The Lumpford Files

I am Dog

January 18, 2019

Good day all, Jim Lumpford here!  I have finally managed to wangle my way in to talking to you all by myself.  Sheesh!  I tell you it’s been a long time coming but, trying to get a word in edgeways with her can be a tougher task than you might imagine.  Yes, yes she may appear all quiet, unassuming and all that.  But don’t let that fool you.   Oh no, there’s a steely stubbornness, (shush…am whispering now bordering on the control freak between you and me), which has prevented me from getting anywhere near here.  Anyway she’s budged over and now allowing me a few words.  Hoorah!  Actually I’m going to put a few things straight.

Firstly, I am not sat in front of this interface typing away on the keyboard.  It is a fact that such an activity would be highly unlikely, nigh on impossible, for a creature such as myself to have the dexterity.  I have paws you see because,  I am Dog.   I know you may have heard tales which state that I believe myself to be anything but.  However, it is all in her imagination you know (and I just go along with it to make her happy!)  So, in this instance, seeing as she is lucky enough to have fingers (and that oh so handy opposable thumb) I have asked her to be my aid and do the typing for me.  She has agreed and I’ve thrown her a Bon Bon for some positive reinforcement!  It works for me.

I sense the gasps of surprise on hearing this truth.  I am good at sensing things.  It is partly because of this supremely marvellous nose of mine, but also a keen extra sensory perception.  Eyes to the soul……I am Dog.

Smells good
Eyes to the soul

But you’re a smart bunch and I know you must have realised the inconceivability that someone like me could be a Private Detective.  I am Dog.  Seriously though, trench coats are far too long for me to wear and a trilby would keep falling off.   Besides all good Private detectives have a classic car.  It would be ridiculous to think I could hold a steering wheel, let alone reach the pedals with these paws.

I rest my head on her knee.  Our gaze meets and she in turn rests her hand upon my head.  We both sigh.  Life is good.  There’s soft music playing in the background, calming classical music which she says I like.  That’s fine by me, but I really don’t care.  Truth is, she likes it so I reciprocate the feeling.  I am Dog. The sounds of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell will undoubtedly resonate later, when he returns from work later in the day.  I am happy with both.  I am Dog.

As is usual, the house has emptied after a morning rush of activity where the rest of the pack have scuttled off in various directions of school and work.  I’ll see them all soon and I don’t worry.   The pups will return and we will once again be close.

Me and the pup

In the meanwhile she is here.  Going about normal business for the most part, until I suddenly catch that glint in her eye that suggests mischief is in the air and she throws caution to the wind, shimmying to  The Gipsy Kings (you heard me) with gay abandon, in those ever so worn out ripped jeans.

You’ll catch your death in those!

I glance up and she immediately knows my thoughts regarding this inappropriate legwear for the time of year.  She smiles, in that way that tells me not to worry about such small things.   So I close my eyes and snooze.  After all I am Dog.



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