Good with words

Fear... distractions.... the efforts of a self-employed writer to pay the mortgage.... all that jazz.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Holly's say

Holly's been tagged for this game by Harvs. The rules are as follows: 1. Write six weird things about yourself. 2. Post this confession of the absurd on your blog. 3. Tag six other bloggers to do the same challenge.

1. What do you mean, weird? I can't discuss this now. I am busy chasing my tail. Huh? I'll have you know that's not at all weird. I am one of very few dogs who can catch their tail. A rare breed.

2. OK, give me some Whiskas and I'll talk. That's my favourite food in all the world. If you must know, I eat Whiskas to fool Charlie into thinking I am a cat. I do my best to endear myself to her, you know. I chase the Demon Tabby out of the garden, and I woof at any cats who try to poop on Charlie's lawn. But she just hisses at me, sometimes in very close range. Some people don't know who their friends are.

3. Are we going in the car today? That's by far my favourite place to be, unless we've stopped at the river. I love the car boot. It's all warm and it smells of cow poo. If dad's fiddling with the car, or changing the battery, or giving it a wash, he lets me come and sit in the boot while he does it. Now that's my idea of a good Sunday morning.

4. Know how I said I'm a rare breed? Here's another reason why. I can stand on my back legs. I reckon I can stay up for quite a few seconds now. Dad's training me to do it as a Christmas party trick. He's aiming for 10. And he gives me bread to do it. I'll do anything for a piece of bread, me. Or Whiskas. Mm, whiskas....

5. Mum says I should tell you about my worst fear. But really I'm not scared of much, me. I can face a hissing swan and I don't even run away from those yappy little dogs (much). Well, apart from this one Jack Russell we know, who really does have inadequacy issues. So if I told you I'm afraid of forks, would you laugh? Would you heck. I'd lick you half to death. They're a lot scarier than they look, forks. They never just stay there, on the ground. Touch them and they see-saw back and forth, making scary clangs. And don't get me started on the garden fork! That's the worst one of all! I try to see it off, but no luck yet.

6. There's one more thing that gets me woofing like there's no tomorrow. But not 'cause I'm scared, no siree. If I see a man on his own, boy, I'll go nuts. It doesn't matter where he is, but if he's on his own - no lady and no dog - there's obviously something up with that. I'll tell him alright. Go home and walk your dog! You fiend. Keep away from us! Take it from me, those men are bad news.

Holly's run out of people to tag... unless there are any volunteers?


  • At 5:55 AM, Blogger Liz said…

    There is absolutely nothing weird about being scared of men on their own, Holly. Not that you're scared, of course. Forks now, that is a bit weird.

    xxx from Harvs


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