Holiday Horns?

A holiday they said, it will be fun, they said. Their enthusiasm was somewhat contagious and I must admit to feeling a certain frisson of excitement myself. This was a new experience for me and I felt I should embrace it with all four paws. I was then introduced to Mavis, our home for a week. Mavis is a Talbot Auto Sleeper van contraption thing and is a bit of an old girl. Nethertheless I had a bit of a sniff and raised a grizzled eyeball in what I hoped was a look of pleasant anticipation – after all, I feel we should always remain optimistic in life. After quite a good deal of human based kerfuffle and huffing we were finally packed and ready to go.

It was at this exact moment that I was introduced to the family tradition of wearing the holiday horns. Yes, I know. In all my years I have never been expected to wear anything quite as humiliating – and this is including the studded leather items dear old Rudolph seemed to favour occasionally. Can you not see the sad desperate and haunted look I have in my eyes in the photograph I have included for your viewing pleasure? Not wanting to be accused of being unsporting I relented, secretly vowing to get my own back at some point.

So it began, a week of unfettered caperings. It was actually rather a good respite from the trials of everyday hound life. Copious walks, undivided human attention and snackette stops. I did disgrace myself once however when I found myself unexpectedly faced with my floral cottony nemesis – bunting. Why I ask you, do humans need bunting? I just can’t understand it. It is a travesty and there really should be some kind of law against the profusion of these floaty triangles from hell. I was led into a small courtyard in deepest Monmouth with the promise of a tasty toasted teacake and there it was, above me. Miles and miles (I am not exaggerating) of it, flapping about, taunting me. Well I was having none of it and made my feeling quite clear to my humans. I saw them exchange a glance and then we decamped, clasping trays, tea and teacakes as we did the walk of shame back through the cafe, hastily explaining that we were not ‘doing a runner’ whatever that is.

The most peculiar thing was that whilst we sat in our much improved seats, several unknown humans stopped to ask if I was the ‘dog afraid of bunting’. It seemed infamy was beckoning in deepest darkest Monmouth but not necessarily for the reasons I was hoping for. The high point of the day was when short human was given a cushion to sit on during lunch so she could reach the table. Oh how the tall human and I chuckled!

Without doubt though THE best thing about the trip was being authorised to sleep on the bed with the humans. What utter bliss for my poor overworked limbs. Not wanting to cause any kind of inconvenience to the humans I rolled up into a tight and compact ball so I didn’t take up too much room. I am a very thoughtful hound like that.

I feel I would be happy to undertake such an experience again with the humans but I really feel I must insist on a few luxury items just to improve my comfort, by this I mean at the very least my special arm chair and blankets from home.


2 thoughts on “Holiday Horns?

  1. Barney

    I’m fond of you Elsie, I am. However your bum is ridiculously high for a small chap like myself and I can only have a good sniff if I am on my hind legs….and then you just walk off leaving me looking like a prat. Good luck with your blog….I suppose.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My dearest Barnie! Jolly good to hear from you my friend! I must say that I do actually have a hydraulic mechanism to operate the height of my derrière …one has to be very careful with ones ‘meet and greet’ area these days. I was once set about by a curious shitzu which was most distasteful.


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