Free Bone Idle by Suzette Hill

– though why you can’t just stick to the crypt I do not know!’
    ‘Ah, but you see, Maurice,’ he replied solemnly, ‘in life it’s always good to ring the changes.’
    And having cast that philosophical pearl, he went sniffing off among the bushes.
    Abandoning my sulk, I promptly called him back. ‘Your bones matter little in the general scheme of things,’ I observed sternly. ‘They are merely ciphers which –’
    ‘What scheme?’ he asked.
    ‘The Brighton type’s scheme to manipulate the vicar and destroy our chances of an easy life – not to mention the police putting their hulking hoofs in everything! It is all going to be exceedingly tiresome.’ And I emitted one of my more ear-freezing miaows. The dog winced, but before he could bound off again, I remarked casually, ‘Anyway, he’s definitely going up to London and thence down to Brighton – and this time has no plans to take you on the outing.’ (I couldn’t resist mentioning that, as the dog gets cocky when given preferential treatment.)
    ‘What!’ he yelped. ‘What about my grub?’
    ‘There won’t be any,’ I said. And waited.
    As anticipated, the reaction was violent and theatrical. Indeed, such was the volume that even the phlegmatic sparrows took flight, and I could hear the baby next door wailing in protest.
    I suffered the drama for a while, and then raising my voice above the din let it be known that it was just one of my playful jests, and that of course F.O. would never go off without making the necessary arrangements, and that all was in hand for the dog’s culinary needs.
    ‘Yes, yes, but will I get my GRUB?’ he bellowed.
    ‘Yes, Bouncer, you will be fed, i.e. f-e-d, FED!’
    ‘Well, that’s all right then,’ he said. And promptly lay down and went fast asleep.

10
     

The Dog’s Diary
     
     
    I had a jolly good day yesterday, JOLLY GOOD! In fact it was so good that it made up for me losing my new cubbyhole in the church vestry which O’Shaughnessy had kindly helped me with. When I told him what had happened, about the vicar putting the kybosh on things, he said that in his experience that is what owners generally did, and the name of the game was not to be downhearted but to rise to the challenge and find something else to fox them with. He said that was one of the things that made it fun being a dog: always something to keep you on your toes and your snout in good order! I think O’Shaughnessy talks a lot of sense, though the cat can be a bit sniffy about him – but then Maurice is sniffy about almost everything. He enjoys it. I suppose that’s his bit of fun. Mine is racing about or eating – and I did a lot of both yesterday!
    You see, F.O. had gone swanning off to London, and then down to Brighton, where the Type comes from, so we were without him for almost twenty-four hours (didn’t get back till nearly two in the morning – at least that’s what Maurice says; I’m not too good on clocks myself). So that meant I could do pretty well just what I liked! Mind you, when Maurice first told me of F.O.’s plans and that he had no intention of taking ME with him, I was pretty miffed. After all, what about my mealtimes? The cat made one of his un funny jokes, saying there wouldn’t be any grub! Well, you can bet that upset me. I mean to say, no self-respecting dog is going to go all day without his Bonios and Muncho. So I made a bit of a scene. Scared the daylights out of Maurice, who then had the brass neck to say he had been pulling my leg. SOME STUPID JOKE!
    Anyway all was well, because the vicar had organized the woman from over the road to come in and give me the necessary. I made a great fuss of her – grinning all over my face, wagging my tail nineteen to the dozen, staring fondly into her eyes, and even sitting up and begging. (I didn’t use to be able to do that, but think I’ve got the knack now, and it’s JOLLY handy!) She was so impressed that she gave me extra dollops all round, plus masses