Haribo Fields Forever

Three words. Sweet Spring Grass.

It’s my favourite time of year – no cold, no flies, just an endless sugar hit.

Not only does it taste mouth-wateringly amazing but, after a long hard Winter, every bit of my physiology is shouting ‘eat up all this goodness and don’t stop for anything – especially your human!’

Who am I to ignore such a direct instruction from Mother Nature?

Attempting to entice me away from this feast to embark on any amount of toil and effort for human entertainment is simply absurd.

Despite this, Kat is insisting we carry on with our training schedule – unfortunately these have now resumed after the welcome break due to the human loo roll crisis.

She says that I need to go back to work because my Winter field of Broccoli has turned into a Spring field of Haribo and it’s making me too round and too naughty.

I have no idea what she’s on about. Although, I did bite her bum the other day – right cheek to be precise.

If I’m going to be dragged away from my so called ‘Haribo field’ and asked to flout a direct instruction from Nature herself, then I need to be asked politely. Several times. Probably over the course of about 20 minutes. Or maybe 30. Depending on what day of the week it is of course. With the proviso that I may still just refuse.

Kat, however, is showing an exasperating amount of determination and patience. She loiters about, trailing after me and being so irritatingly persistent that I am completely put off my feasting. Often, I have to let her catch me, simply to stop the persecution.

This is an example of her harrassment.