(Angus appears in the lounge, carrying something, and looking very indignant.)
Angus: “And what in god’s name is this supposed to be? <rustles object furiously>
Barbara: “Well it appears to be a bag of salad Angus. Or should I say the remains of a bag of salad.”
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah, but what is this substance that you call ‘salad‘?”
“Salad is a vegetable Angus, Dogs like vegetables.”
“Pah! Well not this type. It’s gross. Why did you put it out for me?”
“I didn’t put it out for you, I put it out for me.“
“Uh, I don’t think so. It was there, on the worktop, in the kitchen, where you put treats out for me.”
“Treats?”
“Yes. Treats.”
“Treats. As in mobile phones, car keys, wallets, oven gloves, potato peeler, tea towel …. that sort of thing?”
“Correct. And food.”
“Rarely food.”
“Definitely food.
Look, you know the rules:
- If it’s left on a worktop it’s mine
- If it’s being taken out of a cupboard it’s mine
- Anything that’s accessible while the cupboard door is open is mine
- In the event of any dispute over ownership, it’s mine.
This is all laid out in the European Convention on Canine Rights, clause 32, sub paragraph 12 ‘Automatic canine ownership of any items belonging to the owner, left carelessly lying around.'”
“In yer dreams sunshine. That defence didn’t work for your brother, Cole, when he ate the iPhone headphones. And it won’t wash now.”
“Hmmm. In his defence, you can see how the confusion happened. I mean why do you humans call stuff after food if you don’t want us to eat it? I mean, Apple? Duh?”
“Anyway, the bag of salad was pushed right to the back.”
Yes, and I do wish you wouldn’t do that – it makes it so much harder to get at.”
<sigh> “So if you haven’t eaten it, and it’s no longer in the bag, where is it?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Where in the kitchen?”
“Around”
“Around?“
<Walks to kitchen>
“Oooooh….. salad flock wallpaper. Niiiice.”
“Oh Angus!”
“What evvver.
What’s for tea?”
Angus
