I’m a one-year-old, Shih Tzu, living in Hertfordshire, in the United Kingdom.
This is my diary; from the day I was born to my first birthday.
Mum gives me big hugs, runs around the house playing ‘chase’ with me, telling me I’m going to get ‘it’, but I’m too fast for her.
She bathes me using special shampoo for little dog’s delicate skin. Dad says it’s just, plain ordinary shampoo with a dog printed on the label so they can charge him double for it.
Mum blow-dries my hair, brushes me and puts bows in my hair. She buys me clothes too. I think Dad despairs sometimes, like the time Mum sent him out to buy a Santa costume for dogs last Christmas.
Mum does talking with me. Everyone says “You’re so beautiful” or “She is so fluffy”, but with Mum it’s different. Mum and I have our own, special conversations.
She talks Portuguese and I talk Dog. It’s not normal woofing or growling, like at cats, birds and squirrels - I do not share my garden with anyone else. It’s proper talking, but I only do it with Mum. No-one else. Not even Dad.
Dad plays ‘fetch’ with me in the house, helps me get on the sofa because it’s too high for me to jump up, buys me dog treats to eat and takes me to the park.
He tells Mum going to the park is good exercise for him and will help with his diet, but really he just wants an ice cream from the van when it’s there.
When he drives me to the park, I like to sit on his lap, so I can look out of the window at all the people.
In the evening, Dad likes to lie on the sofa and watch TV. He doesn’t sit up straight on an armchair. I like lying on top of him as he watches TV and falling asleep, feeling his chest rising and falling as he breathes.
Bedtime is 9pm. I’m only little so I’ve only got little batteries. I like lots of sleep.
Dad helped me write this book. He did the writing and I supervised (eating sticks). I can’t do writing anyway. I don’t have any thumbs, so holding a pen is difficult. Dad says I mustn’t eat pens either or my teeth will turn blue.