This is Basil, the tiny but forceful character who rules our roost (with the possible exception of his Tibetan Terrier sister who can sometimes keep him in his place). We have had dogs in the house for many years and one of them (Mr Murph, the Labrador Collie Cross) even had his own celebrated blog where he was ably assisted by another Tibetan Terrier called Oz.
Since the lovely Mr Murph departed us we (me and the wife that is) have contented ourselves with simply having conversations between ourselves “voiced” by the appropriate canine. As I describe this it’s starting to sound like some form of mental illness but I’ll plough on. “Holly says she thinks you may have made an error of judgement not bringing the raincoats” sound much less incendiary than “Why didn’t you bring the raincoats” so perhaps it can be charitably viewed as ongoing marriage therapy rather than some weird disorder.
I’ve taken this concept one step further with Basil (aka “the boy”) by giving him a reasonably authentic Yorkshire accent which I’ve been perfecting for him over the last 5 years or so. Now he will very often burst into the language of God’s Own County at the drop of a hat. “Eee it looks like rain’s on’t way lads” etc.
This got me into some trouble not long ago when I was walking with Basil after a family meet up with the boy on his lead when he stopped to do a poo. I should say he is very proud of his poo and unlike Tibetan Terrier Holly who discretely chooses long grass at the side of the road, Basil insists on moving to the centre of the pavement for maximum impact for his tiny output. (We always pick it all up, I swiftly add before you call the Police or put us on Facebook).
Adopting my very best Leeds brogue I turned to my step son Chris and said “Eee ah’ve joost doon the most ENORRRMOUS Poo tha knows”.
Sadly my step son Chris was 20 yards behind and I was talking to a complete stranger in a similar coloured coat who looked very startled and quickened his pace to a run.