As its love week, maybe it’s a good time to tell everyone a bit more about us. I blog all the time about things we have done, but I’ve never really introduced us all properly. So, in the spirit of the week, here is a list (who doesn’t love a list?) of what the three of us love.
After doing his business outside, dragging his bottom along the carpet in a movement Dan calls ‘The Moonwalk’
Really elaborate yawns. If you didn’t nearly dislocate your jaw, it wasn’t worth doing.
A bit of cheddar. What Mort wouldn’t do for a bit of cheese. Bit like the Meatloaf song “I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that.” Except he would. Whatever ‘that’ is, he would do it with bells on, if it meant getting his chops around some cheese.
Stealing things. Mostly knickers and socks. He especially loves creeping into the guest room if we have someone to stay, commando-style, stealing their pants from their bag and running around the house with them. Not embarrassing for them, at all.
Neck cuddles. Like a spider monkey.
Ladies. Mort loves the ladies. And the ladies love him.
Knee wraps. We go to sleep with Mort on his blanket at the foot of the bed. I wake up, and somehow he has crawled up the bed, snuck under the duvet, crawled down the bed and wrapped himself around my knees. And then has the nerve to loudly grunt at you if you have the nerve to move.
Belly tickles. Big time.
Any kind of heat source. He will root out a patch of sun like a pig sniffing for truffles.
A freshly mown lawn. I think he is practising in case he someday gets given a part in a lawnmower advert. Either that or he naturally runs in slow motion, flipping his ears back in the breeze…
Roast dinners. These usually mean the following will get dropped in his food bowl: scraps of meat, gravy, some milk, sometimes a bit of custard. Good times.
Fish. Ding dong. Give Mort some sardines, cod or tuna and he’s as happy as a clam. Pun intended.
Abi. My sister is basically my doppelgänger, except she never tells Mort off and sings to him all the time. She’s the good cop to my bad cop and Mort is a big fan. He also loves my parents, mostly because they’re very nice to him, but partially because they own the house that Jenny the Labrador lives in. Who is the Juliet to his Romeo. The Cleopatra to his Antony. The Angelina to his Brad.
Football. Dan told me to put this one.
Ripping apart toys. With surgeon like precision.
His window. Looking out on the road, he sits on the back of the sofa like a Roman Emperor surveying his peasants.
Elongated mammals with bellies close to the floor. Called Mort.
Turkish delight, Dairy Milk and pancakes.
My house. It’s full of Laura Ashley wallpaper, cushions, books, magazines and dog hairs. And it’s all mine.
Ugg boots. I know they aren’t overly flattering and men hate them-but any shoes that are a) socially acceptable and b) glorified slippers are Godlike in my eyes.
My Nespresso coffee machine. Flipping eck it’s good.
My boyfriend and my best friend. They’re the same person.
Magazines. And I’ve got the piles of Living Etc, Red, Glamour and Elle Decoration to prove it.
Shakespeare, Hardy, the Brontes (yes, even Anne), Woolf, Tennyson, Eliot, Pope, Auden, Williams, Niffenegger, Kundera, Murdoch, Whipple and Swift. And, most importantly, Dahl.
All animals. Small, large, furry, bald, feathery, happy, grumpy, misunderstood – love em all.
Flowers. Especially hydrangeas, tulips and snowdrops.
New York, London, Rome, Paris, Malta, Scotland and Ireland.
Having the best family.
But finally, being content. Because that means that you can go home and shut the door – and that’s your favourite place to be.
Emily (I didn’t tell him to say that!) and Mort
The Rocky films (especially Rocky 4)
Football – specifically Aston Villa. Playing, watching, reading…
Guinness – and the Guinness surger
Diesel, All Saints and Lyle and Scott
The news, Sky Sports News, In The Thick of It, The West Wing.
Our new Sky Sports channels
Chocolate Creams from Starbucks
New York: all of it. Want to go back!
But most of all, we both hope that Mort loves his life. We try our very hardest to be the best possible dog owners we can be, and we genuinely want him to be as happy as possible. Yes, he may be a bit spoiled, but if spoiling a dog by letting them sleep on your bed, sit with you on the sofa and sometimes have the leftover custard, then so be it. The aren’t two of us in this house, there are three. And, if love and happiness to Mort means a bit of cheese from time to time, then pass us the grater.