OH boy, did I get into trouble on Sunday! It was awful. I know I can be a bit naughty, but I’m a puppy, and a terrier puppy at that, and a Wire-Haired Fox Terrier puppy to boot, and that’s as naughty as it gets. I am always being ticked off for taking slippers, chewing their feet when I sit under one of their desks, snaffling toast from their plates (they say I am “too tall” because I can reach their plates) and having the occasional “little accident” when I forget to ask to go out.
But this was different. They didn’t really even shout at me. They just grabbed me, rang somebody on the telephone, said goodbye to the friends who were there for lunch, bundled me in the car and drove rather fast to Yeovil.
And my crime? I jumped on to the dining table (while they were all in the office looking at some photos) and I licked and nibbled at the chocolate cake that was left there. How was I supposed to know that this was a Really Bad Thing To Do?
They had a birthday tea for some friends recently and I watched everybody enjoying all sorts of cake, so with my first birthday soon, I was looking forward to my own birthday cake. This chocolate one on Sunday looked really nice, not fancy, just a smooth dark top and some nice chocolatey cake underneath. They hadn’t eaten half of it, so I didn’t think they’d mind me trying it. It was easy to get on the table – I just climbed on one of the chairs at the side and jumped onto the table. Hey presto! Cake! It was really nice and I was properly getting into it. Another couple of minutes and I would have eaten it all.
But it was not to be. I heard somebody say: “Where’s Pippin?” And then, all hell broke loose. I flew off the table, but they caught me. And there was a lot of screaming and everybody sounded so worried. What on earth was the matter? It’s not as if I haven’t pinched bits of food before. I know I am not allowed pork or bacon or sausages, because they would make me ill, but I don’t get into trouble if I grab a bit of roast chicken or stand with my paws on the worktop if they are making cheese sandwiches. This was different.
When we got to Yeovil, they told me it was the vets and I was going to be made sick. I didn’t like the sound of it. It wasn’t my usual vets – I trust Kate, she wouldn’t do anything nasty to me. But my two-legs wasn’t having any arguments. In we went. The vet and his assistant were very nice and spoke to me kindly. I had to have a bit of my leg shaved and then an injection and then I was sick. Over and over again. All that chocolate cake. I felt dreadful. Everyone was very kind, but I was shaking for a few minutes.
But I am a terrier and I pulled myself together. Nobody was going to see me being carried out of the surgery. I walked out as steadily as I could. I did sleep for a bit in the car, but when we got home I soon felt better.
They explained to me that chocolate is fatal for dogs, and that the better quality the chocolate, the more dangerous it is. Apparently this cake was made with very high quality chocolate. They said that one of my predecessors died of chocolate poisoning after eating some German chocolate biscuits and that it was terrible and broke their hearts. They were so scared that I would get very ill after eating the chocolate because I am still a puppy, but the vet said I am strong and would be fine once it was all out of my system. They tell me I have to remember this – no chocolate. Yes, it tastes very nice – but it is very bad for you. I must remember. No chocolate.
So, they have let me loose on the keyboard for the first time to write my own leader – Take Me To My Lead? – as a warning to other two-legs not to let their dogs get anywhere near chocolate bars or chocolate cake or chocolate biscuits or chocolate anything. As I said, it’s my first birthday soon, so I guess my cake will be the usual boring meat and kibble. Perhaps some cheese on toast if I am good. And no Easter eggs, please. They might kill me.
Pippin the puppy