Day One Thousand Two Hundred and Seventy Four

I did not go for a nice walk this morning. Because I have to rest my leg. Oh dear. I helped move the cars. Ha that is good. It is my favourite job. 

Craig had to use the silver little car to go to his old friends breakfast. Because it is raining outside. That is silly. It is winter. It is not even so cold. That is not right. 

He came home. He did not get lost. That is good. 

Niamh went all fast asleep last night. Early. She did not go out with her dance a lots friends. She was way tired. Because of the special dancing. 

Emmet went to bed early too. His head was sore because of the speaking old Latin all the time. Oh dear.

Craig had a bath. Oh well. I do not like that so much. Oh well. 

There was something strange in the kitchen last night. 

I had to get Zita to tell her. After we went to bed. It was only old pillows. They were not so dangerous. That was good. 

I am a way good guarding dog. Zita said so. 

This morning our friend Mister Kirian came to have Irish tea and toast with Zita and Emmet. And to take away all the snow. That is good. 

The way wet snow will be just all slippy ice all over everything. If you do not take it all away. 

Then everybody will just all fall down on their bottoms. And not be able to get up. And they will stay there forever. Even maybe me too. Or dear. 

So Mister Kirian took it all away from our patio and our own sidewalk. And the little keep the garbage safe house. That is good. 

Niamh has to write stories for all the nice universities. So they will say that she can go to their nice university and maybe give her real money. Ha. 

They should just ask everybody's nice dog. They will know if their friends should go to that nice university. 

They never ask dogs all about people. And we know people the very best. Because we are dogs. Too bad for them. 

Niamh helped me up on to her very high comfy bed. I stayed with her. When she wrote her stories. 

I was a big help. Her feet did not get cold at all. Ha. Good for me. 

Zita cleaned all under the comfy big bed. With the noisy machine. 

We found way way way old dangerous knives. From far far way. From soldiers. 

Even one from Craig's way way way old uncle. 

He was a Scotsman soldier. He worked for the old old nice Queen. In far away way too hot places. He is dead now. Oh well. Maybe he knows old colonel George. Maybe 

Craig has to clean them all spic and span. That is good.