Fifty Shades of Black

I have had an idea for a new book. This is a saucy tale of a mistress and her pet Labrador and involves collars, rope leads and being tapped on the nose with a rolled up newspaper…

The new betseller

I see myself in the mirror of the dressing table as I put my paws on its flat shiny surface. I didn’t do this purely to look at myself but as a means of getting to the shelf above where I know some chews are waiting. I catch a glace at my reflection again. Damn my fur, which tends to leave tell-tale signs of where I’ve been and that I’ve been naughty. But I like being naughty. No doubt I’ll get told off for sleeping on the bed as well – again those damn hairs – I must not sleep on the bed with wet fur either – that really makes my Mistress annoyed.
 
I shouldn’t be doing any of this. I should be practising some new walks with Ian for next year’s Real Ale Walks schedule, but he has the flu, now I have to go out with the Mistress and help her all day. This appears to involve shopping and meeting the lady from Nat Westander TCP for a ‘pop in so we can tell you about our new exciting range of financial products interview’. My Mistress tried to put it off but the ‘new exciting products’ lady said that it takes nine months to get one of these interviews and she couldn’t possibly rearrange (unless we could do 3.15, 3.30 or 4.15pm or any time on Thursday or Friday).
 
The roads are clear from Nether Stowey to Bridgwater on the A39 and fortunately Ian has lent the Mistress his Citroën Belingo so there’s plenty of room in the back for me to stretch out my long sleek body. However, no sooner have we set off than the black oblong thing on the dashboard makes a noise; binky bink bonk, binky bink bonk, binky bink bonk, bonk. It’s the lady from the bank ringing to cancel as she’d forgotten that she was on a ‘how to avoid misselling and having to pay out loads of compensation in financial markets’ course, and could they re-arrange. The Mistress pretended that she thought she had a nasty virus coming on (possibly ebola) and it would be best to put the interview off for a few months. The Lady said that woz alright and she was sure that they would have some new, even more exciting products by then and would get her centralised call centre colleague, Andrew from Bangalore – SORRY small light industrial complex on the outskirts of Swindon (weather; light drizzle with sunny spells), to set up another meeting.
 
First stop Sainsburys for milk and stuff (I’m not allowed in as I am not blind) – BORING, but then I am allowed to go to Petz4Us. The Mistress has promised me a new collar and lead. I can hardly contain my excitement (in fact some of it leaks out) and as I am let out of the car I pull against the restraints of my old leather leash, breathless and desperate to see what they have got in store for me. I bite my lip in anticipation – the Mistress tells me off. FANTASTIC.

Some of my weekend gear

 
The first aisle is one of my favourites – treats. I search in the little buckets of loose biscuits and stuff, all the while being manhandled and abused by the Mistress, “Ozy get your nose out of those Markies” – I do like it when she disciplines me. I grab at a pig’s ear, my tongue swirls round its fatty saltiness and I try to get it as far down my throat as possible. My juices are flowing and my teeth are doing a tango on the lobes of the hairy porcine delight. The Mistress gives up, helpless to stop my ravenous, wanton hunger and resigns herself to having to pay for the ear on the way out.
 
Next the leather and rope section where I am to be fitted for my new collar. I want something to make me even more attractive to other dogs, perhaps in leather. The Mistress wants something that can go in the washing machine after I’ve rolled in dead badger or fox poo. The Mistress wins. She always wins. I like it that way. Now comes the lead. Perhaps a rope one, like those homeless dogs wot sit with people in shop doorways – dogs of the street, living on their wits and stuff from McDonalds dustbins. Again I am overruled and end up with a nylon twisted blue and grey utility lead – will anybody fancy me looking like a dork dog?
 
We return to Nether Stowey. The vibration of the car making my inner goddess jump up and down – although it may be the pigs’ ear and extra large portion of Eukanuba getting mixed up in my tummy.
 
I get out of the car. I want to go out for a walk. The Mistress says that I have to be good and not pull on the lead, or roll in anything, or chase rabbits, or growl at cyclists. I promise to honour our ‘contract’, although I know that I will just not be able to help myself and end up being told off again.
 
So here I am, upstairs, sitting on my sofa, licking my bits. “Ozy. Stop licking your bits”, shouts the Mistress. I do so like it when she’s angry, but I know that she loves me and as I see her hand come towards me I know she is going to give me a stroke. “There, stroke me there”. I plead with her…
 

If this isn’t a bestseller, then I’ll eat my lead.

Ozy the Labrador, The Old Cider House, Dog Friendly Accommodation, Somerset

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About Blog Administrator

We write a number of blogs for different reasons. For: Law - contact Ian Pearson 07531 852 229 Dog - contact Ozy The Old Cider House - contact Lynne 01278 732228
This entry was posted in 50 Shades of Grey, Inner Goddess. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Fifty Shades of Black

  1. flowerpot says:

    Haven’t laughed so much for ages! Hopelessly interrupted work for the morning. Thanks Ozzy!

  2. jallinson says:

    Ozy, you deserve to make millions off this masterpiece. It might just be *too* well written though.

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