![]() Sure it was a commercial flop with mixed reviews upon its release but I think its price tag was worth the effort to bring the 18th century to life like never before. The noble life can be exhausting, filled as it is with so many obligations, including walks, and barking at trucks.I don’t think my movie history series of the Cavalier years could be complete without a picture from Stanley Kubrick’s 1975 Barry Lyndon. ![]() It is lunchtime, after all!ĭiary, that is all for today. The three of us have a merry time and I make sure to nibble at the berries I encounter in the bushes. Lastly, Nanny takes me on my mid-day stroll, along with my friend and canine companion, Lord Shack. Indeed, all dogs should know, that this is far more fair than making us do all the work. If he wants it that much, he must come to me to retrieve it. It is beneath me to bring the ball back to my valet. Of course, I only run in order to catch the ball. There’s nothing more capital than a good game. I just adore fetch, and the heart wants, what the heart wants. Luckily, I have convinced him that my knees are fine and have told him that if I am to get any exercise at all, he must always bring along a tennis ball. He allows me to take the reigns while I pull him full throttle, leading us willy-nilly into the bushes, circling around trees, and changing paths as I see fit. The walks with my valet are much more to my liking. ![]() As I plan to live forever, that would indeed be a long respite. I believe he meant during the recovery phase, but Cook took it to mean, for the rest of my life. A few years ago, I had to have surgery for a luxating patella-a slipped kneecap-and the royal vet recommended I rest my knee. ‘Tis a brisk one and quite exasperating, actually, because it is my desire to stop and smell the flowers, the trees, the fire hydrants and the lamp poles, but Cook is soon annoyed by my lackadaisical demeanor, as she is often in a rush to leave for the day, continuously mumbling under her breath something about wanting to “beat the traffic.” Whatever that means.Ĭook rarely allows me to romp in the grass as the carefree lad that I am. Noblesse oblige, I say.Įach morning, Cook takes me on my first walk of the day. I am a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, after all. Suffice it to say, it’s an obligation that comes with the royal throne. Of course, the first line of duty, when I begin my walk, is to allow my fellow canine brethren, to greet me by permitting them to sniff my, ahem, never mind. Generally, there are three types of constitutionals I enjoy: The ones in which I’m escorted by Cook, the mid-day strolls with Nanny, and the rather frolicking ones in which my valet accompanies me. Which means, as of today-no, make that as of tomorrow-I will increase the number of my daily constitutionals by four. In order to prepare for my portrait sitting, I am determined to get into shape. No doubt a surprise, in which the who’s who of London will be on the A List, including the Queen herself! But please, don’t let the Kardashians or the Salahis crash my soiree! Most unbecoming! To be certain, I can only assume that, as I am turning five, Cook and Valet have something keen in store. ![]() What a fetching swath I will cut when my likeness adorns the palace walls! My own Jubilee, perhaps, replete with fireworks and a basket of tennis balls, procured for my enjoyment? A new cashmere bed? Or, a platter of delicious morsels to indulge my palette? Or maybe, Cook has finally commissioned my portrait to be done, with the expectation that someday it will hang at Buckingham Palace. In the meantime, my birthday milestone is quickly approaching and I have not as yet heard what is planned for me. I pray I soon secure my passage to Britain, so that I, too, may partake in the most anticipated event of the century! Each morning, when Cook leaves for the day, I switch the channel on the telly to the BBC, in hopes that I will learn more about preparations for the festivities. I’m on tenterhooks, awaiting news of the Queen’s Jubilee.
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