My name is Maisie.
I am a cute, small to medium sized dog. People like me because I have canine movie star looks, you know, Disney-esque.
Margaret is the human lady who lives with me and we get on well even though I am sometimes a bit mischievous. I get plenty of exercise with good long walks over the rabbit-rich grasslands just up the road from the house and good food. Cheesy Cheddars are a favourite.
In all, it is as they say, a dog's life.
Things have changed in recent years, The man that also lived with me went away a few years ago and everyone was very sad. I am reminded of him often especially up in the carpet of flowers through the woodland every Spring.
Margaret, you know, who lives with me is very busy most of the time when I don't need her. There is always music in the house from her playing that large piece of furniture that she keeps in my sitting room or from a box high up above the cool cupboard in the kitchen where some of my food is kept.
I have a lot of visitors (although of course they say they have come to see Margaret), and I get thoroughly spoilt with titbits and offcuts although after the treats and the usual pleasantries I leave them to it and wander off to relax on Margaret's bed or on my blanket at the top of the stairs. I can see a lot of the garden from there in case of invasion by neighbouring cats.
On occasion Margaret makes something called "arrangements" and is soon readying clothes and a bag. I know this to be the precursor to a very long "shopping trip" as it is referred to although I know it means a holiday or some such disruption to my routine.
There has been a lot of excitement in the last two weeks with news of a baby called Syd arriving and Margaret who loves children almost as much as she loves me is going to see him.
A girl arrived a few hours after Margaret clicked shut the door (dragging a suitcase with her) and took me for a walk. She stayed over for a few nights often referring to bits of paper with information on my welfare, entertainment and feeding. I gave the impression of being helpful in seeking out an internet password before the girl settled down in front of the television.
Then that man arrived. I think he is called Peter.
He knows Margaret, in fact he does look like her a bit. He is quite excitable and I have to keep him amused by doing daft dog activities like rolling over, attempting to bite his nose and barking a lot.
I was taken out of the warm house and, I must say, rather bundled into the back seat of a car that smelled of bacon and lettuce sandwiches and discarded formerly hot beverages. The girl sat next to me for what seemed like a long, dark journey until we reached what they call the city of Hull.
I have never seen so many houses in all of my life or people or cars come to think of it. The new place, could be my base for a couple of days or longer, is arranged upside down to mine and Margaret's gaff. The hyperactive man and his family live up the stairs and I sleep down the stairs. Odd indeed.
I am settled in with a lot of pointing and the humans role play by pretending to be me. Their imitation of me climbing onto a settee is comical and rather disrespectful.
On the first morning of my residential placement I was taken for a walk by mayhem man.
Their big wide open space, because surely everyone has one, is actually just across the road from the house. There are no rabbit trails but a lot of daft ducks and geese. Those squirrels are mad and hell-bent on getting up the nearest tree as soon as they see me.
After my breakfast another man, a tall, quiet character took me out for a longer trek with tarmac and concrete under my paws and we met up with all of my new co-habitees at another upside down home called Meddys Flat.
Peter, or loony as I like to think of him, then took me on another route.
He talks a lot to himself, although probably directed at me, and as for the drone of his humming and that incessant whistling- well, how irritating is that?
We went through some dodgy looking alleyways on the way to, he explained, a Post Office to send a parcel for that Syd baby although I am not sure how he knows Margaret's acquaintances as well.
At the Post Office I thought I heard Peter mutter a rude word upon reading a sign saying "No Dogs Allowed". He hesitated a bit as though contemplating doing something bad and then, cheeky or what, he tied my extendable dog lead to a pavement bollard with me on the end of it.
Looking furtive he then made quickly for an open door, looked back and went in. I was left alone.
It was quite busy and noisy in the street with a lot to look at. So this was city lifestyle. Interesting concept. Perhaps where I live in Beverley should try something similar.
Then, outrageous indeed. A fat bulldog with respiratory issues was tied up next to me without any form of introduction and so I turned my back on him. No class or culture I thought.
It was a mere few seconds, as Peter insisted upon saying (lots of times), before he emerged. I made the usual pleased to see you gestures that humans like, you know pavement dancing and tail wagging.
A bit further along the street it was another piece of street furniture that took a loose reef knot to secure me as that Peter, who obviously relished the thought that he had got away with it the first time, went into another shop, this time one smelling of fresh bred, herbs and spices.
I thought I might get a small snack out of it but ......no.
We were soon back in that big open space and I welcomed the soft touch of grass, mud and leaves under my now urban-acclimatised paw pads. I celebrated with a wee . Peter was happy that I did it and it was his turn to do a sort of pavement dance outside the place where he lived.
We have an understanding, me and Pete that Margaret will never find out what happened.
As they apparently say what goes on in the city stays in the city.
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