We confess for a moment that we had forgotten your names! Are we becoming victims of Stockholm syndrome, for surely we are finding ourselves in some sympathy with our captors. Oh, what are we saying! Dear Cheryl! Dear Fred! We miss you terribly! While we are proud to have kept a stiff upper lip and a vigorously wagging tail throughout our ordeal, refusing to be cowed by fate, we nonetheless quite eagerly await the day of our restoration.
Last evening, the caretaker dragged us off to a nearby cathedral (rather modest by Westminster standards) for a bit of enrichment on the subject of Handel's Messiah. We do so love a good tune, but as there was rather more lecture than music, we found ourselves dozing off once again. We certainly appreciated the entirely appropriate captivation of the crowd by our mere presence. Even so, it cannot compare to our younger subjects fawning over us at the school they named in our honor.
Wait, a bit of news! Our dear Angel, who appears to have the caretaker's confidence, has given us to understand that we shall be attending a shooting party this weekend at which you might also be with that crafty cur who has taken our place. We can barely contain our anticipation. Please do what you can to undo this ghastly mess and return us to our rightful position!
But if there be a hunt afoot that day, do let's not miss it.
(AKA John Bauer)
(Note: We would like to thank John for taking such good care of our little HRH as we know she can be a bit trying at times. Fortunately, John has quite a good sense of humor. I think we got the much better deal as Dodger was completely easy, very calm and at ease with anything you did. Nothing fazed him. He was like a surfer dude, very mellow. We hated to see him leave. He instantly captured everyone's heart. I think it was those dark eyes and that white blond hair. Definitely a surfer dude, fer sure!)