Boys’ toys

SINCE I do not have the parts that I was born with, there are only limited interests in my dog life. Food, walks, sleep and toys sums it up.

She-who-is-mostly-ignored, – the one who shares a bed with He-who-thinks-he’s-the-boss – often mentions the number of toys I have and how much room they take up.

I find this slightly hypocritical from a person who has approximately a hundred pieces of apparel for every toy I have but, hey, I’m an orphan so I keep my mouth shut.

But it is great to let rip in print.

Anything bouncy is greatly valued – tennis balls are perfect. Things to tug are also favourites and give me the chance to practise blood-curdling growls.

But there is something about a squeaky toy which I just can’t resist… I have a collection of four at the last count and the ‘boss’ can bring me running from anywhere with just one squeak at any time – although his aim is not always missile-precision sharp.

This week has been bonus week for me: some guests returning to Molino del Santo brought me a present of a squeaky grouse.

The noise is a delight but – even better – it’s fabric, not plastic. This means it gets covered in soil, saliva and irritates everybody – I am so happy.

So if you are returning to Molino del Santo please feel free to remember an orphan dog. I’ll wag my tail for you.