Hugo and Lola + ghost writer
Today started well in dogland. There was mention of birthdays and beaches. All sounding good from our large warm bed.
Random stuff was loaded into the car to be delivered to Sam the only human son in this family. He’s only just reappeared in our lives , I thought he was an adult human but for some reason a massive box of Lego was being delivered to his new house. Is this normal for a 33 year old? Books and university clutter competed with other stuff all labeled John Lewis . Who is that for, for pity sake we thought Sam lived with a woman!
The mums seemed really pleased to have empty storage under the stairs, they can be really strange some times. We’ve seen Harry Potter, lets hope they are not thinking of downgrading us fur babies to the ” so much space” area.
Harry Potter is a human they can move in there if anybody does.
Breakfast done and everything seems ready for an outing . Towels are packed and coats . We try to eat the old cats food but the mums catch us and the cat swears, a lot. She really is a foul mouthed creature, you’d think at 22 she would be a little more polite in front of impressionable pups.
The drive to the beach was lovely, warm air blowing and Radio 4 mellifluously in the background . Woman’s hour, thankfully Jenny et al were not discussing orgasms or sour dough. We get twitchy listening to that kind of talk when the mums are around. They are a little outspoken at times and crazily rant at the radio. We don’t think they know Jenny is not really in the next room.
And so to the beach, someone so got the planning wrong, the tide was high and the wind and rain was wicked. Our ears were blown near inside out and not getting wee on our fur was virtually impossible. In our world the perfect poo requires 3 rotations and a look of quiet concentration . No chance of that today there was so much buffering and blustering. We had to give up on the rotations and just scamper to opposite ends of the beach just to keep the mums occupied, bless them they did look chilly. Poos done we frolicked with the foam and chased sea gulls. It’s always so much more light-hearted once the poos are out. We know the mums really love us because they even treasure our poo by keeping it in fragrant green bags. We would not do the same for them, the very thought makes us queasy, luckily we never catch them doing one on a walk.
The mums decide coffee is needed, they really do have a problem. We are always having to find independent coffee shops to keep them in the happy zone. That in itself is difficult to work out, no tails is such a design fault in a human. Fortunately there is a parking space and we all squeeze into The Sorting House. St Agnes, Cornwall.
Coffee is not our cup of tea but cake most definitely is. All too soon the mums decide to take us on another walk . I’m never sure quite what the point is but it keeps them happy. We ended up in a graveyard, they do take this ghost writing thing seriously.
St Agnes has a very pretty churchyard but one of the road names just makes us wonder if humans really are the superior race.
Thankfully the wind and rain persuaded them to return to the car, sleep, as ever, was our happy ending, once we’d sorted out the imaginary rats in the footwell.
Great coffee and cake, rubbish weather.
H and L
PS We’ve been here before. Here is theoldmortuary Instagram feed from July 2017.