Adventures of Humphrey

May 30, 2026

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Ciao readers, and welcome to a brand new adventure of **Under the Tuscan Sniff!**

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It’s me, Humphrey — international good boy, professional fetch athlete, and part-time protector of the hoomans. This summer, the parentals have decided to drag me all the way to Italy, with a few stops along the way. Honestly, exhausting… but somebody has to supervise them.

I knew something suspicious was happening this week. The hoomans had been far too busy and, quite frankly, my usual levels of admiration and attention had dropped dramatically. Dad kept carrying bags around, Mum kept making lists, and nobody seemed focused on the important things… like me.

Last night, the deception became clear.

The hoomans started loading my belongings into the car — toys, blankets, food, leads… basically my entire estate. Naturally, I leapt into the back seat before they could leave me behind. I may have only just turned two, but I’m no fool. Dad laughed and said, *“Not yet, Humphrey,”* then made me get back out again. Suspicious behaviour.

This morning, I heard movement upstairs ridiculously early. Now, let me make one thing clear: I am **not** a morning dog. Especially not on weekends. But there’s always the possibility the hoomans might accidentally forget me, and I refuse to become the star of *Home Alone: Dog Edition.* So, with great courage, I dragged myself out of bed and sat upright in my crate waiting for release.

Thankfully, after my morning constitutionals, Dad clipped on my harness and announced it was time to go. Adventure mode activated.

We arrived at the port, and honestly, I handled it like the seasoned traveller I am. I charmed the security staff, strutted around, sniffing the perimeter, and generally behaving like a celebrity greeting fans. Meanwhile, the spare hooman disappeared for approximately seventeen years trying to get two cups of tea from a machine. By the time she returned, the heavens had opened and the rain was starting to bounce off the ground.

Perfect timing.

I curled up in the back seat and prepared myself mentally for what came next: abandonment. Temporary abandonment, technically, but still abandonment. The hoomans left me in the car while they went upstairs on the boat for two whole hours. Thankfully, I decided to handle this betrayal with maturity and grace. After all, I’m two now. Basically an adult.

Turns out I was more tired than traumatised. I shut my eyes for one second and suddenly BAM — the hoomans were back again.

To make up for deserting me, they stopped at my favourite place near the port: Castle Kennedy. Finally! Grass! Trees! Smells! I stretched my legs properly and strutted confidently past some very large dogs (horses) in a nearby field. No fear. Well… maybe a little fear. But mostly confidence.

Then it was back into the car for what can only be described as an aggressively boring drive. The hoomans stopped at charging stations approximately every six years. They got coffee. I got one treat. Honestly, the imbalance in this relationship is shocking.

At another stop, it was roasting outside. The hoomans ate burgers and chips right in front of me while I sat there looking devastatingly handsome and deeply underfed. Not a single chip offered. I’ll remember this betrayal for the annual performance review.

Eventually, we reached another checkpoint. More charming officials. One lady even offered to keep me. Dad laughed nervously, but we all know he’d last about four minutes without me.

Then came the shock of the day.

We drove toward another giant boat and I immediately prepared myself for more lonely car suffering… but instead Dad clipped on my lead and said, *“Come on, Humphrey, you’re coming with us.”*

Excuse me?!

I was allowed ON the boat.

Not only that — we had our own little cabin with beds and everything. The room smelled strongly of other doggos, but I was too excited to care. My bed was placed carefully between the two human beds, though personally I think there would’ve been far more room if Mum had simply allowed me into hers. Killjoy.

The boat also had a so-called “dog exercise area.” Honestly, whoever designed it has clearly never met an athletic dog like me. No grass. No trees. No agility course. Barely enough room to wag properly. I peed politely and left immediately. Standards must be maintained.

Apparently, I’m only allowed in the corridor outside the room and the tiny dog area. Outrageous discrimination against handsome travelling pups.

Still, despite the cramped cabin and questionable facilities, I curled up for the evening feeling rather pleased with myself. I’m officially on another European tour.

Tonight, I’ll continue my important night duties: guarding the hoomans from intruders, suspicious noises, and probably seagulls.

Tomorrow… who knows where my paws will take me next? But one thing is certain:

There had better be a proper walk involved.