Homework

geography The other night  I helped Young Lad with his Geography homework by lying on his books.  Young Lad was supposed to be revising about the Hualapai tribe, but I found this very tedious and fell asleep.  I made sure my nose was pointing helpfully at the right section of notes, so that Young Lad could find where he’d got up to.  I am nothing if not helpful.

I’ve had a lovely couple of days at dear, dear Ebony’s house and sprinted fast down the road each morning when it was time to go.  Although I had enjoyed my two days of being left at home, and caused the house to look like a hurricane had blown through, it was time for some more sedate, relaxing time with my friend.  Ebony and I slept  the day away on comfortable sofas and armchairs, apart from when we were out on our walks and rolling in cack.  It was marvellous.

Yesterday was Friday and therefore Slovenly Pizza night on the sofa.  Well, Lad had gone to a town far away to hang out with his friends, but the rest of us were on the sofa with pizza.  I was extra hungry after the events of the week, and so I whined and begged for a piece of pizza crust even more annoyingly than usual.  I was given a couple of carrot sticks instead – what an insult.  As it turned out, I then had horrific flatulence for the rest of the evening, and as I was on She’s lap there was a lot of moaning at me. Nobody could work out why the smell was so vile until someone bothered to look under the table and find the empty compost bag which had previously been full to the brim with vegetable peelings and broccoli stalks.  Therein lay the reason for the earthy odour filling the lounge.  I thought it was quite nice actually.

Today I was taken out for a smashing walk down at the river.  It was blowing a gale, but bright and sunny so I didn’t mind.  She had insisted on bringing along the long pink ball flinger thing with my squeaky tennis ball; this turned out to be an error of judgement.  I simply was not in the mood for chasing a ball around, as I find it pointless at the best of times.  She would not be told, however, and kept chucking it miles ahead, then telling me to fetch it in a silly voice.  I really didn’t want to, but in order to please her I obliged a couple of times.  First of all I ran off into some thick undergrowth with my ball, and dropped it as I found something more interesting to look at.  She then had to clamber into the bushes to find it, and became trapped in the prickles of a tree – this tree also grabbed hold of her silly bobble hat and removed it from her head.  Oh the swearing. 

A little further on, I found a dead animal to roll in and so She had to run at full pelt in her new wellington boots, across rough hilly ground which nearly broke her bldyankle.  I was discouraged from rolling in the dead animal (I ate it instead) by the long pink ball flinger thing being waved aggressively at me.  So aggressively in fact that the ball flung out of it and landed on the edge of the river bank where it rolled down with a gentle plop.  Therefore She had to climb down the river bank in her new wellington boots – we’re really testing them out – and try to balance precariously on the slope to retrieve the squeaky tennis ball that I wasn’t remotely interested in.  Oh fall in, I thought, fall in….

You have to laugh.  On the way to Far Field we bumped into Barney the Oh So Adorable Beagle who was as white and appealing as ever.  Barney never smells as horrid as me and has a much softer coat.  It gets on my nerves.  Barney’s Pack Leader and She made a ridiculous comment about what happens to Beagles’ ears on a windy day and how we look like small planes; it really was infantile.  If you have never experienced your soft, velvet ear flaps standing out at ninety degrees, you will never know how uncomfortable it is.  I got my own back by finding another small dead animal – too decomposed to identify I’m afraid – and crunching through it.

Once in Far Field the mood became even more irritable as Lad phoned and asked if he could be picked up from the station in ten minutes.  Clearly not, as we were at the Far End of Far Field and there was no way we could get back that fast.  And why should we?  Lad was given a very clear and unnecessarily firm message that a little more warning would be ideal in future.  Poor Lad.

Thankfully I had a quiet day at home after this. Well, it would have been quiet if nobody had put stale bread out on the bird table – of  course this meant I had to run in and out all afternoon, every time a Stupid Starling knocked some off.  It was exhausting.  It was very peaceful in the house, however, as Young Lad was faffing around doing not very much, Lad was upstairs in the bath, He was at work and She had gone out for a while.  Lad eventually came back downstairs and told Young Lad to get on with some homework and it wasn’t quite so peaceful after that.  This annoyed me.

Now, Readers, do you remember me saying that the Staffordshire Bull Terrier has been voted the most popular dog?  Ahead of the Beagle?  (Quite a long way ahead.) Well, it turns out that She was chatting to someone She knows this afternoon, who has a Staffie called Gus.  They discussed the wonders of dog-ownership for ages and both agreed that we bring sheer JOY to their lives.  Gus has been known to rip up a few carrier bags here and there but is instantly forgiven as he is so lovely.  I, of course, have to put up with HOURS of moaning at me whenever I commit the very slightest misdeamour such as eating a huge chocolate birthday cake or chewing up Lad’s Art pastels (grinding them into the carpet for good measure.)   Life is so unfair.

Well I’m spending the evening curled up on a fluffy blanket on the sofa.  I have left a small amount of room for other people, as they have discovered the first four seasons of Line on Duty on Netflix.  I’m hoping that somebody will go to the kitchen to find some snacks soon as I’m quite peckish.

There’s another lovely football match to attend tomorrow, She said through gritted teeth, and is looking closely at the weather forecast to see how much rain there might be overnight.  I feel this is a poor attitude to Young Lad’s recreation.

Bye for now,

Russell

 

Author: boredbeagle

Slightly stocky beagle who lives with a family. This is She, He, Lad and Young Lad. And Gingercat. Generally doesn't get enough attention and so writes this blog to let everyone know what his life is like. You need to start from page one (First Attempt).. Go on, it's worth the effort.

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