Is it a drum, is it a balloon, no it’s Susie-Belle’s tum
Oh dear, we’ve had a very full week, in more ways than one so apologies for no postings for a little while.
We’ve been busy with chores, like the day job, which has meant no time to post. We’ve also found ourselves exploring twitter – that is really another world, not sure it’s for us, but it is good for work-related stuff. But here is where our heart is.
And while we’ve been busy doing “stuff” that we’d rather not be doing, Susie-Belle’s been fending for herself.
Only joking, of course our gorgeous girl hasn’t been left to her own devices. Heaven knows what she’d get up to, especially if her sister Renae was there to lead her astray.
|“who me? surely not me”|
Like feeding herself. Helping herself to meals. Stuffing her chops with food she just happens to find lying around. Even if that food is clearly not for her. Food that is full of cream, onions, white wine for example.
Yep, that’s what our Susie-Belle would get up to if she was left to fend for herself in this house if Thursday was anything to go by.
We were going to have chicken fricasee on Thursday for dinner, we were, not Susie-Belle, that would be silly. Michel decided to have an afternoon nap whilst leaving a rather generous pot of chicken fricasee cooling on a stool, at perfect mini-schnauzer-nose-level-height.
When he woke up, he vaguely recalled a bit of schnuffling, slurping, burping, gulping going on whilst he dozed (don’t ask why he didn’t wake up with a start, which is what many, ok I would have done).
The pot was empty. Susie-Belle’s belly was full. Very full. Tight as a taught and well tuned drum. She couldn’t drag her tummy off her bed to go for a walk she was so happily full.
I’m thankful to report that there were absolutely no ill-effects. Remarkably.
And all I had for supper was a dull cheese sandwich. Having been beaten to my chicken fricasee by a particularly special greedy guts.