This is Bertie here, or Bertram, which is what the staff calls me when they think I've done something untoward. Those who think they're in charge claim I was named for Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, of Jeeves and Wooster fame, but my name was already Bertram when they came to work for me. My namesake is that famous explorer, McBertram McTavish. But enough of ancient history. While perusing my Facebook account recently (have you ever tried clicking a mouse with a paw? Obviously someone with prehensile capabilities designed the thing) I noticed that my picture was once again displayed for all to see. It occurred to me that I never get to explain my side of the story. Instead, all the poor unsuspecting public sees is what the staff, whom I shall also refer to as Mr. Jeeves and Mrs. Jeeves, has decided is of interest. So now it's my chance to say what's really going on and give a report of how the year was. Overall, Mr. and Mrs. Jeeves have quite improved. Although, waiting for five minutes or more for my breakfast is quite unforgivable. Still, I suppose everyone has their bad days. This particular incident was documented during my New Mexico travels. We stayed at the home of Mrs. Jeeves' sister. I suppose in light of the circs (as Bertie Wooster would say) and being in unfamiliar surroundings, I should let little incidents like this fall by the wayside.
Our drive back was most enjoyable, even though I did have to share the backseat with Mrs. Jeeves. I thought it quite generous of me to allow her a full one-third of the backseat. After all, we Scotties can take up a lot of space when we relax. Mrs. Jeeves was even kind enough to share her lunch with me and let me look out the window as the scenery flashed by. I almost wished I'd remembered to ask her to pack my gloves and scarf. Yes indeed, a most enjoyable trip.
Once we were back in Oregon, I quickly returned to my usual rigorous routine. After a strenuous bout of calisthenics, it's always good to relax amidst a pile of much loved toys. Mr. and Mrs. Jeeves have finally learned to discern my "I want water" bark from my "I'm hungry" bark and the "where are my toys" bark. It did take a while, but I understand that we Scotties may speak with a bit of an accent.
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My only real trial during this year, other than the occasional frustration with having to repeat myself numerous times to Mr. Jeeves who seems much more interested with working on pictures from his travels than my comfort, was my stay in hospital (I've watched enough British shows to say "in hospital" instead of "in the hospital." It's much more efficient). The doctor very diplomatically said I had reached an age where nonmalignant growths can appear and, while they're not dangerous, they can be very inconvenient. I had told the staff I didn't want to go under the knife, but they overruled me, or rather I let them. I had what I like to term a face lift. It really wasn't too bad, especially after I put my paw down and refused to wear the dreaded cone of shame. Mrs. Jeeves was convinced I would scratch at my stitches and made me my own turban. It was very nice of her, although completely unnecessary. Nevertheless, I healed quickly and was soon able to wear my glasses again. I was quite happy about that because they had become increasingly difficult to wear with the growth on my eyelid and it was quite impossible to read without them. I had to wait quite a long time to finish the Hound of the Baskervilles. I'm just glad to be able to say he wasn't a Scottie.
