SandPit Chick

There have been some developments at Chez Chickie. One of them goes a bit like this:

“Woof Woof” “Woof Woof” “Woof Woof”

You’d be forgiven for thinking that we’d bought a puppy. Not quite, but it seems our baby has turned into one.

After attempting to teach him that dogs go “woof woof”, cats go “miaow miaow”, cows go “moo” etc. he has taken to barking upon waking, on and off throughout the day and every time he seems any kind of animal no matter what the variety whether it be ceramic, on the telly or in the flesh. Multiple corrections of “No, that’s a cat, cat’s go miaow and dogs go woof woof” don’t seem to register as he yaps away happily.

The next development now finds us fully protected by a puff chested Chick who struts around the house like a power hungry supermarket Security Guard who thinks he’s well ‘ard. He was chuffed to bits to be entrusted with his own special set of keys which he checks all the locks with whilst on his rounds.

An area for development would be fire awareness as he’s slept through every smoke alarm detonation to date, and there have been many although none so good as the time I popped round my neighbours house quickly to carry his suitcase down the stairs ready for his holiday, taking the wrong key with me as I left, locking us out.

Stood outside the kitchen window with Chickie watching the fishfinger I’d left under the grill turn the house into an indoor barbecue, I regretted being neighbourly. I knew it was bad when the upstairs smoke alarm joined in with the downstairs one telling me that the room furthest away from the kitchen was filling up with fish flavoured smoke.

Other changes relate to Chickie’s walking switching to 2nd gear, making him fast, fiercely independent and an outdoor kind of guy. The backdoor has to remain shut as Chickie cannot be trusted not to commando roll out the door and seat himself in the wheelbarrow awaiting a ride.

Chickie loves the garden. Granted, the sandpit and playhouse in his giant cat litter tray aren’t as popular as the swing from Nanna and Grandad and his new set of keys but I’ve informed him that mummy went to a lot of trouble to get that sodding playhouse in the back of a VW Golf and he will like it.

I must admit, his lack of interest in the sandpit is a blessed relief. Accountant informed me that I couldn’t let my OCD prevent Chickie from having one. Knowing in my heart he was right, we bought one. However, each time he goes near it I can't help but think of all those millions of grains of grubby sand sticking to my beautifully buffed baby and then being carried into the house on his leg fuzz and redistributed onto my soft furnishings.

Sorry no photos as can't seem to upload for some reason?