Thursday is one of my favourite days of the week. Thursday, while it no longer starts with an early morning dance lesson, is the day I enjoy most as I treat it as my day off ( along with  Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday Tuesday and Wednesday). Computer work is kept to a minimum and invitations for walks/coffee/lunch are more likely to be accepted with a clear conscience on Thursday.

This Thursday started off as normal with my weekly weigh in at the fat farm. Sigh. Must try harder. That last half a stone is proving to be a stubborn little bugger. Never mind. Don’t give up.

After a quick trip to Mr Sainsbury’s to stock up on healthy,  fat free and sinless goodies for the week it was time to go and view a house. At the moment I’m not going to say much about this as I don’t want to jinx anything so just hold your breath and keep your fingers crossed for us as we might actually, after 4 years have (whisper it) sold the house.


SSSSHHHHHH!! Don’t shout it!  I told you – I don’t want to jinx anything.

So….quickly changing the subject.

Thursday evening is doggie boot camp. A motley collection of pooches all turn up to show how well behaved and clever they are by retrieving toys, going to where they are directed, sitting, standing and lying down to order – or by barking incessantly and trying to eat the  dog next to them. Douggie the doggie seems to have progressed past the barking incessantly stage, thank God. Neither my ears nor my nerves could have stood much more of that. A few well aimed squirts with a water spray in the schnoz cured him of that in no time at all. He does try to eat the dog next to him but in a friendly, ‘I love you, Man, kind of way not in a ‘I’m gonna rip your face off’ kind of way. His bezzie mate at the moment is a Jack Russell puppy. A cute little girl called Millie. Douggie can fit all of her into his mouth at once. One of the trainers walked past just as only her tail was protruding out of Douggie’s mouth ( the Jack Russell’s tail, not the trainer’s) and asked him if he’d like some salt on his snack.  I’m so happy my dog is placid, he could  snap Millie in half in an instant if he chose to.

Before training I like to take him for a longish walk to burn off the worst of his energy and bounciness otherwise he’s careering off the walls like a balloon that has been let go. He seems to think the obedience class is a doggie youth club. I keep telling him it’s a boot camp but I’m not sure he’s getting the message. Every dog in the class, as it enters the room, has to be bounded up to  (with me being dragged along behind, helplessly hanging onto  the lead, bracing my feet and trying to slow my rate of propulsion by grabbing hold of furniture and other dog owners as I go flailing past them shouting “STOP! WAIT! SIT! BAD DOGGIE!” )When he finally notices I’m there he turns round, gives me a huge grin as if to say, But look who’s here!’ and carries on regardless.

Believe it or not he’s as good as gold away from the class – as long as there are no other dogs to entice him away from me.

Anyway, back to the plot – Due to his propensity for bolting after other dogs I keep him on a long lead when we’re in wide open spaces. Towards the end of the walk we met a nice labrador who wanted to play so I let Douggie off his lead for a minute. Then another labrador turned up, closely followed by a dalmation called Bonzo. The four of them had a whale of a time running round and playing. When it was time to go I called Douggie to me and set off at a run hoping he’d follow me, which he did.

I ran over the field as fast as my little legs would take me  – until I realised in horror that my trousers had slid over my hips and were rapidly making their way to the ground! I looked a bit like a slightly (ok very) mad menopausal rapper with my trousers hanging off my arse while I firmly held on to the fabric tugging them up discreetly as continued to walk at a brisk pace hoping none of the other walkers had seen my dilemma, well as discreetly as you can when they’re so far down it’s a two handed task and taking a lot of bum wiggling to pull them back up.

So. Maybe I’m getting on better at the fat farm than I thought. Last time I wore those trousers there was no danger at all of them falling down, in fact my problem that time was trying to contain the muffinness, oh, and breathing.


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