Canine tenets
– from the Cranky Nuns of Old Scoot
We shall not enter the house when outside it is raining and we are therefore covered in mud and sundry unidentified viscous substances – this in addition to being malodorous as wet wool – then proceed to leave a trail of our passage à la Hansel and Gretel, stopping only when we spot a forbidden couch on which to languish and lick our private parts, one that promises comfy cushions on which to gnaw with abandon, oh no, for we do not do that (even if the white stuff inside them (cf. the cushions) is particularly tasty and fun to chew, no we do not).
Nor shall we bring cubic tonnes’ worth of logs, branches or miscellaneous detritus in from the aforementioned outdoors and proceed to place them strategically in every room of the house for purposes of subsequent mastication, and this in such a manner as to make the domicile resemble a saw mill at a particularly busy time of year, for we do not do that (we do not do that even when defended by our master who insists: aw, but that it is our very favourite log / branch / detritus, no we do not).
Nor shall we tear entire strips of wallpaper from the walls unless we are willing to repaint in colours that are pleasing to everyone. Nor carpeting until the loom we ordered arrives.
Neither shall we gnaw the cords of electrical devices, nor the electrical devices themselves, oh no, nor even the legs of small children, tables or chairs (particularly those in which others may be seated and/or living at the time of gnawing) for we do not do that.
And if we must pounce on somebody’s face at six o’clock ante meridian, may we suggest that at least coffee be ready, and if we must hump someone’s lower limbs, may we request that said limbs not belong anyone to whom we owe money or whose lawnmower we have broken and not yet confessed to.
And when left alone in the domicile, we shall not imagine that all is made of bacon for, lo, it is not. And we shall make only local calls, for that alone is permitted.
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