So, I spent the last weekend and honestly, it feels like I’m just starting to process it now. It was one of those weekends where the sheer scale of which tasks I still have to do—laundry, life admin, the laundry pile is literally growing a sentient consciousness of its own—is overwhelming. But mostly, I was stuck in a circle of domesticity and dog hair everywhere.
Barnaby isn’t exactly the most sophisticated beast of a creature; he’s more of a clumsy, golden-furred heap of enthusiasm where his tail is essentially a lethal weapon to my coffee mugs. Between us, I think his main motivation in life is just trying to figure out out how to get me to drop a piece of toast or perhaps be some sort of footstool at any given moment.
Tuesday and Wednesday were for the working week, but Saturday started with a bit of a scramble. I tried to set an alarm, which Barnaby understands as a command to start his frantic, high-pitched ‘I’m about to do something ridiculous’ dance in the hallway. We ended up going for a walk that was supposed to be peaceful and scenic, but instead became an exercise in dodging falling leaves and trying not to let him bolt towards some suspicious squirrel who I suspect is mocking me personally.
The Great Biscuit Tragedy
Then there’s the issue of the biscuits. It’s a formal, if slightly ridiculous, declaration. I keep saying I need to clear out my storage cupboard and tidy up the kitchen, but the biscuit tin sits in a pièce de résistance piece of shelf- space. It’s constantly being raided by Barnaby. He doesn’t actually eat them (thank goodness), but he keeps nudging it with his wet nose, and honestly,’I think I’m a biscuit thief’ is my internal monologue every time I see him staring at the feeling of pleasure that the crunch would provide.
Ultimately, I’m just trying to learn hows ever how even out a bit of balance between personal enjoyment of tea-time treats and Barnaby’s incessant, nosey-nuzzling. It was as if he really thinks he can negotiate with me. Next week, I’m going to try a actually moving the tin to an upper shelf. If it works, it’s my victory. If it fails, but he manages to find a way up there, then honestly, it’s his win and I’ll be making some tea for two, not one.
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