Tilly - Bitch of Mystery

Hello, Tilly here. You may have seen me in photos looking pretty glum and sad. It’s a look I’ve perfected since puppyhood, guaranteed to win me cuddles galore, toast crusts, bits of banana and anything else that takes my fancy.

I’m not like Indy with his tummy troubles. I have a cast iron constitution, well except when it comes to leftover pizza, but perhaps I was wrong to help myself from the bin, but I was right to wake her up in the middle of the night or she’d have had a disaster on her hands or at least the bedroom floor.

No one forced her to run across the garden in bare feet to stop me drinking from the bird bath…

Anyway I’ve no idea why she’s a bit off with me today. It’s not my fault if they put food in the bin is it?

So my brother. They named him Indy after Indiana Jones because being a springer spaniel, they thought he’d have an adventurous spirit.

Yeah right! I wasn’t around for all of his early months, but Oakley has whispered a thing or two about my brother. Not so much Indiana Jones as Corporal Jones.

I love Oakley.

He’s my hero.

You should have seen Indy when I got into the bin. Did he help eat the spoils? Did he heck. He ran upstairs and hid on the landing and kept muttering, “Don’t panic, don’t panic,” whilst panicking profusely.

We went for our usual walk yesterday, played ball and got hot. He usually gets the ball. I tend to let him get to it first after the time we bashed heads and the world wouldn’t stop spinning.

Anyway, hot spaniel, cool, smelly, full-of-rotting-vegetable-matter ditch – in I went.

“Eurgh! Go away,” Indy said. “You stink. And you’re filthy. I only had a bath last week.”

I shook all over him and he had a hissy fit because a blob of mud landed on his leg.

“That’s it,” he shrieked. “I’m all dirty. Must get clean. Don’t panic, don’t panic!” So he went and jumped in the dyke and had a swim round.

Show off.

“Come in,” he said to me. “The water’s lovely and it’ll clean you up.”

He knows I don’t care for water unless it’s warm, in a bath and full of bubbles.

“Who wants to be clean?” I said. “I am happy as I am.”

And I was. Happy as a happy dog in muck.

This week I was introduced to Poppy.

She’s Oakley’s new little sister.

Everyone said I’d have to be watched, that I don’t know how to relate to other dogs and that I was an unknown quantity.

Bitch of Mystery, that’s me.

Well I thought she was quite cute. I don’t go in for this jealousy lark. It doesn’t bother me if Oakley cuddles up to Mum on the sofa. Indy’s the one who glares daggers at him.

To me Poppy’s just another member of the family, someone to chase under the bushes and fossick round in the crispy leaves with. I think I may have a new best mate.

I can’t wait till she’s big enough to come out on walks and I can show her The Way of the Spaniel. I know all the smelliest, dirtiest ditches in the area and I know them well.

Come with me little Grassmuncher I will say. Embrace the mud, soak up the stink.

Your humans will adore you for it.