Graham’s November Adventures: Fireworks, Sausages & Dining Out as a Greyhound

Hi, my wonderful friends! It is I, Graham, your favourite long-legged correspondent reporting from the comfort of the sofa. I’m back with another monthly update, and let me tell you, November has been quite the journey. Filled with rain, fireworks, birthdays, sleepovers, and of course… snacks. Always snacks. 

Let’s begin with the weather, shall we? It is November, and I would like to file a formal complaint to whoever controls the sky: bring back Summer. Immediately, if not sooner. Every day seems to be made of drizzle, puddles and mud. This is all terribly inconvenient for a dog such as myself, especially when the garden, my zoomie arena, is so soggy that I risk skidding into a fence and embarrassing myself in front of the birds. 

And then there’s Mum. Sweet, loving Mum who stands at the back door with a towel like a bouncer at a nightclub. 

“Paws, please.” ... every. Single. Time. She grabs my paws and wipes them dry to ensure no muddy pawprints are around the house. 

But one day… ah yes… the Great Escape. She turned her back for two seconds because Ava called her, and I saw my chance. I slipped past her like a shadow with legs and bounded up the stairs before anyone could stop me. Mud everywhere. Truly everywhere. An art masterpiece, really. I heard my full name, the long dramatic “GRAHAMMMMM!” echoing up the stairs and I knew I had, once again, not been Mum’s Best Boy. 

She mopped the floor and scrubbed the carpet while I supervised from a safe distance, feeling ever so slightly guilty but also mildly proud of my creativity.

This month was also my first proper firework season since I left the kennels. Back there, we never heard a single bang, no fireworks, no parties, just fields, wind, and the occasional cow who mooed with attitude. 

Dad spoke to Linda Biscuits before the big weekend, and she suggested noise desensitising... this is a big word and I have no clue what it means! What I do know is that it meant that most evenings, Dad put very loud bangs on the telly box. I did not approve. I slunk back to my bed with Ted and Mr Bunny tucked under my chin, my comfort squad ready for action. 

At first I trembled a bit and tried to make myself as small as a dog with extremely long legs can be. The noises rattled around my head like ghost biscuits in a tin. But Dad and Mum sat with me, offering cuddles, and slowly, slowly, I learned the difference between “TV Bangs” and “Actual Sky Exploding.” 

Then came the real fireworks, the ones above our own roof let off by our neighbours. They were louder, sharper, more echoey. They sounded like the sky itself had decided to drop pots and pans onto the house. I felt my heart thumping fast, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I trotted around the dining table like a confused horse while everyone reassured me that the world was not ending. Mum used calming plug-ins and sprayed my blankets with nice smelly stuff, which helped a lot. Eventually, I realised I could survive the bangs after all. 

Was it fun?...No. 

Did I get through it?...Yes, with dignity mostly intact. 

Bring on New Year’s Eve, I’m practically a professional now! 

Now onto something much more joyful, this month was Nanny’s birthday! Apparently, it was “a big number,” although I have no concept of numbers except “one treat” and “more treats,” so I will take their word for it. 

We went out for a celebratory meal, and of course Grace and I were invited, because we are essential members of the family and also very handsome and cute. The restaurant was in town, so we walked there, which meant bonus sniffing opportunities along the way. 

Grace and I discussed our hopes for the evening, namely, that the restaurant owner might find us charming enough to bring snackies throughout the evening. Upon arrival, the smells hit me first: herbs, spices, meat… honestly, friends, it was glorious. The aroma was far more impressive than anything Mum cooks... Mum if you’re reading this, please unread it, as I would like to have that yummy steak again! 

We had a special corner all decorated with balloons, banners and shiny streamers for Nanny. Mum brought blankets for Grace and I, so we didn’t have to lie on the wooden floor. I took one deep breath, stretched out my legs, and immediately fell into a heavy, satisfied flop. 

The waiter brought drinks for the humans and a bowl of water for Grace and I to share. I made a mental note to tip him in licks and nose sniffs later! The background chatter of diners, the clinking of glasses, and the sizzling from the kitchen became a cosy hum, and I settled in like the world’s sleepiest blanket that smelt like home. 

Only issue was… well… friends, I am what humans kindly describe as “leggy.” Some say noodle dog. Others say lanky lad. I prefer “gracefully aerodynamic.” But once I stretched all four of my legs out to full extension, I realised I had positioned myself perfectly across the main walkway. The exact space the waiters and waitresses needed to use to bring everyone their dinner. 

Did I move? Absolutely not. I am a greyhound, and once I commit to a lying-down position, I become one with the floor. It is known. Mum kept apologising as the staff tiptoed, stepped, and occasionally wiggled through my limbs like they were navigating an obstacle course. Meanwhile, I lay there living my best life. 

The staff thought it was hilarious and even rewarded Grace and me with a sausage each. A JUICY SAUSAGE. Directly into the mouth. 

See? Being naturally adorable pays off. One moment I’m blocking traffic, the next I’m earning myself a juicy treat. A true win for noodle dogs everywhere. 

Everyone’s dinner smelled incredible. I remained on best behaviour, no begging, no sniffing plates, no recreating “Onion Gate” in a public venue. I know when I am a good boy, Mum will make a huge fuss of me and give me extra cuddles and kisses for being a good boy and I am so ready for that tonight! 

I could see Danny slurping away on his pasta in spaghetti form... no not the dog spaghetti... still confusing to this day! But the food and everyone was laughing at him getting more sauce around his mouth! I laughed at him as usually he would have shared some with me by now but we’re in a public place, got to be on my best behaviour I pretended not to want any. (I wanted some.) 

Then the cake arrived and the whole restaurant sang for Nanny. She blew out the candles, everyone cheered, and Mum whispered that she would save some cake for Grace and me. I nearly melted with happiness. 

We then left the restaurant with a trail of ear scratches, belly rubs and compliments from the staff. My fanbase grows daily. I am going to need my own agent soon! 

That night, Nanny and Grace stayed over for a sleepover, which made me approximately eight levels of excited. I got to show Grace my whole bedtime routine! We went for bedtime wee wee’s and mum tucked us into bed and put the radio on with a low hum of music and of course plugged the night light in! I offered to share my bed with Grace, but Nanny had already brought one of Grace’s beds with her earlier on and set it right next to mine! It was just like the old days back at the homing kennels, two hounds lying side by side, chatting about life. 

Grace wanted to tell ghost stories... I refused politely. I do not do ghosts. I do not do spookies. I barely do fireworks. I needed a rest, not a fright! She called me the “whimpiest dog ever,” but I chose to take the high road. Minutes later, she was snoring softly. Lightweight! 

So, there you have it, my friends. A month filled with rain, bangs, birthdays, sausages, love, and cosy nights. And now I keep hearing talk of something called December Christmas, where a mysterious man named Santa brings presents to good dogs? 

Will Santa Paws find me in my new forever home? Have I been good enough? (Except for the muddy-carpet incident… but surely that’s forgiven by now.) 

I suppose I will just have to wait and see. Until next month! 

 Love and Licks, 

 Graham x