I'm bored with being white

Sometimes you need a change to put a bit of oomph into your life. Truth is, I was tired of being a West Highland White Terrier. I felt I was lacking oomph and wanted to do something about it. But what? Maybe I could become a Schnauzer or Beagle or Scottie dog? (I certainly didn't want to be a Chihuahua. Snappy pint-size creatures. I still wanted to be adorable and gorgeous and loved by everyone who sees me.) But how?

Then the opportunity presented itself.

We went to the beach with glorious white sand (oh, dear, more white) and I had a joyful romp and chased the water in and out, out and in.

When we came home, my pearlescent white hair was full of sand so human mum washed me with the garden hose.

Then she left me in the garden, wet and white. Suddenly, there was the transformation that I was looking for.

I ran into the patch of empty black sand and rolled and rolled.

Suddenly, I was a West Highland Black Terrier. Woopie-do. A new me.

It felt so good to find my new oomph. I trotted inside and rolled on the floor rug. Then I jumped on the bed and rolled on the blanket (note: cream blanket). I stretched out and revelled in my new blackness.

Until human mum saw me. I could tell she was angry with me. One, two, three, she scooped me up and dropped me in the laundry trough. Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub. Then onto the bench and a towel down followed by a good shake from me. Except the water spraying from my hair was still black.

Back I went into the trough. Out I came. A shake down and now brown water.

A third wash. So much for being a West Highland Black Terrier, now I was back to pearlescent white.

It was a good try, but when I stood in the sun and saw my white hair glowing in the light, I thought maybe being white wasn't so bad after all.

But being black, if only for an hour, was good fun.