In which Mr Rustypants recovers on his (my) bed of pain...

Me: Er, what are you doing on my bed, Mr Rustypants?

Mr RP: I’m ill, so I’m restin’, like Gareth told me to.

Me: No, he said short walks on a lead, didn’t say anything about sleeping on beds.

Mr RP: Yeah, but be honest, it’s the same difference. A woof is as good as a growl to a deaf dog, that’s what I always say. I also need my comforts; I am ill and exhausted.

Me: You weren’t exhausted when you thundered up the stairs and leapt onto the bed like a mad thing.

Mr RP: Well, I used up all of my energy getting here, that’s why I need to sleep on your bed. Besides, I had a bad night.

Me: Oh, was your paw hurting?

Mr RP: No, it was the sleepytime stuff Gareth gave me, very confusing. Mind you, I had a great dream – it was me in a field with about elebenty hundred girlie labs and I...

Me: No, I really don’t need to be party to your shagging dreams, thank you very much.

Mr RP: Oh well. But now you mention it, I am feeling a bit faint, can you nip to the Chinese for me? I could do with a meal to get my energy back.

Me: Chinese?

Mr RP: Yes, Gareth said. Rice, egg, chicken – if that’s not special fried rice I don’t know what is. Go on chop chop! Hah – see what I did there? I crack myself up 

sometimes. You’re lucky to have a dog like me you know.

Me: It’s not happening mate. You can say what you like, and you can look at me with those brown eyes as long as you... oh, ok – how about a nice chew instead?

Mr RP: If that’s all you’ve got, I suppose it’ll have to do.