In January we kipped. If Putin got enough sleep, he’d be a lot less cranky.
In January I lost a bet from Haas and so I had to eat my initial. Putin’s ego could surely never recover from such an indignity.
In February we explored. If only Putin didn’t.
In February all was good. Except in the Ukraine.
In February we enjoyed romantic meals in. If only Putin did the same.
In March I was attacked by a rogue hay sprig, suspected to be an assassin sent by Putin.
In March I lolled in my hay box. A Putin-free zone.
This is the last picture of me sans head tilt. Quality time on the sofa. Putin was not invited.
In March I opted for the fashionable head tilt. If only Putin took a sideways glance at himself sometimes.
In March we played in the garden. If only Putin stuck to his own garden too.
In April I enjoyed some daffodils. Not that I ate them or anything. Putin did.
In April I practised my judo rolls. Like Putin.
In April I invented the selfie. Unlike Putin.
in April we dined in the garden without telling Putin.
In May the garden was hot. No thanks to Putin.
In May I perfected the banana pose to annoy Putin.
In June I patrolled the garden to stop Putin from invading.
In June we hid from the paps and Putin’s heavies.
In July we received a box of Loftys from Cousin Neville’s waitress. But not from Putin.
In July I had my tail measured. Mine is bigger than Putin’s.
in August I slept without drooling on my pillow. Putin drools all the time.
In August I groomed Katrijn’s ears which had been bent by Putin.
In August we ate the willow branches we beat Putin’s heavies with.
In September we bought a new prison for Putin’s heavies, but instead played in the garden with it.
In September I ate the lavender harvest. I left nothing for Putin.
In October I made a mess, just like Putin.
In October I defied Putin. As in January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August and September.
Unlike Putin, in November I played footsie.
In November we went out into the cold, and didn’t like it. We’re not like Putin.
So we returned to some warmth because we can, unlike Putin.
In December Putin still had not caught up on the footsie trend, so the Russian economy collapsed.
In December I was a bah humbug, but not as bad as Putin.
Our Christmas tree is bigger and better than Putin’s.
The Bunnington Post Award for Vilest & Most Revolting Politician of the Year 2014 goes to
Whose name shall henceforth only be spelled in poo-coloured font.
May 2015 bring freedom and justice for man and beast regardless of the continued interference of people like Putin