A fun blog of 'soft' philosophy about the life and times of a Westiepoo called Chester. Written as a prelude to a more serious novel raising the question: Who is the most bankrupt: the banker who won't whistle-blow or the chef who loses her livelihood?
Googling the Internet last night, as every dog secretly does (woof woof), I noticed there's a host of doggy universities, especially in America. The reason for my interest is the return from Nottingham of one of my favourites: Miss A. She came home for Easter last Friday, and I couldn't help but contain my excitement: running around like a crazed lion (that can't be right, they're big cats), wagging my tail furiously and jumping up to her repeatedly for a cuddle.
Miss A says she misses me. I miss her more. Wouldn't it be fantastic to be smart enough to go and study with her and learn some English for myself? Could you imagine it? Me, a cute Westiepoo, living in student accommodation with all those lovely, intelligent young people all fussing over me, principally the girls. Oh, what a joy it would be. I mean I had the privilege to go and visit Miss A last autumn when Mrs. B, Miss T, and Master R loaded me into their small car and drove me to her residents. What a day I had to frolic in her halls and to chase post-graduates around the grounds.
On an open day visit to York University with Miss A., Mr. A once confided that one of the senior professors gave a sample lecture on Shakespeare's opinion on dogs. Wow! Think of it, all these super talented people discussing creatures like me and philosophising whether William Shakespeare hated dogs. Surely, I would have an opinion on such matters? After all, the word 'dog' appears nearly two hundred times, with another twenty-seven for cur (mutt); fifty-three for hound; five for brach (a female dog); and three for bitch. So dogs are a pretty popular topic around the Shakespearean water cooler.
Anyhow, back to reality. Miss A. is enjoying learning about her literary matters while I look forward to having her home for a month of devoted attention to my needs. Over the next few days, there are school holidays, Easter eggs (not that I'm allowed any), the return of my responsibilities to guard Henrietta the tortoise and another groom. Roll on the lighter evenings and warmer weather. As Shakespeare, himself wrote: 'Out with the dog!' Not in the nuisance way depicted by the eminent writer, as dirty, dangerous, and bothersome, but because spring is finally here and I can live outside the brick walls of my house again.
Happy Easter one and all!