Since Stan was a pup, a peepy thing in our garden has driven him crazy at different times of the year. He scrabbles to get out of the back door, charges the few metres to the end of the garden and barks furiously, looking up at the overhanging bushes and trees.
“Peep peep. Peep peep.”
“RUFF RUFF RUFF RUFF [I’ll get ya Peepy Thing!] RUFF RUFF RUFF!!!!”
“Peep peep. Peep peep. [You’ll never get me, short arse] Peep peep. Peep peep.”
“RUFF RUFF RUFF RUFF [I’ll get ya and I’ll eat you for my dinner!] RUFF RUFF!!!.”
“Peep peep. Peep peep. [Go away corgi features] Peep peep.”
It drives us mad too. The combination of peeping and barking is relentless.
“PEEPY THING!” someone shouts, “Get Stan back in!” And whoever is nearest (or doesn’t manage to successfully feign ‘ensconsed in very important task’), has to go and persuade Stan to forget about his vendetta and come back in doors.
I’ve noticed, recently, that the dynamics are changing between Stan and Peepy Thing. He still scrabbles to get out the back door and charges to the end of the garden. But there is a note of pathos in his bark.
“Ruff ruff ruff ruff.”
“Peep peep. Peep peep. [Get lost loser dog!] Peep peep.”
“Ruff. Ruff. Ruff. [Do I really look like a corgi?] Ruff.”
“Peep peep. Peep peep. [Stop interrupting my peeping with your pathetic needy barking] Peep peep.”
It’s easier to persuade Stan back in now. And he usually goes and hides somewhere for a bit.
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