The Owner says that is it for today. I am frogmarched back to the house like a criminal.
Later there is a kangaroo court in which I appear to be the kangaroo. Lined up on the kitchen counter are Squeaky Cat, Squeaky Log and The Blanket. They are all looking at me accusingly, even The Blanket which does not have eyes. This isn’t justice. What happened to jury selection?
Were you perhaps a Bad Dog today? She asks. I feel she is leading the witness.
I chased a Frisbee, I say. As Good Dogs do, I say. I wonder whether Lady Hale would hear my Appeal.
It looked like running away to me, says the Owner. She glances at the Counter. The Jury does not look friendly. Are they unfriendly to her or me?
It was not Running Away, I say, it was a Frisbee Moment. When I saw the Frisbee I forgot everything. As Moral Dogs do. I hope the jury might understand but it is not as if Squeaky Cat is really likely to understand the Siren Call of a Frisbee. It was a really good shade of orange, but so is he.
And why, do you suppose, was your Frisbee Moment perhaps not an entirely Moral One? Asks the Owner. Perhaps I could plead insanity, I think.
It was not my Frisbee, I say. I may have had a Lapse in Judgement. Perhaps if I explain how helpless the Moral Dog can be in the face of temptation they will be sympathetic, but I notice that Squeaky Cat is avoiding my eyes, even though his eyes normally follow everyone around the room. If you lose the Jury you might as well put on the cuffs yourself.
I see, says the Owner, and I realise that the jury will think that they are meant to see too. And do you think that Lapse in Judgement regarding Frisbee Ownership is the only reason that I am wearing this facial expression?
I had hoped to avoid looking at the facial expression, which is reminiscent of the day I ate the Jimmy Choo.
It was not my Owner either, I say. I think I hear Squeaky Log gasp quietly.
I see, she says. And what did the Not Entirely Moral Dog do to the Owner of the Frisbee who was not his Owner at all but a completely Random Stranger who received all the Moral Dog’s love, affection and teeth in return for a miserable Orange Frisbee that Belonged to Someone Else?
I dare not look at the jury now. I think even an insanity plea might go against me. I might have got tangled with his coat, I say.
Tangled? Says the Owner in a voice remarkably reminiscent of that of Squeaky Cat himself when he has overexerted his squeaker. Please explain tangled. Even I know you’re always in trouble when the prosecution use italics.
Attached, I say. By my teeth, I say. I wonder if the European Court of Human Rights might step in.
From where I was standing, says the Owner, you were dangling from his arm and he was trying to escape.
Well, I say desperately, the Frisbee sang a Siren Song. I know I am clutching at straws. Squeaky Cat may wonder if I can be trusted to adore him.
You hum it, says the Owner, and I’ll play it. The jury wait expectantly.
I attempt a frisbee like tune. It is not my best musical moment.
Do you know what that sounds like? Asks the Owner.
Away in a Manger, I say, with a hint of Billy Joel.
It sounds like It’s a Fair Cop to me, says the Owner.
In courts like this the verdict is always a foregone conclusion.
Hergest the Hound
I am a dog of many thoughts.