sitting in the shade disguised as a black flowerpot & consequently overlooked (by me, that is, not by Ralph)

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