I have a box. In fact, I have several. It depends how you define them. There are two in my playground, made of blue cloth and with plastic locks which are just great for chewing and pulling…until THE HAND appears and transports me to another area where other toys are stacked high. A free ride!
Anyway there are two big boxes, stuffed with cushions, a little carpet which smells sweetly of me, and a corner where I can discreetly hide my bones.
No one would ever know – or dare to invade my privacy – so they don’t see I have a stock of half-finished meat sticks buried under the foam cushions. A secret I am not telling anyone.
I also have a green plastic bowl, broad enough for an afternoon siesta, situated under a palm tree along one wall. I am waiting for the leaves of the palm tree to start falling so I can chew something exotic. But at the moment nothing. Maybe when I am bigger, I will be able to help some of those leaves to find their way to floor level.
In the meantime, I am keeping a very, very close watch on them.
I have two other boxes, both mobile. Apparently I am only allowed to walk for 15 minutes a day until I get stronger. My mistress put me in a small blue one this morning and said she would take me to town in it. Well, I was having nothing of that. What’s a town, anyway? Was I asked? What am I – a fashion accessory to be paraded through something called a town?
No way. Time to take a stand.
So, at the first trial attempt to put me in the basket and carry me around the playground, I rocked it from side to side, jumping up and down, and then I threw myself against the entrance, jumped a bit more and howled. Ha! I made the basket – and me – impossible to carry. The basket is put down, I am allowed to escape and there is talk of „never trying that again.“ Smells like victory.
And then there’s the other box. The mobile one. The one that is going to be used to wheel me around, to take me for a walk without me walking. Strange idea, walking in a box. No dog would think like that.
Well I don’t like the sound of it and I’m planning an act of sabotage when Mistress tries it. I am not going to say what I am planning…oh no…but a clue, it may involve a large amount of poop.
No one can box me in.
Kromfohrländer first!
Olja First!
Olja First 