Today I thought She was going to tip tap at the machine all day.
I tried my usual ruse of sitting on her feet, chewing her pencils noisily, following her to the loo - the tried and tested - and I even did a bit of loud snoring while guarding, to draw attention to myself, but she ignored everything, including my 'Don't you think you should check outside is still outside.' bark which normally gets her moving. Nothing. I think She really has gone deaf.

Anyway, I decided she wasn't happy because I thought that 'He who runs fast's room needed the aroma of dog urine to improve its ambience.
Oddly no one appreciated my efforts to improve the general quality of
the olfactory experience in the house. Everyone shouted - not just She and because they don't speak dog I was, as usual, quite unable to explain the error of their ways.

I've been having She-speaking lessons from 'Loudest Bark.' When I'm finally able to meet him at the Big Green. His pet is an English professor. I did point out that the longest word She knows is 'chocolate,'
but I am still determined to widen my vocabulary on the off chance someone in the pack gets educated.

Much barking and guarding to be done as people have kept coming and going. Big He is back and She's mother has been to stay - so new shoes to sniff which is always good. She who feeds me hasn't worn her walking shoes for a while which isn't so good, but I manged to get her into the big Green.She was talking to a friend so I almost got away with a bit of light rolling but she caught me before I'd got going.
I think She has something wrong with her nose.She doesn't understand smells. She wouldn't let me coat my fur in delightfulness on our walk today. She does not like the smell of deer excrement! How can she not like the complexity , the mixture of high and low notes, the pleasure of it! Words fail me.( Three ear flicks, a nose wrinkle, a head shake, and several difficult but elegant gestures with my tail expresses it perfectly I feel)
The males of the pack are good at smells and can between them produce an aroma that rivals deer excrement for potency and pungency. Big He's command of the language of scent is masterful. But when everyone is comfortable and enjoying the rich fetid stench of good smells - what does She do? I don't understand her. She complains, opens windows and flaps her arms, shouts and then sprays the room with what is called 'room fragrance.' Only someone with no sense of smell could like the aroma of fake flowers; it makes me sneeze .
I wonder if there is not something seriously wrong with She.I have tried to communicate this concern to Big He to no avail - he thinks I want to go outside and lets me out and then forgets about me for hours.
It is difficult being sensitive and caring in this pack; my intuitions are not
valued.

Today was a black dog day in the big green space.
Everything is wet again and smells green and delicious. What I don't undersand is why only black, golden and chocolate labradors have pets in Richmond.( labradors is the she-speak word for them- they call themselves something long and pompous which involves lots of ear wagging.) There is a shortage ( and I use that word advisedly) of proper sized dogs as there is a definite longage of the other kind. Half the time I can barely reach the bottoms that need sniffing.
Today every dog I smelled was a black labrador and they are not great company as all they do is bound around being bouncy - no sophisticated conversation there, I'm afraid.

It is fortunate that I am as brave and courageous as I am - a lesser dog
might be intimidated by so much large and bouncy dogness but a quick snarl from me (when I'm on the lead and with She obviously) soon
reminds them of what's what. Of course, She does not appreciate
me and insists on apologising to everyone for my honourable conduct.
Sometimes I wonder where my training went wrong - other dogs do say there are no bad pets but only bad owners. I feel She needs some kind
of retraining course so that she learns to better appreciate me.

There have been changes in the order of things. Big-He has been working away on ordinary days and He-who-runs-fast has been working here or at least I think he has. He has been wandering round in his night clothes or sometimes just his underpants, talking on the phone a lot and eating
more or less constantly.This is called 'Study Leave' but I'm not sure which bit is what he calls 'revising'.

It is an ill wind that blows no good as the Great Dane of philosophers
once said. So because Big-He is not here to shout at She has had to spend more time shouting at the rest of the pack to 'help.'
I don't know what this means and apparently neither do the pack.
When she rants and raves and waves her arms round and bangs plates I only get every other word. I picked up 'Socks!waffle waffle - not fair! grumble grumble - dirty washing! whinge - I am not your servant! - rant rant - orange peel! gripe gripe - banana skins.!' It all
got more interesting when she said 'rude-human-word dog' because I know this is how she refers to me. It is I assure you a term of the highest regard. Anyway, she said that no one ever fed me but She ( which is usually true ) and that this was also 'not fair' as apparently
He-who-runs- fast is actually my pet ( I never knew that) and so everyone should look after me.
This has turned out to be good news because, although there seems no change on the socks, orange peel and banana skin complaint, the pack did accept that my needs are paramount and now everyone is feeding me at random intervals throughout the day and most of the evening. Whenever I empty my bowl it is miraculously filled again ( with kibbles unfortunately but you can't have everything).
I am afraid this is beginning to show on my svelte and youthful physique
but it is a law of doghood that if there is food then you must eat it.
( even if it is only kibbles)
I have no doubt that the pack will forget to feed me again very soon
and things will return to normal. In the meantime I breathe in
at bottom sniffing times and try not to stand sideways when I want to impress the fair sex.

Leader of the pack

The name’s ‘Handsome-male-who-knows-what’s-what’ but those in my human pack call me ‘Zorro.’ ‘Dog-with-the-loudest-bark’ whom I meet in the big green space with the deer understands she-speak better than I do and says ‘Zorro’ means ‘fox’ in Spanish I don’t know what Spanish is, but they’d better be careful who they’re calling ‘fox’ or I’ll have to tear their throats out, which wouldn’t be good.
‘Dog –with-the-loudest-bark’ is probably wrong.

Obviously I am pack leader, but being slightly shorter than the rest I have to work hard to maintain this position. ‘She who feeds me’
thinks she’s pack leader but ‘Big He’
doesn’t agree and I have to say that I’m not always sure who’s in charge when they get on with their human business. ‘She who feeds me’ feeds everyone else too, most of the time, though ‘He who runs fast’ and ‘He who kicks the football’ do quite a lot of personal foraging which usually results in lots of scraps on the floor and what She calls ‘mess.’
This makes ‘She who feeds me’ shout a good deal, but seems to make little difference.
If she were pack leader one growl and a well placed bite ought to keep the young males in order, but she never does that so I don’t think she is pack leader.
‘Big He’ is the biggest of the human beasts and has very large feet and, as he doesn’t look too carefully where he puts them, I tend to stay out of his way. ‘She who feeds me’ shouts at him too from time to time, but like the rest of the males, he takes little notice.
I am still working out the pack order – it is possible that no one is in charge, which would explain a lot…

There are two adults in the pack – ‘She who feeds me’ and ‘Big He.’
Then there are three juvenile males: ‘He who runs fast’

and ‘He who kicks football,’

both of whom are bigger than She and ‘He who scratches my back,’

who is nearly as big as She. There is one juvenile female ‘Little She who strokes me.’

She feeds me when She forgets and sometimes walks with She and me, on the way to the place they call ‘school’.
Little She is also nearly as tall as She and has bigger feet and slightly smellier socks, but none of the pack make quite so much noise as ‘She who feeds me.’

‘She who feeds me’ is around the most. She sometimes puts not-walking shoes on and goes out for a while and comes back smelling of coffee and new stuff or she goes out and brings back many bags of food, but mostly she stays with me and taps at this thing that makes words appear and stomps around shouting, which is bad, or sometimes ‘singing’ which is worse. Her voice sounds exactly like a claw being scraped down metal; it hurts.
When she isn’t making a noise she puts the box on where invisible people talk. Sometimes she talks back to it, though even I know there’s nobody there.

Most of my time is spent guarding. Even when it might look as though I’m resting, I’m really guarding with my eyes shut to lull the unsuspecting into thinking I’m not guarding when I am. The pack are often unaware of the dangers posed by foxes, stray leaves, birds, beings on two wheeled machines, and anything wearing what She calls lycra, fluorescent coats and ‘red’. Needless to say most of this effort goes unrewarded and it is only because I alone understand the danger that I continue my brave, persistent barking even when ‘She who feeds me’ (who understands nothing,) screams at me to stop.
Sometimes only the true leader understands what is best for his pack and he must continue to do what is right against all the odds. One day they will understand and thank me.