Miss Dog and her Best Friend did a bit of whispering in corners and writing away, after which they informed us that they had become members of the Silly Bitch Club. This apparently has: a magazine, a special magic pencil for doing the puzzles with (pink and sparkly), a pink and sparkly badge to wear on your collar, and a special secret code word, which we strongly believe to be FOOD. So when they meet these days, they exchange a series of secret signs and code words, and then they go off into a huddle together and giggle a lot. We are increasingly feeling that Silly Bitch Magazine has a lot to answer for. There has been a series of regrettable instances of, for example, stealing the butter off the dining table, chasing cats, climbing on beds, and crapping in the hall. And the response to human remonstrations was to reply smugly that SBM said it was a good thing to get in touch with your Inner Puppy. It didn’t stop there. When I said to Best Friend a few days ago, a propos of beetling in and wolfing Miss Dog’s breakfast, that she would end up completely spherical if she didn’t watch out, she was quite pert, and informed me that according to Silly Bitch Magazine, it was extremely dangerous for girls to be too concerned about their body image, and at least she wasn’t anorexic. Which she is not; though if SBM ever gets around to covering bulimia, I have a dark feeling that they might both give it a go if opportunity arose. And yesterday morning, when breakfast turned into brunch and there were, in succession, bacon and eggs, scrambled eggs for the Northern Professor (a vegetarian), Tayla’s scones, toast, muffins, butter, Oxford marmalade, heather honey, apples, and just a touch of cheese on the table, we found both dogs staring at us with such unwavering attention that the liquid dark brown eyes were like a quartet of laser beams. What, I asked them witheringly, do you think you are doing? –– It transpired that there had been another issue of Silly Bitch Magazine, and this one had included a pull out careers supplement. –– So? I said. We’re in training, they said. I were starting to get a bad feeling about this one. What as? They looked surprised, and faintly patronising. Consumer Watchdogs, they replied.