First and
foremost, I’m a labradoodle. Not one of your expensive types. No puppy farm for
me. A quiet seaside town, listening to the sounds of the waves as we played on
sofas and watched TV. Not a rule in sight - exactly how I expected life to
continue. Was I naïve or what?
The time came for
us to leave the comforts of Margate, discover the world outside and learn about our inner
selves. By this I don’t mean the content of my stomach, rather the kind of dog I’d grow into. Would
I stay cute for ever, become the perfect pet? And most important of all; had I
chosen my owner well and landed on my paws?
How I struggled;
slings and arrows, all that stuff. This was where my diary helped. Once I’d got to grips
with the use of pen, paper and naturally language (lap top skills came later),
I was able to
document the highs and lows of life – of both there have been many. Yes, I
truly believe writing
my diary saved my sanity. And if it saved mine, could my knowledge help others? Not
knowing if I could write for toffee, I boldly sought a publisher. Taking my
manuscript, by the end a dog-eared tale, on buses and tubes, I knock on doors. Well,
blow me down with a hibernating squirrel, if a cat company didn’t pick it up.
Thanks
to Crooked Cat Publishing I’ve had to seriously change my attitude to cats.
It’s been a humbling experience but worthwhile. On Jan 14th I shall
be hosting an on-line animal party, to celebrate Dougal’s Diary’s arrival on Amazon.
It’s intended to be a fun occasion for pets and their owners after the excesses
of Christmas, vile viruses and a day away from dealing with the dreaded tax
forms. In a further blog I shall run through the events for the various
animals. Pets only. No snakes or reptiles – sorry guys, Greenwich Park won’t
allow you in. However they have offered the use of their pond, so fish are
welcome. On the other hand, with their three second memory, will they remember
to turn up?
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