A Dog's #life - Day One I have decided to keep a journal of my thoughts and feelings throughout each day. One realises that traditionally, such a hobby is usually began on the dawn of the new year, but since I am but a common canine, the only indication that a new year is about to begin, is the traumatising rounds of Catherine wheels and noisy boom boom sky torpedos, and even then it could easily be scarecrow effigy day. Therefore, I have chosen to begin my diary today, since it was quite a good day involving a squashed ball. I woke this morning to find that the bird that usually sits atop my kennel was now taunting me from the safe sanctity of an a-joining terrace. My first instinct was to say “brumpf” to him, and get on with my day, however, by the time I had gotten to my fourth hourly bollock clean, I could not distil the impetuous behaviour of Terrance the seagull from my thoughts. It sickened me to the back of my tongue loafer. So I said “brumpf” to him again. I find that I am saying “brumpf” more often these days. I am not exactly sure what it means, only that it is the only expulsion my barnacled face can muster. Soon after, the parcel labourer arrived, and I barked my crabbiest bark to him out of my own amusement. Then I ate the envelopes then I ate the envelopes the intruder left behind, which indecently gave me flatulence, so I barked some more. I have found that the more I bark, the sooner I will be brought in doors by my captors - the flesh giants, and can find many a-thing to urinate on. The kitchen waste-bin was today’s target. Then I licked my bollocks again, and went to sleep. More again tomorrow old friend, Dr Wallace Turnpike, alias ‘Patch’.