Bullseye is the nursery toy dog (in the style of Teddy Playgroup from Peppa Pig) and each child gets to take him home for a day or two. It was R and G’s turn this week. He came home last night with his own basket, blanket, lead(!) and diary for us to fill in.
My parental one-upmanship kicked in and I flicked through the previous entries. Some of the other children had looked after him for a whole weekend. We only had him for two nights and a day. If I’d known in advance I could’ve booked a flight to Peru and taken a picture of Bullseye on Macchu Picchu. Damn! A simple day at home with us would have to do….
This is what
I they wrote in his diary:
The Adventures of Bullseye
By GH and RE aged 3 years 7 months.
Bullseye came to stay with us for two nights so we thought we’d take him through a typical day at home for us.
It was a warm day so we were able to sit on our swing in the garden and eat strawberries. R fed him some:
(NB: I asked the girls to do a painting of Bullseye. G produced a picture. I asked if one of the blobs was Bullseye. ‘No!’ was her indignant cry. ‘That’s the witch. That’s [points at blob with line coming off it] Bullseye‘. Of course. How silly of me.)
Bullseye was very cheeky and ate quite a lot of Mummy’s home-made (I put this phrase into the diary entry and Dh keeps ribbing me for it…) apple and plum crumble. Naughty Bullseye! He seemed to enjoy it though…
We took Bullseye to the Park and had a lovely time playing on the swings with him:
After a busy day, it was time for us to go to bed. Mummy put Bullseye’s pyjamas on and he sleepily climbed into bed. He was snoring in a few seconds! He must have had a really busy day. We loved having Bullseye to stay and would like him to come and see us again very soon!
Now, I don’t want you to think that having Bullseye here was in any way fun. I didn’t enjoy it as much as (or possibly more than) the children. Oh no. It was a terrible chore for me to do all this stuff, take these photos, write it all up in a diary.
Next time we have him he’s going on the Eurostar to Paris.*