Micky's musings

For those of you who don't know me, I'm the handsome blond chap in the photo. Mum thinks she's the leader of our pack, but we all know that it's really me. It should be Rummy because he's older than me but he's so laid back he doesn't care.

When Mum told us three years ago that we were moving to France, we didn't know what to expect. Would we have to learn French? Would we have to live outside like French dogs? How were we going to get there? Would French food be different? We knew we had to get passports - would we have to balance on a little stool in a booth to have our photos taken?

Passports were easy - no photos, just some nasty injections. Rummy's injections didn't take, so the poor fellow had to have them done again. You should have heard Mum and Dad complain about the cost!

Getting there involved a long, boring journey in the car, then a train through a tunnel under the sea - that was a bit scary but Dad sat in the back with us and we reassured him there was nothing to worry about. Then another long, boring drive through the night. That bit wasn't so bad actually, since Dad, Rummy and I slept whilst Mum drove.

We finally arrived at our new house in time for breakfast. It was slightly bizarre because there was no furniture and Mum and Dad had to eat standing up. We thought it was going to be a strange lifestyle but then some men in a big van arrived - turns out they had all our furniture. Naturally, I had to supervise to make sure everything was put in the right place but then Mum shut me up in the utility room - she said someone was going to break their neck with me constantly under their feet.

All Mum and Dad's French friends think it's very strange that we live in the house - their dogs all live outside. If we're naughty, Mum threatens to turn us into French dogs. She says we've got a perfectly good barn to live in and then she wouldn't have to spend all her time sweeping up dog hair. She usually threatens this after I've found some particularly aromatic fox pooh to roll in!

Everyone in the village knows the handsome English Labradors. We don't understand a word anyone says but they all make a fuss of us. The lady in the bakers thinks we are particularly well-behaved so I think it's a bit unfair of Mum to tell her about the mischief we get into.

We are friends with two donkeys who live nearby. Mum and Dad always take apples for them but they don't give any to us - don't they realise we need a regular supply of food to keep our good looks? And why do they complain when we help ourselves to fruit in the garden? Why do they grow these apples, pears, cherries, plums, gooseberries, blackcurrants, raspberries and strawberries if they don't want us to eat them? A Labrador never knows where his next meal is coming from and has to stock up when he gets the chance!

Well, it's been nice to chatting to you but must go now - it's dinner time!

Rummy's ruminationsThat Micky doesn't half like the sound of his own voice! Me, I don't care whether or not you know who I am, or who the leader of the pack is. All I want is to be fed and walked regularly and have a lap to sit on in the evenings. OK, so I'm 5 stone now but they let me sit on their laps when I was a puppy so I don't understand why they have a problem with it now!