Should I not have eaten that?

Well, it's been an eventful week in my life.
Last night I went to my training class, where I have developed an irrational phobia of a poster of Baden Powell (he of Scouting fame), so I try and steer clear of that at all costs. Apparently I am extremely strong now, so naturally I use that to my advantage when I want to go somewhere. Humans are quite a flimsy lot really, always falling over when I tug on the lead or tumbling around when I run up to them and put my paws on their shoulders. Silly.
Anyway, the point of my story is that they want to, at these training classes, make me take an 'exam'. Excellent, I thought, I'm quite looking forward to showing off my oral prowess with my barking skills, or the fact that I can almost reach over the fence when I take a pee. But no. This exam consists of the ritual humiliation of being made to 'sit' and 'stay' in the same position for THIRTY SECONDS. I could handle anything else. I have even learned, lately, to give a 'high-five' to much plaudits from whoever is watching. But apparently they want me to do this 'sitting' and 'staying' business without the aid of treats. I mean really. Who do they think I am? Would you ask a pilot to fly a commercial plane without a co-pilot? Would you ask a brain surgeon to perform procedures without his scalpel-passing team around him? Would you have asked Tony Blair to read a speech not written by Alastair Campbell No, on all accounts. Quite frankly I am going to have a make a stand on this matter. No treats = no passing exam. And that means much embarrassment for the owners when they try to show off how clever I am. I have become quite adept at looking at them with puzzled, unblinking eyes should the occasion arise.

In other news, being an office dog, I ride in the back of the car every day. Well, I used to ride in the back. Now I am put in the boot, and although this is not quite the Mafia-esque situation that it sounds, and it is an estate car, it still means I sit waaaaaay back from where I want to be, which is with my paw on the driver's shoulder and licking the radio. They've even put up bars to stop me leaping onto the back seat and then subsequently their laps whilst driving. So every morning and evening, to entice me into my mode of transport, they have to throw in a treat, and I happily jump up and settle down 'like a good boy'. However, the other day, or as I like to refer to it, 'Black Thursday', there were no treats. Not one. I had to jump into the boot with no encouragements or help whatsoever. Quite frankly I was outraged. They sat in the front oblivious to my annoyance, listening to that ginger idiot on the radio, and I was hungry. Hungry for something. So, I thought, hmmm. I need something to chew. Come on. Anyway, so I spied a loose bit of paneling, which I scratched away at, and delightfully, there were many coloured wires poking out. So for a few days, I've been working my way through these things, which are stronger than they look! And far less tasty than I originally thought, but I am a stickler for seeing things through.
Of course, they soon noticed that something was amiss when the back windscreen wiper started going whenever they unlocked the car, that the reverse light was on when they were going forward and, well, that there was a great big mess of wires hanging out.

Big trouble for me.
But you know, these people are so easily swayed in their opinions. One minute grave irritation at having to put the car in the garage and talk of Battersea Dog's Home, the next, many 'oohs' and 'aahs' when I demonstrate my new high-fiving ability.
They're a funny bunch.