Buster's Diaries: The True Story of a Dog and His Man Read Online Free PDF

is what he always does when he is worried about me. Rubbing behind
     my ears was the last thing I wanted, so I ran off looking for grass in the dining room. While I was under the table he made
     a telephone call. Then he put his trousers on over his pyjamas and we went into the car. There was no grass in the car. I
     did not look forward to the journey, but the Man said, “We are going to see the vet,” as if I would be pleased by the news.
     I do not like vets. When I was very young, a vet stuck a needle in me.
    The Man lifted me onto a table and the vet squeezed my stomach. I do not like strangers squeezing my stomach, so I tried to
     bite him. The vet said he would have to take a photograph of my insides before he could make me feel better. He then stuck
     a needle in me. It made me go to sleep.
    When I woke up, I was in a cage in the vet’s cellar. At first I was very frightened because I thought I was back at the dogs”
     home. So I howled a lot. Then theMan came in, knelt down and rubbed behind my ears as usual. When I saw him, I knew everything would be all right.
    On the way home, he told me what was wrong with me. A bit of chicken I had picked up on the road had been wrapped in something
     called “plastic wrap” which is invisible. Even the photographs of inside my stomach missed it at first, so I am not to be
     blamed for not seeing it. The plastic wrap had blocked up my bowels. “You’ve got to get rid of it,” he said, “or we’ll have
     to cut you open.” I think he thought that would encourage me to take the medicine the vet had given us.
    The Man went on and on about not eating rubbish. “How many times have I told you that it would make you ill?” He did not expect
     an answer, but said, “There should be a law against dropping chicken in the street.” He is wrong. Chicken that has been walked
     on is one of life’s great delights. When he told me that taking me out at night was “like going for a walk with a vacuum cleaner,”
     I pretended to be sick again.
March 10, 1996
    Getting rid of the plastic wrap was wonderful. Every three hours for a full day he gave me a spoonful of medicine called liquid
     paraffin. Then we went for a walk. The walks got very boring, but the liquid paraffin had a sticky sweet taste. After the
     third dose, I tried to eat the spoon.
    At four o’clock this morning—I think it was the seventh walk, but I lost count—he poked about with an old walking stick he
     had suddenly started to carry and said, “Thank God. At last.” When we got back home, I sat down and waited for a spoonful
     of medicine. “Look,” the Man said, “Buster’s addicted to liquid paraffin.” Then he went to bed.
March 12, 1996
    When the telephone rang this morning, I barked. It made everybody jump, including me, for I had never barked before. Now that
     I have started, I don’t think I will ever stop. People always jump when I bark, and making people jump is one of my greatest
     pleasures.
March 14, 1996
    He has got it into his head that I am overprivileged. “Never done a day’s work in your life.” He does not understand that
     my job is looking after him. I wake him up as soon as the newspapers are delivered. I chew the mail before he opens it. I
     protect him from cats and keep him fit by taking him for a walk four times a day Now that I can bark, he is protected from
     people who want to talk to him in the street. I make so much noise that he always says, “Sorry about this,” and walks away.
    The best part of my job is making him grin like an idiot by rolling on my back, lying with my legs in the air, jumping on
     his knee or just acting with endearing charm—which I do most of the time. Sometimes I think I have an even more important
     job. That is to take the blame for things I did not do. Marks on the carpet. Chairs overturned. Newspapers torn in half. Deliveries
     that are never made. Someone always says, “It must be Buster’s fault.” That part of my job is