Santa Paws

Dear Santa Paws

Apparently I have to write you a letter about how well behaved and good mannered I've been in order to get some nice presents this Christmas. So here goes:

I accept that perhaps my year could have started better, when on my first day away from my mum and litter mates I mistakenly chewed a glass vase. Giving my new mum a near heart attack and an unhealthy obsession with poo for a fortnight. But you have to say that I soon redeemed myself by learning that any self-respecting puppy should go to the toilet in the garden, not in the kitchen, hallway or front room, and that CATS ARE NOT FOR CHASING.

I'll also admit that I could be an early riser in the beginning, and that with jobs to go to to keep me in food and treats and the now customary vets bills, those 5am howls for attention might have got a tad annoying. But, the soulful whimpering did the trick in moving me out of the crate and into the humans' bed at night by about four months old, thus removing the need for the unsightly cage in the bedroom. And, I NEVER chased a cat during the night while they slept.

I'll give you the fact that my recall was, and still is, a touch unpredictable, but here I must blame my cocker spaniel genes and declare it not to be my fault that I go deaf when in pursuit of another dog or cyclist (or cat). It is hereditary and out of my control.

But on the plus side, I did manage to fool the obedience trainer into giving me my puppy and bronze training certificates with 100% pass marks. Thus making the humans look like good dog owners, albeit utterly perplexed about why I can obey all commands in class, but bugger all commands when in public. This surely shows canine initiative and commitment?

Finally, despite the humans' efforts to keep me half starved - two MINUTE bowls of dry kibble with the odd scraping of chicken or fish a day and none of the table scraps and leftovers that all my doggy chums in the park gloat about - I have never actioned the urges to leap on my humans and savage them for their dinner. I don't even do the sitting by their knees, mournful eyed and drooling, in order to obtain scraps by emotional blackmail.

Oh, and I think I know the house rule NOT TO CHASE THE CATS now, I've heard it so many times (at least, not when the humans are within earshot).

So, it's patently clear that I need a new ball on a rope (Dad threw the last one into a tree), a new squeaky sheep (Ruby systematically destroyed and de-stuffed mine), a large rawhide bone (I keep forgetting to hide them from the foxes) and my very own cat that I will be allowed to freely chase to my heart's content (I promise not to catch it).

Eddie x