A Dog’s Day At Woodfarm Barns
As if being asked to sit on command wasn’t embarrassing enough, I’ve now been asked to write a blog about my holiday at Woodfarm Barns. Don’t get me wrong, I had exactly the kind of holiday befitting a dog of my superior pedigree, but really, a blog post? My writing style is positively Dickensian in its attention to detail and is much better suited to the traditional hardback than anything that lives on the internet.
Alas, I’ll consent to writing this blog because if there’s one thing I detest more than poorly written sentences, it’s bad manners.
The humans and I arrived at Woodfarm Barns to find everything in perfect order. Indeed, I found it so pristine , it was hard to tell that they let dogs stay here at all. Until that point, I was convinced that describing a Barn for rent as being spotless was merely a figure of speech. Of course, the proprietor may well make special exceptions for poodles.
After establishing that my lodgings were fit for a King Charles, I decided to check back in with the humans. To my horror, they had immediately begun to embarrass themselves.
With arms thrown around one another like honeymooners, they stood open mouthed in front of an enormous bubbling bowl of steaming hot water out on the patio.
“It’s even better than the pictures!” Human One said.
“I simply can’t wait to get back later and get in to properly relax!” Human Two swooned.
Really, this bowl was large enough and full enough to last me a lifetime. Quite why the humans had ambitions of sitting in it altogether defied me.
Thankfully, Human One saw me approaching and did his best to regain some semblance of dignity.
Crouching down and raising his voice by a full two octaves, he asked “Does Peanut Wigglebutt like it here?”
Wincing at the mention of my full name – I far prefer to go by “Nutty” – I threw the human a bone and gave him a good few wags of the tail.
“I knew you would!” The clown exclaimed. “But don’t get too comfortable – we’ll be heading out in a minute to go to the beach and get some dinner”.
At last, something for me to enjoy.
I was delighted to learn that we would shortly be heading to Aldeburgh, a beach with as much history as my breed. I could hardly contain my excitement at the thought of proudly walking along the cobbled streets and shoreline, gazing fondly back at my native France. Rest assured, though, dear reader, my elation did not lead me to chase my tail around like some deluded Alsatian.
Following the predictable faff, the Humans and I were in the car and on our way. Unlike my usual metropolitan surroundings, even the scenery from the car window proved to be enjoyable. There were trees, meadows and even a herd of sheep idly grazing in a field. Pitiful creatures, really.
Upon arrival at Aldeburgh, the Humans were kind enough to allow me the opportunity to take a long walk along the seafront. I strutted with all the grace of a Crufts winner, but this was of course totally lost on the uncultured Humans. We then took a stroll up the town’s high street – a place wholly deserving of its reputation as both picturesque and quaint – before we stopped for a light snack at a delightful dog-friendly cafe.
With the sea salt in my paws, we bundled into the car and made our way back to the barn. Alighting at an Inn, a short distance from Woodfarm Barns, we stopped for some dinner. Well, the Humans stopped for what they described as “the best steak I’ve had in forever” whilst I reclined and soaked up the pub’s traditional charm.
After retiring to our marvellous lodgings following a stupendous day, I took myself off to bed, leaving the humans to their fun, which meant them sitting in a big bucket of bubbling water beneath the stars.
I suppose not all breeds are as intelligent as mine.
