Hello
Today, I got my own football shirt. Mom put it on me and it looks real cool. I don't normally like to wear anything because dogs that wear clothes, in my opinion, are pussy's. But it's the same colour as the England team, white. And it's number 23, the same number as Beckham, except I'm called Barkham. So, as it's football, I don't mind wearing the shirt. Mom has started to call me Lizzie Barkham.
Today I went for my first football practice with the boys from the local primary school. These boys are a bit bigger than the little people I normally play with and they're faster. They like to play with me because it helps them pick up their speed. Well, that's what they say. Tom is my favourite player. I met Tom in the park. Tom is my friend and the one who asked Mom if I could play football with them. Tom wears a white shirt too and sometimes he comes to pick me up and we go practice our tackling skills in the park together. I love Tom and I feel really happy when he comes to pick me up and we're both wearing the same colour shirts going to the park. Tom's a good player but I'm faster than he is at tackling. Tom says that I can help him pick up his speed. We tackle for ever; in and out and under his feet I go. Sometimes he kicks it up in the air for me and I head the ball back across to him. Other times he'll make a run for it and I run around the pitch and intercept him before he gets to the goal. It's so exciting. Nothing excites me more than football. With Tom we practice for a long time.
Today we had a short practice before the game. I couldn't wait to get out on the pitch. It was so amazing. I ran around like a maniac. I tackled and defended well, until another boy managed to get away from me with the ball and head down the pitch like thunder. I wasn't too happy. I had to run along the out side of the field, cut in and out of a couple of other players and then intercept. Just as he was about to hammer it into the goal, I managed to get to the ball and head it off side. You'd have to see it to believe it. Mom cheered, she was so proud. The boy who I intercepted made a dive for it and landed on the ground. 'Spectacular' my Mom said. She said she couldn't believe it, that I could play so well. Tom came over and patted me on the back and the other boys cheered me on. They kept calling my name, Barkham, Barkham. It was cool.
We played for what felt like forever, until I headed the ball and bit my tongue. I was taken off. And I wasn't too happy about that either. My tongue was bleeding bad. Mom tried to tell the coach that it happens sometimes. She says, I nose the ball hard and I bite my tongue and but it heals quickly. The coach wasn't having any of that. After a few minutes the bleeding stopped but he wouldn't let me back on. I kept pulling on the lead to go back on but I knew he was right and I was knackered anyway. The saliva was pouring out of my mouth. We said goodbye to Tom and Mom took me back home.
Tonight I am completely wiped out. I've already had a shower and a two hour sleep. I hate having a shower but Mom says it's got to be done, because when I come in from football, I'm full of muck. And, there's no way she's letting me on that sofa covered in muck. She carries me up to the shower and I stand up in the bath with my pa's on the side and she washes me down with warm water. It's not too bad as it goes, but if she puts that shower head near my face, it's all over. I hate when she does that and I usually mange to jump out. When it's over, she wraps me in a big towel, makes me look like a pussy, laughs at my sad face, then dries me off. When she's done I shake off. I'm only allowed to do that in the bathroom.
Today, I got my own football shirt. Mom put it on me and it looks real cool. I don't normally like to wear anything because dogs that wear clothes, in my opinion, are pussy's. But it's the same colour as the England team, white. And it's number 23, the same number as Beckham, except I'm called Barkham. So, as it's football, I don't mind wearing the shirt. Mom has started to call me Lizzie Barkham.
Today I went for my first football practice with the boys from the local primary school. These boys are a bit bigger than the little people I normally play with and they're faster. They like to play with me because it helps them pick up their speed. Well, that's what they say. Tom is my favourite player. I met Tom in the park. Tom is my friend and the one who asked Mom if I could play football with them. Tom wears a white shirt too and sometimes he comes to pick me up and we go practice our tackling skills in the park together. I love Tom and I feel really happy when he comes to pick me up and we're both wearing the same colour shirts going to the park. Tom's a good player but I'm faster than he is at tackling. Tom says that I can help him pick up his speed. We tackle for ever; in and out and under his feet I go. Sometimes he kicks it up in the air for me and I head the ball back across to him. Other times he'll make a run for it and I run around the pitch and intercept him before he gets to the goal. It's so exciting. Nothing excites me more than football. With Tom we practice for a long time.
Today we had a short practice before the game. I couldn't wait to get out on the pitch. It was so amazing. I ran around like a maniac. I tackled and defended well, until another boy managed to get away from me with the ball and head down the pitch like thunder. I wasn't too happy. I had to run along the out side of the field, cut in and out of a couple of other players and then intercept. Just as he was about to hammer it into the goal, I managed to get to the ball and head it off side. You'd have to see it to believe it. Mom cheered, she was so proud. The boy who I intercepted made a dive for it and landed on the ground. 'Spectacular' my Mom said. She said she couldn't believe it, that I could play so well. Tom came over and patted me on the back and the other boys cheered me on. They kept calling my name, Barkham, Barkham. It was cool.
We played for what felt like forever, until I headed the ball and bit my tongue. I was taken off. And I wasn't too happy about that either. My tongue was bleeding bad. Mom tried to tell the coach that it happens sometimes. She says, I nose the ball hard and I bite my tongue and but it heals quickly. The coach wasn't having any of that. After a few minutes the bleeding stopped but he wouldn't let me back on. I kept pulling on the lead to go back on but I knew he was right and I was knackered anyway. The saliva was pouring out of my mouth. We said goodbye to Tom and Mom took me back home.
Tonight I am completely wiped out. I've already had a shower and a two hour sleep. I hate having a shower but Mom says it's got to be done, because when I come in from football, I'm full of muck. And, there's no way she's letting me on that sofa covered in muck. She carries me up to the shower and I stand up in the bath with my pa's on the side and she washes me down with warm water. It's not too bad as it goes, but if she puts that shower head near my face, it's all over. I hate when she does that and I usually mange to jump out. When it's over, she wraps me in a big towel, makes me look like a pussy, laughs at my sad face, then dries me off. When she's done I shake off. I'm only allowed to do that in the bathroom.
I can't wait for the next game!
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