Gail seems to imagine that I can't understand when she's telling friends stories about me. Well let me tell you I'm getting quite fed up of hearing her treat my exploits in the Cruickshank Gardens last week as one big joke.
It didn't seem pointless to me, trying to chase after that elegant, graceful young roe deer. So OK the snow did slow me up a bit, and I do tend to lose speed after the first twenty yards. But still, it's very hurtful to hear Gail laughing and going on about how even her eighty-seven year old father's faster than me these days.
I still have my pride, you know.