Bentley’s Tales of a Grumpy Old Man

img_0331There are times in life when I feel extremely hard done by. I hate to coin the phrase ‘grumpy old man’ but just occasionally it is exactly how I feel, it’s good to have a darn good moan and get it off one’s chest. Yes I know, I am in fact canine rather than human, I have four legs instead of two and I am useless at modern technology. But I’m told my stories are quite funny and every now and then I like to hijack ‘her’ blog and vent my frustration. So my apologies in advance if I offend anyone, but this is me, Bentley, letting off a little steam.

It all started several weeks ago because of Evie, my fellow Jack Russell and friend. Not girlfriend I hasten to add as she’s not really my type, and many would also say she’s too young for me. Yes she’s French, slim, flighty and pretty with long eyelashes, but still I have my standards to uphold and I only twice a year fall for her charms, when she flirts outrageously and I just cannot help myself, but the rest of the time we are just plain friends.

However, that’s by the by, a while ago I heard the dreaded mutterings once more about babies. This was at the time when she decided she rather liked me more than usual and paid me endless attention, I think I overheard her calling me handsome. At least she got that right ! But anyway I was long ago sorted out on the mating front, so I am of no use to her. But another suitor was found so I understand and then it all went downhill from there.

Suddenly everyone was trying to feed her more and more, there were mutterings of how she must eat extra, how she must not lose weight and so it continued. Suddenly new culinary offerings were up for grabs, for her, but not for me. I swear they became professional dog chefs those human beings, or perhaps they just finally lost the plot and thought she was a human. Evie was cooked scrambled eggs for breakfast, now don’t choke on your coffee, yes they actually made her a cooked English breakfast. This was followed at midday by sausages, she even got some steak when ‘him’ the one that MUST be obeyed decided it was not up to scratch and moaned pitifully the entire meal. This was during one of their long summer evening barbecues with numerous friends and ‘he’, having cooked it, thought it tough and not as it should have been. I even heard others saying it was delicious, but not ‘him’, no instead he gave a piece to Evie. Steak to a dog and not just any dog but Evie instead of me. I’m the prize winning show dog here in a former life, not her, the cheek of it.

So meanwhile I sat licking my lips, trying my darnedest to look like a much deserving starving creature. I squealed occasionally and batted my lashes, I hopped from paw to paw, I even jumped up against ‘her’ legs. In the end I got given a tiny scrap, ‘an offering to keep him happy’ I heard. They think I can’t understand English, but I am super intelligent, I know what they are saying.

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So anyway after 9 weeks or so of the pampering and the gourmet meals Evie produced seven squirming little pupplets.  I was genuinely happy for her, even a tad excited to be a surrogate dad or better still a Grandad, that way I’d get all the fun and none of the hard work. I kept out of the way for a day or so, knowing she would want some peace and privacy, you see I’m a thoughtful chap. Then I noticed Rory, the cat, wander into the downstairs guest room which had become the puppy palace. Now you may recall Rory and Evie are the best of friends, but still he’s a cat and I am a dog, and what’s more I am the same breed as Evie, we are comrades, we should stick together through thick and thin. Then Rory walked back out a few minutes later looking smug that he’d been the first visitor. He sidled past me, tail held high and with a wink told me they were a fine looking bunch of babes.

I thought I had better take a look and show some interest and poked my head around the door. That’s when I realised how rotten my life had become, Evie growled at me. She narrowed her eyes and snarled and told me to get out. I retreated super quickly. Cross, fed up and not at all amused.

So life has continued, the puppies have grown, they are now running around my feet during ‘kitchen time’ and testing my patience to the limit, but I have stayed calm, I haven’t snapped once although I’d like to.

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I smile through gritted teeth and walk away and hope to goodness they don’t follow me ! Everyone is acting as if nobody has ever had a baby before. Evie is treated like a princess, for some reason people seem to think she is gorgeous. Personally I cannot see the attraction, she’s such a stereotype; blonde, thin and right now with enormous boobs, not my type at all!

Ok, ‘they’ are still good to me, ‘they’ say how special I am, ‘they’ also mutter non stop about my age suddenly. Apparently I’m old, I am into the bracket where if I keeled over tomorrow and kicked the bucket I’d have lived to the average age. Hmmm I don’t like the sound of that at all. I’m Bentley I am not even middle aged, I am a young, handsome man. Or at least that’s what I tell myself every day, partly because I also hear mutterings of the fact that I look so young, I’m apparently incredible for my age and even the vet told me in January that I was in really great shape. Yes it is true, I cannot deny that I am officially an old aged pensioner, but I feel fabulous and honestly a little grump is good for the soul. Venting my frustration and letting it all out.

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So I guess if you have read this far, you might be feeling just a little sorry for me. Well that’s good because trust me, I need some sympathy and some molly coddling on my side instead of everything going to the flighty French one.

I have just one last moan before I go. You see the hardest part is that I love my food. I’ll eat anything, I just love to eat and unfortunately my metabolism, whatever that is, is of the kind that means I gain weight quite fast, so my quantities are severely rationed. I hear them telling guests in the gîte, “don’t feed Bentley, he’s on a permanent diet”. Then in the same breath they say, “but feed Evie all your like”. It’s just so unfair. But I have a cunning plan. The puppies have just started on real food and I am working on my strategy. So if you’ll excuse me I am going to sign off now, I need to do a bit more conniving to get to that super rich high fat baby food. Hmmmm just thinking about it is making me hungry !

22 thoughts on “Bentley’s Tales of a Grumpy Old Man

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