It has been a curious week. My dog was on four separate occasions invited to the parish church on the pretence that many other pets will be attending. It was not the fact that the invite was directed at the dog that made it curious, but the fact that in all the years I have lived here I have never known so many of the locals to be so engaged in attempting to bring new people into the fold of the Church of England. Despite these invites my dog appeared bemused, though he appears bemused by most things. The only things he is unambiguous about is food, a walk, and his manky knackered ball, which is probably why he has always struck me as more of a pagan.
There is not much that can lift his spirits more than an escaped crumb, or a petrified rabbit carcass. I doubted whether a poorly lit church would pose much interest for him other than all the poorly lit animal butts missing a stamp moistener. Yet, I felt the curiosity getting the better of me. As an atheist dogma dissuades me from the church, the collectivism is appealing to my socialist inclination, and the vicar is intriguingly attractive… so being the dog’s +1 won 2-1. Unfortunately, the congregation and my aberrant attraction were not enough to wake me up on Sunday morning.
The dog got covered in grass seed for a manky knackered ball around 10:30 am.