The Owners Broken Bed

What a day I have had already, and I am now not talking to The Owner. Well until teatime obviously! On Friday he left me on my own ALL DAY until the wee small hours when he came crashing through the back door full of Bon Homme expecting me to be pleased to see him. Well I was sound asleep behind the door at the time and I had just got to the bit in my dream where I am galloping through a field full of badger poo being chased by a dozen Lady Chocolate Labradors who just want me for my undoubted good looks and very obvious breeding, when the back door made heavy contact with my nose as The Owner returned. I did forgive this little faux pas on the part of The Owner because he then fed me, but last night I could quite happily have given him a quick nip on the fetlocks. He sat during last evening slurping loudly on what he described as "a fine and warming winter red" which looked to me to have come from exactly the same bottle as the one he has been slurping loudly throughout the summer too. But what do I know? I'm a K9... He took himself off to bed as normal last night and then about half past two the inevitable grumblings from up stairs start. Why he doesn't just give in to it and come downstairs and have his wee escapes me. But we have to go in for this half an hour of pointless resistance until his bladder, stretched to bursting point, forces him to jump out of bed and rush down the stairs with the greatest sense of urgency, casting aside anything which happened to be not in his way. As the grumbling reached its customary crescendo upstairs I hear him throw back the duvet and launch himself out of bed. Followed immediately by a bang so loud that I thought he had circumvented the normal rush down the stairs by coming straight through the ceiling! Whilst he was "performing" I took the liberty of wandering upstairs to investigate, only to find that his bed had collapsed and now resembled a heap of firewood with a mattress on top. I was not about to risk any blame coming my way and went downstairs again quickly and hid. So at three in the morning he wanders in from the shed, wearing just his socks, armed with hammers, tubes of glue and electric screwdrivers. There then followed half an hours frantic DIY activity upstairs, with lots of banging and screwing. By half past three he was back downstairs with a triumphant smile on his face but his fingers were stuck together. He felt he was incapable of sleep after so much activity, so I had to stay awake too so he could watch the recording of yesterdays qualifying somewhere the other side of Swindon.... followed at six by the F1 race with the very fast and very noisy cars with nowhere for the K9 to sit, as they race all the way back to where they started from. Then we switch over to watch the very fast and noisy motorbikes from somewhere the other side of Swindon do it as well. I can't sleep at all though, as my comfy cushion is in front of the TV speakers. He, on the other hand, can sleep standing up at a U2 concert (and has) and the final straw came when he dropped off to sleep and dropped his mug of tea on my head and then looked at me with that accusing look in his eye as though I am now responsible for the wet patch on the carpet! So until teatime I shall be turning my back on him!