Its a dogs life and no mistake. Not that I’m complaining it does have its compensations: swanning about all day, regular petting and of course abundant supplies of Scooby snacks. But there is one thing that gets my goat. Its whenever someone breaks wind. The response from humans is always the same, like Macavity, they were never there! Now Im not saying that Dog Farts don’t happen but last night, despite being outnumbered 20:1 (do the math) the response is always the same ‘Blame it on the Dog’! Arruff!

Enough is enough. I feel I must be the voice for the voiceless and take a principled stand here. Are my kind to be condemned without Habeas Corpus? Were the sacrifices Magna Carta made all in vain? Is the UN Human Rights convention merely guidelines for people? Eh, that last one may actually be a thing. But the point is, what happened to innocent until proven guilty?

Now in my defense (I’m pleading the 5th here) I can neither confirm nor deny any bodily excretions of an odorous nature took place on the evening in question. Arruff!

Anyway last night the lovely Lesley gave a delightful chat on the upcoming SAW competitions to the assembled company of GWC. A concise 2 page summery of the relevant details was handed out including the new website for Saw, where full details are available. Apparently the old website is a bit of a dogs breakfast (which is apparently a bad thing). Arruff!.

After tea, dispensed by the lovely Grahame, (wearing his metaphorical tea hat), Isobel took over mastery of proceedings and we had a round of last weeks Flash Fiction homework. Collette began with a lament for the mythical Auchenshuggle bus which then morphed into a story about little playground liars? There followed stories about a wolf that mourned, islands that were bleak and winters that were blue. And as if this wasn’t ample sufficiency enough, we then had a second round of Scottish Icon non-fiction featuring Heathers of both purple and white variety, Nardinis on a cold and windy summers day and concluding with a dirge on the game of golf by the redoubtable Edith. What more could you ask for? Arruff!

Oh well onwards and upwards.