Rumpy Pumpy had rather a nice day recently when everybody “got together” for VE Day. Everybody was properly “distanced” – as a dog I have no real understanding of the word – with chairs and benches properly spread out. Bunting had been put in situ on lamp-posts, everybody brought food and drink plus their own glasses. Central food table but all the people only went to it one at a time, so it was all very sensible.
I must confess to rather making a grand entrance by firstly, straight from my back door, heading for a wee on the grass. I rather felt I was then being ignored on the snacks front as I did my parade around inspecting everybody’s plate awaiting a taste so I decided to go back on the grass and assumed my position for a satisfactory pooh! I was very considerate as my efforts were not of the momentous size that often reduces Him Indoors to go white and exclaim “my god it’s a two bag job Dylan”! That certainly attracted everybody’s attention. Him Indoors was all flustered and rushed off to get a pooh bag to deal with the matter, and quite correctly I was the centre of attention then for the afternoon.
Another day, another dollar. The Old Boy is getting a bit grumpy, so I’m beginning to wonder if we’d best change our name of this little paradise by the river to Grumpy Pumpy Place. He particularly takes offence when I refuse to eat my dinner (or breakfast) if he doesn’t include just a little taste of some of his own food in with it. I ask you, why should he have all the roast lamb whilst I’m left with just Royal Canin (good as it undoubtedly is). But when I simply refuse to even begin eating at my bowl until there a few morsels (and I mean a few, he never gives me much of it, tight bugger) of lamb (or with whatever he tends to be spoiling himself) in it he tends to get a touch hysterical. He tells me I’m spoilt (of course, I am), he tells me there’s nothing else (there always is), he tells me its going in the bin (it isn’t) and the final threat to take me to the glue factory (he won’t). There are times I’m sure he forgets I’m a dog and thinks I am actually a teenager in rebellion.
We sat together to watch our leader. It is seems fair to report that Him Indoors was not very impressed. I’m not sure what he wanted as he has always been a man who makes his own decisions, so observing his need to be told what to do was fairly incongruous. But it appears we can do whatever we want to do if we stay alert (His Nibs is pretty much always alert) except anything that we really want to do!
What Him Indoors is missing is anybody – just anybody – with a vision of what they would like to create after this is all over. Maybe we could take this disastrous pause in our lives and create something better than we had before. Something not based on greed and neo-liberal capitalism, but something based on believing in other human beings, on greater equality of wealth, on kindness, or that success is not judged in money but in happiness and fulfilment. As The Boss said to me “probably only a Piscean dream”.
It appears football is about to restart. We are not impressed here. His Lordship observed to me football without a crowd is a the same as solitary sex. That statement made me sit up, believe me. Rather disturbed my calm life, it did. I then received a tirade about the obsession with money and tv contracts that clubs seem to have. Perhaps they plan to make the players play in full PPE kit to ensure they are kept safe, although Him Indoors suspects the clubs couldn’t care less about players safety.
Musically, everything couldn’t be better for us. Last month we received the new Lucinda Williams album “Good Souls Better Angels”, which I agree with The Boss is quite brilliant. Couple of songs that slate Trump are superb but whole album spectacular. Then this week the new Jason Isbell “Reunions” popped through the letter-box. Another work of art from this fine songwriter that is being played constantly. While we are enjoying these (I shall know all the words before long), we await with bated breath the arrival of “Rough and Rowdy Ways”, the new Bob Dylan album of his own songs in June. We reckon he’s put it out early as compensation for having to cancel his planned concerts.
We need some music to get us going as we’re both suffering a little from the blues. Age is beginning to catch me up folks, I have to confess. My rear legs are definitely lacking my old spring, but I’m having a little trouble with hearing the old boy calling me. Added to this I briefly lost him the other day and my eyes couldn’t find him. It was a bit frightening and I panicked a little but please don’t tell him.
I reckon The Boss is missing people. He’s proper lethargic and I keep trying to get him moving but its an uphill battle. I heard him tell somebody “people are my oxygen”. Personally, judging by his actions, I think eating is his oxygen (I am cruel!) but I think I know what he means because not having a proper social life is, frankly, seriously miserable. I’m missing his pals calling for dinner, I can tell you, because of the lack of creative cooking that I used to taste.
Please take care of yourselves, my dear friends, and let’s hope we can soon meet in better circumstances. Be back soon.
God Bless.
Woof! Woof!
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