‘I only wanted to lick its foot…..health and safety gone mad!’

I gather you have met the grandson on his first visit to Yorkshire, Bruce, and are concerned that your natural impulse to lick all available bare feet may have been misinterpreted. You quickly found yourself banished from his presence, I hear, and consigned to an outer circle of acquaintance. Understandably this rankles with you. You feel aggrieved that you were excluded from the deep contemplation and adoration of the little mite that formed the principal occupation of both The Mommy and Satan for the week.

It is now axiomatic that dogs and babies don’t mix. Sorry Bruce, that’s the way it is. Regrettably some of your fellow hounds have disgraced themselves in this respect, with tragic consequences.

I counsel you to put aside this grievance, and invite you to consider that it is in your best interest to keep a healthy distance between yourself and the growing boy. This particular boy is genetically programmed to be highly inquisitive and in time will become extremely mobile and possessed with strong fingers. You on the other hand are not as nimble as heretofore, on account of your regimen of sleeping and eating. Mentally speaking it will be no contest. Speed of thought is not your strong point.

The boy’s mother detects great curiosity to be a dominant feature of her son’s character. The Mommy concurs with this analysis and also exclaims his cheerfulness of demeanour and growing strength. Even Satan is admiring of the way the babe can already drink himself to oblivion. In short, he is perfection personified and will be capable of no wrong. In time, when he approaches you my advice would be to keep moving and look for a nearby exit. A world of pain awaits the unwary pooch.

Why has my butt turned grey?

I gather you are concerned about the effects of ageing, Bruce. Apparently it is your fourth birthday. You may also have picked up some static because this week Satan approaches the point whereby he can pick up his pension. This is seen as a cause for celebration, although his butt turned grey a long time ago.

There is a view, generally accepted, that with age comes greater wisdom. This would in your case reveal itself by a growing realisation, for example, that there is no need for a panic attack when the Mommy leaves the room, or goes upstairs or down the garden – because you understand she will return. Unfortunately my observation of your behaviour - battering at locked bathroom doors, racing down the garden when she has gone upstairs, trotting animatedly from room to room in mounting desperation - leads me to believe that wisdom continues to elude you.

Difficult as it may seem, I urge you to try to emulate Satan’s attitude to the absence of the Mommy. He often has no idea where she has gone, having not paid attention to information given. However he is relaxed, confident in the knowledge that she will appear come suppertime.

So your butt turning grey should not worry you, life will continue for you essentially unaltered. Your routine of sleeping and eating, interspersed with panic attacks, is really very commonplace. You may not have noticed but it is a lifestyle shared in your household by both the Mommy and Satan. In the former case when occasion demands that she goes out to work, in the latter case when car keys or scissors do not come immediately to hand.

Does the Mommy not love me any more?

Oh dear, I understand your question has been prompted by a sense of abandonment. According to Satan, The Mommy left the house ten days ago and only returned last night with a cursory glance at you. She forgot to give you breakfast this morning. She has been extolling the charms of a creature called Blake to all and sundry. She now talks excitedly to Satan about Blake’s digestive system, where before she talked excitedly to Satan about your digestive system.

Bruce, I have to tell you that a grandchild has arrived. This changes things for everyone. Your World Order, that previously placed you at the pinnacle of The Mommy’s affections, has been upset in ways that you are only beginning to comprehend. Your previous behaviour, consisting merely of sleeping and eating, will no longer secure you the undivided attention and affection formerly bestowed by The Mommy. Satan however will continue to clean up your shit.

There is a window of opportunity left to you for a few days yet because whilst Blake eats, he does not yet sleep with the dedication you bring to the art of slumber.  You are going to have to learn some new tricks. You are going to have to bring your ‘A’ game to the table. Luckily there is currently a TV programme on air called ‘Top Dog Model’, which I commend to you. There you will find extensive images of lively and winsome dogs displaying their capacity to charm people. Mark, learn and inwardly digest. It may provide a fleeting respite from the inevitable.

In the long term however you, along with Satan, are doomed to a lower rung on the ladder. Soon Blake will both eat and sleep. He will learn to walk on two legs, display a range of beguiling expressions, say funny things, listen attentively to Satan’s lectures on Art History and eventually solve quadratic equations. You cannot compete. In time, you may be permitted to amuse him, who knows? It is the best you can hope for.

Why has it all suddenly gone quiet in the front room?

I understand that there has been a lot of noise in the front room, where you have been spending most of your time over the last two weeks. It has stopped abruptly today and this has disturbed you. You are also no longer being allowed to take your meals in the front room. The television has gone silent until evening. 

As a dog you are meant to be able to remember things, so I am asking you to cast back in what passes for your mind to, say, a month ago. I hope you will  have prior recall of the front room as a haven of tranquillity. All that has happened is that a semblance of normality has returned to your life, for the time being. 

The phenomenon that has caused the recent noise is known as The Olympic Games. It is a fact that shouting loudly at the television has helped a number of British competitors gain medals. 

I am told that The Mommy in particular has been both an avid follower and a commentator of unrivalled expertise. She has viewed a comprehensive range of events throughout the day simultaneously on the 14 TV channels available as well as her pop-out player on the laptop. You will have noticed that any event with a horse in it has been accorded top priority. Satan is hoping to see significant improvements in your deportment as a result of your long exposure to dressage. 

The Olympics have fundamentally affected everyone and everything. The level of expertise and knowledge about the value of sport has increased exponentially throughout the country. 

For example, according to the smooth faced man, the whole process of education in this country is now going to have competitive sport at the heart of the curriculum. In time this will mean pupils will have to run everywhere. The last person to arrive will have to go and make tea or toast muffins, or clean the shoes of a prefect. 

This new enthusiasm for physical education will have local implications for your daily regime of sleeping and eating. So your anxiety may be well founded. Satan is worried, I can tell you.

Why do I need Satan to give me charcoal biscuits every evening?

Your question raises a number of complex issues, Bruce. In order to unpack the whole of your question, I must lay it out for you in a way in which you may be able mentally to digest my counsel with the same relish that you digest the charcoal biscuits you crave.

First there is the question of ‘need’. We must be clear whether your ‘need’ relates to the relative importance to you of the fact that Satan is normally the distributor of your biscuits or whether it is the biscuits themselves that you ‘need’. In other words the question arises as to whether you are comfortable taking the biscuits from another hand?

In the latter case, your question essentially resolves around issues of addiction. In the former case the issue becomes one concerning the nature of your relationship to Satan.

The second issue raised by your question is how charcoal biscuits have come to be identified as your particular delicacy. There is perhaps some symbolism in their dark appearance that contrasts with paler symbolic wafer bread. Is there an element of satanic ritual in their appearance, hence your obligation to receive this delicacy from Satan himself? Enquiries reveal that here you may rest easy, in that the choice of charcoal biscuits has little to do with devil worship and much more to do with the important ability of charcoal to alleviate intestinal conditions that produce smelly wind.

Finally there is the issue of timing. Dogs cannot tell the hour but they can tell the time and recognise pattern. So can The Mommy. I am told that when Satan and The Mommy have betimes finished the first course of their frugal supper, you have learnt to stir from your teatime slumber and to go sit in a winsome manner at Satan’s chair and snort meaningfully. The Mommy then jumps up and goes to the shed to get your charcoal biscuits. In this respect you have trained her well.

Satan on the other hand is less easily fooled. He tells me he has witnessed you going to his chair when other people have been seated there. He says you have then gobbled the charcoal biscuits from other hands – most notably from a Chaplain to The Queen – in a bizarre parody of greed-crazed communion.

So what are we to conclude from your question? I counsel a period of reflection during which you contemplate why it should be that both The Mommy and Satan are happy for you to receive a regular measure of charcoal biscuits in addition to the copious quantities of tuna and biscuit you scarf at teatime.

Why won’t Satan let me go to Church?

Bruce, I think the name gives it away. However, you are due a more detailed response…..

I am given to understand that Satan’s interdiction comes about because you have been invited to an Anglican Cathedral, together with the Mommy, to see Murphy’s owner become a canon. Murphy himself has boycotted the ceremony because he is a Papist dog. As a French bulldog Satan reckons you should show some solidarity. This is all the information I have been able to gather about this particular satanic interdiction.

There are wider ramifications to your question, however, that we should explore for your peace of mind.

Churches in general are not places that are particularly well equipped to deal with dogs. You would find that there was a very limited supply of tuna and dog biscuit available. They are often cold and draughty, and most of the time there are very few people there for you play with. Those people that do have occasion to gather in churches are admittedly often tolerant of animals, thanks to the teaching of St. Francis. They would regard you as one of God’s creatures, a view not fully shared by Satan. They might be less tolerant of you lying on your back snoring. Spare a thought that your instant ability to do this might provoke the sin of Envy at times of tedium.

Then there is the question of religious faith.  Satan is firmly of the opinion that, with few exceptions, religious people give a bad example to dogs. They have to be restrained from snapping at each other. They mill about in a general tussle for supremacy. They often bark on pointlessly, in love with the sound they make.

In your present circumstances you have no need to develop a religious faith. The Mommy and Satan, through the operation of Grace, look after your every need. You live a life of ease in an earthly Eden where any intervention by Satan is purely for your own good.

Why can’t I go to Italy?

Bruce, you seemed to have returned from your summer vacation with other dogs with a spectacularly difficult issue. I confess to a concern that as we begin our second series of treatments that we may be getting in to deep waters. Deep waters that involve not only your relationship with The Mommy and Satan, but also the very relationship between The Mommy and Satan. I counsel you not to become cause of friction and to avoid any behaviour that might be thus construed.

Upon enquiry I have discovered there to be a divergence of opinion about the advisability of your going to Italy. Ever since The Mommy noticed a cute little dog being put in it’s own travelling bag at Pisa airport and carried aboard a flight to Palermo there has been static in the air about holidays arrangements that include dogs. This has not gone down well with Satan. Given the choice Satan tells me would prefer to carry a flask of nitro-glycerine with him on holiday. He feels he has some experience of this, though not literally of course.

Satan asks me to draw to your attention the fact that a new car has recently been acquired. You will be permitted to travel in it, not on a seat but in a spacious area at the rear. Satan feels that the limit of your ability to accompany the Mommy on journeys has thereby been reached. He further opines that this is a new car and should traces of pawmarks, spittle or other effusions be found in your compartment or indeed elsewhere in the car your ability to go to Italy, or anywhere, will be solely as the contents of a tin.

What is the grey thing in the garden? I love it.

The Mommy and Satan call the grey thing in the garden ‘a plastic washing up bowl’. Please Bruce, don’t confuse yourself by trying to remember this. It is sufficient that you just enjoy pushing it around and trying to bite it. It is important that you have some ‘down time’ from your main tasks of eating and sleeping. Apparently this is known as ‘chillaxing’

Many people like to take time out of their strenuous routines by ‘chillaxing’. However this can lead laughter and ridicule, rather like when the grey thing rears up and whacks you on the snout. I have had a word with The Mommy and Satan about laughing at you when this happens. It is not good for your self-esteem. There are so many things in one’s life that are liable to rise up and smite one on the snout, just when one thinks one has them under control. Little did the smooth faced man think that the Leveson Enquiry was going to rise up and smite him on the snout. It seemed such a good idea at the time. Anyway he keeps his nuclear button trigger finger sharp by ‘chillaxing’ with Fruit Ninja. We all sleep easier as a result.

One of the things that perplexes The Mommy is that you continue to ignore the range of plastic bones, stuffed teddy bears, pheasants, monkeys and balls of various sizes that have been given you over time. The only time you chew your bone loudly is when Satan is listening to soft music. You have indicated that you do this just to annoy him, not out of any intrinsic need to chew.

My question then, on which I would like you to reflect over the next few weeks, is whether you feel totally fulfilled? Is there some useful activity to which you might feel attracted, that in some small part would be seen as a contribution to the economic crisis the country faces? Is there some element of the forthcoming Diamond Jubilee that you feel you could sign up to? On reflection, chasing a washing up bowl round the back garden  may after all be an appropriate response to the current situation. It prefigures the Olympics for sure.

How come Terry the Vet always sticks a needle in me? I quite like him.

On the face of it Bruce, this does appear to be an abusive relationship. I am told you are very affectionate towards Terry the Vet and try to kiss him when he puts you up on his table. You indicate that every time he sees you he responds very ardently at first, but then turns you round and sticks a needle in your arse. (For avoidance of doubt, this is not ‘Grooming’, which is something quite different. Do not become anxious on that score.)

In truth, you need to begin to understand that sometimes things that appear to be damaging and hurtful, like a needle in the bum, often disguise a more positive intention. Your health and wellbeing is a source of great concern to The Mommy. There have been a number of incidents when various of your orifices have required veterinary attention. Such a history has led Satan to give you the nickname ‘Sicknote’. This is unkind but not wholly inaccurate. As a result you are more familiar with Terry the Vet than many dogs of your age.

The substances Terry injects into your bum are designed to cure you of all ills, promote your ability to dance on your hind legs, twist, turn and otherwise pose in a way that will enable you to emulate the celebrated ‘Pudsey’ and win talent competitions. This is The Mommy’s secret ambition. Unhelpfully Satan suggests your inability to follow simple instructions may jeopardise this.

Unlike the British Economy, which desperately needs a shot of growth hormone, you are now in rude health following your latest encounter with Terry the Vet. My advice is to try and keep it that way – Terry the Vet is an expensive relationship to maintain. Satan is keeping the cost/benefit analysis under review.

What is shopping?

Bruce, of all the questions you have asked during the time we have been having our sessions together this has been the most unexpected. Initially I was completely perplexed as to why you were concerned with retail matters. I could not see how a more developed understanding of shopping would advance your therapy.

Dogs do not buy things. Humans do buy things, and indeed shopping is sometimes referred to as ‘retail therapy’. Shopping for some humans is seen as a distraction from the cares and woes of workaday life, a bit like ‘Holiday’ that we talked about last week. (When you think about these last words I have used, do not allow yourself to fall into semantic confusion. I do not mean that human beings are bought and sold by means of shopping, that is done through the operation of Capitalism which is another issue entirely.) I mean that the very act of shopping is, in itself, seen by many people as a solution to problems. This is truly perplexing.

Take for example the problem of the regeneration of the cities and towns of West Yorkshire where you live. This is a subject close to The Mommy’s heart. I understand you have been the recipient of her views on this subject, and because you have appeared to listen to her adoringly as she speaks, she is under the impression that you know quite a bit about this subject. My advice is not to disillusion her.

What has perplexed both The Mommy and Satan is the obsession that the civic leaders of West Yorkshire have with shopping as the sole instrument of regeneration. At a time when the smooth-faced men have taken everyone’s money and put it back in their banks, it is somehow seen as essential that more shops are built. Going into these shops, our leaders believe people will spend the money they no longer have. The Mommy and Satan believe plans for regeneration would do better to address the current shortage of affordable housing, preferably before the UK Construction Industry goes belly up.

Anyway I digress, but I hope you have been paying attention. Luckily, I managed to have a word with Satan when I first got notice of your question. He believes you are perplexed because whenever you are being left in the house on your own, The Mommy or Satan put your bed by the front door and tell you that they are ‘just going shopping’. This can occur any time of day or night and sometimes you notice bags of shopping coming in with them when they return and sometimes there doesn’t appear to be evidence of any shopping actually having taken place.

Satan believes that, if you could understand the concept of shopping, you would have gained the impression that there is a very liberal dispensation of Opening Hours in West Yorkshire and that shopping is a very hit and miss affair in terms of tangible outcomes.

My advice is to stay relaxed about this, I refer you to earlier conversations we have had about Ritual. ‘Just going shopping’ is a ritual valediction that signals in the famous words of General Douglas MacArthur ‘I will return’.

How come I get sent to live with dogs?

This question follows on from your previous enquiry, Bruce, and I see you are still puzzling over issues that touch on questions of identity and, in a wider sense, your place in the known universe. I understand you have recently spent some time away from your home. You found yourself in a setting where there were other dogs. These dogs were also spending time away from their homes. I also understand that you did not spend this time in the company of The Mommy or Satan. They were elsewhere.

The Mommy tells me that she believes you enjoy these periods of time in the company of other dogs. She wishes me strongly to convey to you that in no sense are you to see this period of time away from her as a punishment for any wrongdoing. Only humans imprison each other. The term she uses to describe these periods of time is ‘Holiday’. The Mommy is a great enthusiast for the concept of ‘Holiday’, and feels that a ‘Holiday’ should provide respite from the ardours of toil and her workaday treadmill of constant labour as represented by meetings and interminable telephone conversations. She is keen that you too should enjoy the benefits of 'Holiday'.

Satan however is of the opinion that, as your workaday treadmill consists almost entirely of sleeping and eating, ‘Holiday’ for you might best consist of a slightly more regimented existence with episodes of  strenuous exercise. I am sure he has your best interests at heart. He certainly feels that periods of time spent in the company of other dogs will help you understand more clearly your essential canine nature.

You need to understand that both The Mommy and Satan enjoy being elsewhere on ‘Holiday’. Satan is occasionally permitted, as Milton says, to ‘ boldly venture to whatever place, farthest from pain, where he might’st hope to change torment with ease, and soonest recompense dole with delight.’ The Mommy accompanies him on such excursions to moderate any excess of delight.

If time spent away in the company of other dogs is puzzling to you, take solace in such unconfined leaping for joy and expressions of delight that occur when you and The Mommy, reunited, return to hearth and home.

Why do I think other dogs are not like me, then?

This is a complex question, Bruce. It displays a certain level of anxiety on your part, which I can only assume arises from something you have either observed or overheard.

What you need to get your head around is that at one and the same time you are both like all other dogs in the world and you are your own individual self. Regrettably, like so many dogs, your track record in holding two thoughts at the same time is not impressive. Perhaps it would help if I illustrated this concept with reference to another dog I am working with, to protect patient confidentiality let’s call him Murphy.

 

Now Murphy has an obsession with always peeing on the full bin bags as they await collection outside the Methodist Church. He cannot stop himself even though he knows somewhere inside himself that it is obsessive behaviour.

As I am told, you, Bruce, as an individual dog have never peed on a full bin bag outside the Methodist Church. In that respect you are unlike Murphy, and thus are entitled to think from that example that you are indeed quite unlike other dogs.

However, as we delve deeper into this matter we begin to discover that Murphy, and his name gives us a clue, is only acting as all good Catholic dogs do and signalling their traditional disdain for Methodism and his particular refusal to engage ecumenically with them. This is learned behaviour, instilled from a very early age. He also knows that as a greyhound he can slip away pretty quick should some sandal-wearing beardy Methodist minister remonstrate with him.

The Mommy is a Churchwarden and you are the dog of a solid Church of England household, albeit one containing Satan. In contrast to Murphy, you have no problem in fully engaging in ecumenical activities with the Methodists, and would never dream of peeing on their bin bags.

However, as has formed the subject of a previous blog, you are learning to pee every time you go out the back door, although you still need reminding every now and then. This too is learned behaviour instilled from an early age and as such you are identical to Murphy in your canine being. Notwithstanding that, seen side-by-side, it would not occur to a visitor from Mars that you were the same species.

I hope this has helped illuminate your original question. However I fear Murphy will continue to be an embarrassment to his owner, who happens to hold an important post within The Church of England.

Why do I not drink when The Mommy is not there?

I must say, Bruce, that you are being somewhat disingenuous here. I think you know that there is no problem with you not drinking when The Mommy is not there. Not drinking when The Mommy is not there is more of a problem for Satan, as it happens. When The Mommy is not there I have observed that you merely sleep by the front door awaiting her return. Your snoring may puzzle deliverymen, but sounds of heavy breathing as items of mail are pushed through the letterbox are commonplace for hardened Royal Mail operatives.

All the evidence points to your drinking problem occurring immediately after The Mommy has returned from wherever her business has taken her. It is then that you are observed, after the ritual leaping for joy, dashing to your water bowl and indulging in what can only be described as binge drinking. As you know, from when the smooth faced man comes on the television and tells everyone how to live their lives, binge drinking is bad. What’s more a culture of binge drinking is even worse. One of the consequences of binge drinking is vomit. This is precisely what you do after lapping at your water bowl in a demented manner on The Mommy’s return.

We need, Bruce, to find a solution to this problem together. Raising the price of drinking makes no sense for people and even less sense for French Bulldogs. The human compulsion to binge drink is an overwhelming inner urge brought about by a complex chain of interrelated factors, mainly involving peer pressure and a misguided sense of what comprises celebration. For many young people getting blethered is the only participative cultural activity they know. (I hope I am not going too fast for you, Bruce.)  Access to artistic, sporting and other civilised cultural pursuits for young people is currently being significantly reduced by the policies of the same smooth faced man who appears on The Mommy and Satan’s television telling them how to live their lives. (Keep up, Bruce) Ironically his policies are traditionally supported financially by donations from drinks manufacturers, and by revenue from the sales of drinks.

However, with you the solution is simpler. I have advised The Mommy to place your water bowl on high, until you have recovered sufficiently from the ecstasy of The Mommy’s return to be able to lap in moderation. I have proffered similar advice to Satan, but have been assured that whilst he is no less ecstatic to see The Mommy return, he has always lapped in moderation.

What I don’t understand is…. why they shout loudly at me when they want me to come near them.

Bruce, you are not alone with this issue. It is puzzling and you are right to have raised it with me. Many, many dogs have indicated to me their struggle to understand this human phenomenon.

At the heart of the matter is the firm belief held by many humans, and your Satan in particular, that most dogs are a bit thick and slightly deaf. Thus they need to be spoken to in a tone and volume normally reserved for foreigners. In your case this is compounded by the fact that you are a French Bulldog, albeit from Ferrybridge.

The second crucial factor affecting this issue is the fact that you are owned. Your collar and lead are symbolic as well as practical devices. Whilst you can have no concept of this, you will come to understand that many dog owners still take the view that the behaviour of their dog reflects on them. Owners want their dogs to trust and obey. So, when you continue to nuzzle the fox pooh rather than join the walk alongside The Mommy and Satan, you have noticed a certain stridency in their calls and this has alarmed and perplexed you.

I draw your attention here to the way parents sometimes behave with their children. (Those are what the smaller humans in brighter clothes are called.) Things become particularly perplexing when trust and obedience are placed in diametric opposition. The call is often heard in West Yorkshire shopping malls “Maaarrk, come here while I twott you!”

It seems universal that the demands of governance require us to lick the boot that kicks us. Thus I counsel you to conduct a risk assessment balancing the likelihood of a whack on the snout against temporary liberty.

What is wrong with barking at the Television?

I understand you are raising this with me because of the verbal abuse you recently suffered during The Mommy and Satan’s viewing of ‘The Frozen Planet’. Notwithstanding that your intention was solely to defend The Mommy from polar bears and killer whales.

There are some technical matters here that you need to understand, or at least know about. The recent arrival of digital TV and HD has meant that dogs are now able to recognise things on TV. Previous generations of dogs have gone to The Great Kennel in The Sky with no proper opportunity to show their disapproval of ‘The Generation Game’, for example, by imitating the humans barking at the screen. Dogs just idly wondered what all the fuss was about and continued to snooze. They were also oblivious of early David Attenborough.

Another technological advance is the hand control for TV. This gadget, if it can be brought readily to hand and is not being sat on, has the advantage of cutting off Jonathan Ross before prolonged human barking can occur. The prevalence of Football TV however has hugely increased human barking.

Football TV is when those tiny humans appear on the screen, running about in a futile sort of competitive pattern chasing something, kicking both it and each other. You cannot see the different shirt colours but you need to understand that The Mommy’s team sometimes play against Satan’s team. That is when the human barking is likely to get nasty. My advice to you on these occasions is to not draw attention to yourself – at all.

Barking at the TV by dogs is what is known as learned behaviour. It is also pointless because it doesn’t affect the TV at all. The polar bears on ‘The Frozen Planet’ couldn’t hear you. They weren’t going to eat The Mommy. They were an illusion* and probably will be all gone soon anyway. The killer whales just wanted to eat the cameramen.  I counsel you therefore to take your cue from The Mommy and Satan. If they sit quietly watching the TV, you should do the same. If a smooth-faced man in a suit comes on and starts telling them how to live their lives – join in their barking. It will lighten the moment considerably.

Why am I made to pee every time I go out the back door?

In the house in which you live with The Mommy and Satan, peeing indoors is a ritual and a privilege entirely reserved for humans. For dogs, peeing indoors is a taboo.

A taboo is a rule so strong that when it is broken Harm Befalls. For example, selling the time of the Prime Minister to the highest bidder is taboo. This pees on Democracy.

In your case the Harm is a whack on the snout with a rolled up newspaper, I am informed. This you already know from regrettable instances when you have peed indoors. You have indicated that you have learnt from this, Bruce, and now when you want to pee, you go and stand by the back door. You will then be let out by The Mommy or sometimes even by Satan.

My research reveals however that you have taken up the habit of standing by the back door thus obliging The Mommy to stop whatever it was she was doing, eating delicious food prepared by Satan, talking at length on the telephone, tweeting or blogging and go to let you out. (The Mommy usually has to do this as her chair is nearest the door.)

You then go into the garden but do not pee. You wander about like a fart in a trance, as if totally surprised to find yourself in a garden in West Yorkshire. This is not peeing but ‘taking the piss’. Satan then has to intervene and I am told you then find yourself quickly able to summon up the ability to relieve yourself.

So now for the avoidance of doubt all excursions by you out of the back door now require you to pee. In the circumstances, Bruce, I can only advise you to get it over with quickly. You can then find a spot in the Spring sunshine to snooze or otherwise commune with nature, undisturbed by Satan.

You may have noticed that for humans quite the converse applies. It is ordained that all exits through the front door, even for short expeditions known as ‘Shopping’, have to be preceded by a visit to the bathroom otherwise Harm Will Befall.

How come Satan doesn’t talk to me?

There are so many ways to address this matter, Bruce. The question has metaphysical, theological and literal dimensions that in the past have confounded great canine minds*. Let’s see how far we can engage with what goes on in your noddle.

When you identify the person who lives with The Mommy as Satan, you are casting him in the role of evil incarnate. From your perspective this is fair enough. You have every right to identify someone or something in your universe as a threat to your wellbeing if it helps you navigate your course through what you perceive to be a complex universe. The question arises for me as to why on earth you would want Satan to talk to you? Are you hoping he will explain to you why you have come to view him as the personification of evil? Bruce, what truly lies at the root of your anxiety?

I would suggest that the reason you have cast him in this metaphysical role is principally because his behaviour towards you contrasts with The Mommy’s approach. It is not because his behaviour is inherently evil, it is because it is not indulgent. The Mommy talks to you all the time, she often answers on your behalf (in a funny voice) and refers to you as ‘poppet’. That is not the epithet Satan uses to describe you. The Mommy is besotted. She merely laughs when you loudly chew your bone throughout the Adagio of Schubert’s String Quintet (Op. 163). This will have caused you to have a distorted view of life.

By the way, you need to beware of becoming The Mommy’s ‘poppet’. The possession of ‘poppets’ has traditionally been associated with witchcraft and devil worship. This has led in the past to the pets of eccentric women being roasted alive. Think about that, Bruce. Consider also that theologically speaking, Satan talks to all of us all of the time, sometimes we don’t realise it and we think we are doing the right thing - by stealing from pensioners, for example.

Literally speaking, and perhaps this is the explanation that most likely suits your situation, I am told your particular Satan normally doesn’t converse at all.  He prefers silence and cunning. However, I understand on those rare occasions when he does strike up conversation it is in the expectation that an amusing and edifying verbal encounter will ensue. I draw to your attention the fact that you are a dog.

* See earlier blog reference to Rowan the Welsh Terrier/Wire Hair Terrier cross.

How come at Big Sleep Time always the lights go off, then soon go back on…and then longtime go off again?

This is about Ritual. Ritual is complex but very important to all humans. The Mommy and Satan are great believers in Ritual. Rituals are vital actions and sayings that must be performed at specific times otherwise Harm Will Befall.

You need to get this concept firmly between your ears as soon as possible. We may have to spend some time on this, but eventually I hope you will find it illuminating. It will explain many things about your life and offer guidance on how to behave.

Big Sleep Time, or ‘Bobos’ time as The Mommy calls it is full of important Rituals. (By the way are you starting to learn Pidgin English?) The three elements to ‘Bobos’ time Rituals are Purging, Closing, and Provisioning.

Purging

This element is symbolic of relinquishing the day that is drawing to a close. It is universally acknowledged that it is difficult to sleep for long time for excess liquid in the body. So the chant of “Bobos Wee Wee Time” which awakes you from your Evening Sleep Time is the signal for your Purging Ritual in preparation for Big Sleep Time.

It is a two-part ritual that involves you being hoofed down the garden, peeing once, looking to come back in the warm and then being forced to pee once again. (We will discuss the issues you have with this on a later occasion.)

Closing

Electricity is very dangerous at night. It has a mind of its own and unless it is completely put to sleep Harm Will Befall. All external doors have to be locked shut. Everything must be closed before sleep is permitted.

Provisioning

Some humans provision themselves with all manner of foodstuff to avoid night starvation. (Did you realise the human navel is the perfect receptacle for salt when eating celery in bed?) However a glass of water is all that Satan and The Mommy need to take upstairs at night.

The answer to your question about the lights going on therefore is that one or more elements of the ‘Bobos’ time Rituals will have been omitted, or it will have been forgotten that it has already been observed, or it will have been felt necessary to check again that it has been fully observed. This is in itself a Ritual.

How come it's ok to nibble some people's ears and not others?

You would be amazed if you could even glimpse the full range of human sexual behaviour. Suffice to say this is an issue that we must deal with urgently, Bruce. It has serious implications for all dogs. 

Only yesterday we learn that Rowan the Wirelsh Terrier has had to leave his home in London for kennels in Cambridge as a result of misunderstandings about human sexuality. If Rowan, who has an intellect light years in excess of yours, has been inconvenienced, I shudder to think what Satan might do. There is potential for irreversible and possibly painful surgical procedures if you continue to be confused.

This would be unfair , as there are people who come to your abode who, for reasons that frankly I struggle with, find the arrival of a fat, furry two stone tuna breath torpedo on their lap to be a pleasure. A pleasure taken to further erotic heights initially by a wet tongue inserted in the aural canal, and then further enhanced by sensual nibbling of earlobe. The noise of the snuffling and the cries of bliss escalate. (Even writing this down feels wrong.)

So to avoid unpleasant consequences, you must ensure that the encounter is consensual.

So here are some rules:

·      Do not make your move on anyone standing up;

·      Never make your move on any of the small people with brighter clothes;

·      Ensure that your partner is sitting down, preferably alone, on a sofa with no cup of tea in hand;

·      Ensure that your partner has noticed your presence;

·      Look for a hand gesture e.g. patting the cushion provocatively;

·      Do not swallow anything that comes away in your mouth (more surgical procedures);

·      To be on the safe side, even if they give encouragement, do not try it on with vicars.

How come I don’t get tuna on my biscuits in the morning….?

In order to unpack this issue for you, Bruce, I’d like you to consider a number of salient points about the rhythm of life. My preliminary research reveals that you do get tuna on your biscuits in the evening.

As you get older you will discover it is important to have things to look forward to. A day is a life in microcosm. We are exhorted ‘not to let the sun go down on our wrath’, I am pleased to hear this is not an issue with you.

Overcoming initial disappointment makes the ultimate achievement of tuna on your biscuits in the evening of life all the sweeter. You may wish to consult with The Mommy on this, as I understand she is very hot on delaying gratification.

However, a word of warning… attempting to lick off the fragrant tuna lying on top of the biscuits and avoiding the biscuits themselves demonstrates an unhealthy attitude. Those that succumb to this temptation have found themselves leading frivolous lives, not sustained by a proper biscuit-based ethical dimension.

I counsel you to remember that we are living in tough times. Many young dogs do not enjoy the living standard to which you have become accustomed. They see their elders rewarding themselves with luxurious diets consisting exclusively of tuna, abandoning their moral compass, engaging in fish based Ponzi schemes and other corrupt practices that have brought the country to its knees. They howl out in the streets and run wild.

One final point, the fragrant tuna on your biscuits in the evening is yours and yours alone. You need feel no obligation to share the fragrance with either The Mommy or, especially, Satan. A dog’s breath is pleasing only to other dogs.