I’ve never been one to question a dog’s food preferences. I myself have always been particularly particular, especially when it comes to the store purchased versions of what the two-legged’s deem suitable dog tucker. However some of my mates are just grateful for a feed even if it is from the local supermarket, bottom shelf, on special variety. I’m guessing the selection is a bit like TV dinners, some good some bad, most spruiking healthy portions and packed with vitamins when in reality they’re either as about as healthy as chewing cardboard (which granted I do do, on the odd occasion) or they are so filled with fat that  they really are a dieticians disaster.

I’m partial to a bit of fresh kangaroo or pork, and emu is excellent for the hair but I turn my nose up at anything vegetarian. Nicole hasn’t cottoned onto the fact yet that if we leave our dinner, we don’t like it. Sure we eat if we’re really hungry (that’s different) but she has a habit of feeding us a mix of cooked rice and vegetables every month or so.

That stuff is Ruff.

Yes, it’s meant to clean out the odd worm and other parasites and you can call me a bottom-dragger if you must but I’d rather be getting close and personal to the dirt than going vego. Give me one of those chocolate coloured worming tablets any day, then a feed of fresh meat.

That’s the way to a dog’s heart. Via his stomach.

So it was with concern that I found Jill sniffing around the mushrooms that sprouted up in the lawn after the rain. I’m pretty sure she licked them because I couldn’t get a sensible bark out of her for the rest of the day. Worse there was a bit of work on and instead of showing some enthusiasm after all the weeks we’ve been sitting around Jill did nothing.

‘Get over there,’ Nicole directed.

‘Right on sister,’ Jill barked, not moving.

‘Jill, get over,’ Nicole repeated, pointing to the cattle.

‘Right back at you,’ Jill replied, ignoring Nicole on the bike and jumping up into the ute to snuggle against the air-compressor.

‘Jill, what the heck are you doing?’ I barked.

‘Snoozing baby, snoozing.’

And with that she promptly went to sleep. No wonder I’m going grey. I hate gardening, but tonight I’ve got some digging up to do.