.. has broken out between me and the Mum. I didn’t like to admit it to anyone, but I had gone a bit far with the old rolling-in-the-grit routine, and was feeling distinctly itchy and discombobulated. So when she ran a bath this morning I put on a long-suffering look and sat nicely in it while she poured jugs of warm water over my back. And because I was virtuous and sat still the water didn’t get in my eyes and afterwards she gave me two Puppy Bites* and let me launch a little attack on Henry (robo-cleaning-dog with a weirdly long tail and extended growl).

*One advantage of living with house-humans who’ve always had big dogs is that occasionally you get given scrummy puppy stuff, despite being well into middle age. I’m not complaining.

One aspect of my character which has not yet been explored in this diary is my interest in landscape gardening. Here, for example, I have positioned one of my favourite companions, the snail slipper, in my special toy place beneath the weird palm tree. I think it adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the front garden.

The Dad points out that I haven’t written in my diary for a while, but the Mum says that I haven’t really done anything noteworthy. It’s true that I have been taking things a little easier lately, although the house-humans still insist on dragging me out to accompany them on their rather tedious walks. The Mum blames the plastic toys I’ve been happily chewing, theorizing that the chemicals in them have a dulling effect on my brain – a sort of reverse hyperactivity. If it was left to her I’d be chewing nothing but organic sticks, with no regard to the peril of splinters. At least she managed to liberate the last remaining teddy bear from my Christmas cupboard, so I’ve had a jolly evening of decapitation and dismemberment. Aaahhh.