Sleeping. Sleeping in my new bed, which is a marvel of comfort. Ah, bliss, heaven, etc. Still unsure of what to do with the old one: crap, broken bedframe and worn-out mattress, anyone?
I tormented my dog by taking him to Ingliston market today. He hates it there: it's a bewildering maze of stalls -- there are exquisite fried-food smells at every turn, but the hundreds of sugared-up little children desperate the pat the big doggie really kill his appetite. Not to mention there's usually a couple of rotweilers with huge studded collars wanting to rip his guts out. "Aww, he's really cold!" everyone says. But no, he's shaking himself to pieces from fear. Bouncy castle! Gigantic pink gorilla! Screaming weans! The lady at the petfood stall tried to give him a chunk of Puffed Jerky, one of his favourite treats, but he was too far gone for that.
It's part of his thurupy, however. If I expose him to stressful situations on a regular basis, eventually he will get over himself. That's the theory anyway. Ingliston is the most stressful situation he's been in. Next year I'm planning on taking him to the Royal Highland Show. That should be interesting... Ingliston will seem a doddle after the Grand Parade and the pipe band march-past.
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