The small human who is my Mummy talks a lot. At first I thought humans spoke to each other but clearly this is not the case as my Mum often talks to nobody. We have settled into a sort of routine which I am glad to say completely revolves around me. My humans seem very modern, for instance most of my mates get James Well Beloved but I get Barking Heads which is even healthier.

Just when I thought I knew the ropes I got put in the moving sleep machine to arrive at what I can only describe as sensory overload. For some reason I had only met Norfolks and family at that when suddenly there I was in a great hall with OTHER DOGS. They were all bigger than me but I suppose that's how it is going to be. And this is weird, we were not allowed to meet each other we were on our leads trying to make introductions but instead were put on mats and our human parents were given these clicking toys. Suddenly everyone was going sit, sit, sit. At first I thought it was some pagan ritual. They went all round the room with the owners saying sit but they didn't sit they expected US to sit. What is that all about?

Then they picked on Ruby who is a quite nice greyhound with a mottled brown, grey coat. She is quite thin and elegant but rather aloof. I saw hre owner gave her fud and she sat beautifully although rather haughtily I thought.

I decided to sit for the fud but no that wasn't good enough it seems. You have to sit when they say and not before.

The teacher gave a talk about how there were £5 treats (sausages) and £1 treats (cheese) and that for something good we should get a good treat. Everyone else seemed to be getting tons of junk fud sausages, frankfurters and quite big pieces but I just got some things like carrot bits - which, don't get me wrong, I love carrots but they take a bit of time to eat. The labs gobbled everything I don't think they'd do a sit for a tiny weeny bit of carrot.

I sat next to Reggie who is clearly in charge of his owner. I hope to make friends with Reggie and have a bit of a romp but suddenly it was time to pack up and off we went.

In our house I have found a spot that is quite hard to get to behind the sofa. I'm not allowed around here much but if I go under a chair, then squeeze under a couple of table legs there is a very small gap that gets me behind the sofa and what is there...the buried gold, Aladdin's cave a feast for small molars, an unprecedented collection of rubber chickens. Now I never met Pickle but the more I find out about him the more I realise he must have been some cool dude. I reckon he practically needed to catalogue these chickens there are so many and my God he'd had some serious sessions with some that's for sure. There's one that's virtually destroyed all that's left is a carcass no wings, legs, head, not going to even bother going there. But I feel this is my inheritance and I'm going to respect that. Or at least that was the plan until I found the Father Christmas chicken. I think this is a sign because the Christmas chicken still has a SQUEAK and boy does that get a Norfolk terrier hyped up.