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

full-time.
March 17, 1996
    We went back to the vet’s to make sure I am fit and well. He did not squeeze my stomach. That may be because I look so healthy
     or because I tried to bite him the last time he did it. The Man asked him about my food, and the vet said he had once eaten
     sawdust balls himself, just as a test. It was the only dog food he would consider eating. The difference between the vet and
     me is that he ate them once, I eat them all the time.
    The vet went on to the Man about how sawdust balls kept me regular and healthy. But the Man asked, “Wouldn’t he prefer boiled
     offal and chicken from the supermarket, like the food my mother gives to her dog, Sally?” The vet replied, “He would prefer
     decomposed rats that he dug up from under hedges.” The vet was right. Then he said, “But it would not be good for him.” That
     spoilt everything.
    The Man said, “Perhaps we don’t give him enough to eat. We always stick to what it says on the packet. But he still picks
     up all the filth on the road. Perhaps he is really hungry.” The vet then said a very wicked thing. “Greedy dogs like Buster
     want to eat all the time and will eat anything.”
    From now on, the Man will make jokes about “greedy dogs like Buster.” I do not think they are very funny.
March 20, 1996
    One of the nicest times is when the Man comes home at night. He always wants to sit on the sofa and watch television. I sit
     next to him and spill his tea by leaning against his arm just as he begins to drink it. He puts his arm round me and says,
     “Careful Buster.” I am never careful. I lick his face and then leap on him. She says, “He is trying to dominate you. It’s
     not affection, it’s an attempt to dominate.” By then I have got my feet on his shoulders and his face is wet all over. The
     Man says, “It’s not an attempt. He’s succeeding.” When I calm down, he talks to me about what he has been doing all day Sometimes
     I don’t understand the details, but I like the noise he makes.
    The Man scratches my stomach and I lie across his knee in ridiculous positions, often with my head hanging over the side of
     the sofa and all four feet up in the air. I stay there until the Man says, “Let’s go tobed, Buster.” Then I run into my bed and go to sleep straight away. There is general agreement that I am very good at going
     to bed when told. That is because I would have liked to go to bed much earlier. I get bored with the Man talking to me about
     his day. On most nights I want to go to bed half an hour before he tells me to, but I don’t like to hurt his feelings.
March 23, 1996
    The Man says we have to talk seriously about discipline. He says I have no idea what the word means. That is true. I know
     he read about it in a book when he first adopted me. As far as I can remember, it involves constant pointless indignities.
    I am no longer allowed to go through doors before he does. I have only to get my nose over the threshold for him to shout,
     “Back up! Back up!” I am then expected to walk backwards and stand absolutely still until he goes out in front of me. He has
     decided to prove that he is senior to me in the pack. It is obvious to me that he isn’t. If he were leader, instead of all
     this“Back up!” and “Sit!” nonsense, he would just bite me when I annoy him.
April 6, 1996
    There has been an incident. The newspapers said it took place in the park, but my behavior in the park was perfectly normal.
     The extraordinary event happened in the street when we were on our way home from the morning’s walk. A police car pulled up
     alongside us. Two police officers got out, one of each sort. The policeman spoke. “Excuse me, Sir. Has your dog killed a goose
     in St James’s Park?” he asked. “Not that I know of,” the Man replied, looking startled.
    The policewoman patted me on the side of the head in the way that the RSPCA recommend for greeting strange dogs. She held up her hand as if she