Mar 1 2014

‘There is always something there to remind me’

Scary photo alert!!!!!

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Time to renew the passports and oh boy have they tightened up on the rules and regulations.

Picture 1 is me circa 2004 – short dark hair, tinted Deirdre specs and just the hint of a smile – too far away from the camera, this photo would not make it through the awfully nice Passport checking lady at the Post Office (worth paying the extra fifteen squids to get her to check it).

Picture 2 is me circa 2014 – back to my reasonably natural blonde status, sans specs, sans smile – my sad face fits in the red oval of the photo-me booth.

Hub and I visited our local supermarket last night to get our passport photos done, and we were both deeply traumatised by the results.  It took me three goes to get photo 2 – the first two versions had me looking decidedly cross-eyed as I tried to peer at the instructions on the screen.  Yes, I know that the nice lady tells you what to do but I don’t hear so well without my goggles on. BTW it took Hub two goes before he pressed the final green button, so ner.

I have worn spectacles since I was eight years old; going from the anaemic pale blue plastic NHS horrors, to the more severe black plastic ‘these are supposed to be for boys not girls‘ to the gold-rimmed, blue-tinted lens John Lennon lookie-likies of my teens. I have had even larger Deirdre bottle-ends and smaller metal framed versions. I even dallied with red metal frames but the red coating wore off and brought me out in a rash, leaving me with the choice between more mega-plastic nasties or expensive titanium. As I earned more money I ventured into designer specs – Versace, Dolce and Gabbana –  but they didn’t actually make me see any better especially when I had to give into varifocals.

This year however, the local supermarket came up trumps and I now have a pair of stylish titanium frames with brown transition varifocal lens AND a pair of slightly purple metal frames, as above but with grey transitions. They cost me £500 squids less than that the place that we should have gone to. Hmmmm.

All this optical rambling is tenuously linked to my discomfort at having to be photographed with a glasses-less face after years of being so used to looking at my features through a range of (rose) tinted lenses.

My dearest Hub is mourning the loss of his locks. Still abundant at the back of his nicely shaped head, his cranium is getting more and more exposed as the years fly past; visits to the hairdresser are a thing of the past as electric clippers wielded by my own fair hands can now do the job to his – well – not satisfaction exactly because he’d far rather have enough hair to have a professional do the job.

Comparing my 2004 face with my 2014 face – yes, time has worn away at me and etched a fair few wrinkles and bags  – bags which are usually hidden by the specs, and wrinkles that don’t seem to show so anywhere near so much when you smile.

Ten years ago I was doing two jobs – both of which brought me fulfilment and frustration.  Our boys were still in primary school, we had a houseful of cats and I had just embarked on my Open University journey.

Facebook was born.

Janet Jackson flashed a boob at the Super Bowl, Uni Boy was obsessed with Harry Potter and Gameboys, Gap Year Boy was playing football in a local team and Hub was as much into Motorhead as he  was as a teenager and still is today.  He is as constant as the Northern Star.

My Bezzie Mate took a look at photo 2 and recommended ‘some of that TV glowing youthful reflective base, lightly pencilled eyebrows and lighter lippy’.   I may take that on board but I will have to consult some of my female friends for confirmation.

Hub looked at the pictures, gave me that smile that I know so well and made me forget all about silly old passport photos.

I have included picture 3 because I feel comfortable with it.  It is also proof of my ability to take  selfie. It may well be an only child though.

Feb 16 2014

“Rage, rage against the dying of the light” Dylan Thomas

Something written a couple of years ago after my lovely step dad died in hospital; his ending was not as we would have wanted it to be, not what he deserved.

It was her stillness that first caught his attention.  Glimpsed through a half-open door; she was serene.  Other visitors watched the television screen, read magazines, kept up a stream of inane chatter and occasionally fell asleep.  She did none of these things but sat quietly holding the hand of the man in the bed.  A man who slept most of the time but when he was awake, shouted and screamed foul abuse at her.

Ben marvelled at her composure.  He had been in his new job for two days and could see her from his office across the corridor.  He never heard her so much as raise her voice in response to the vile accusations and recriminations that poured forth and polluted the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the hospice.  Fearful for this woman’s safety, Ben sought advice from his supervisor Marian.  She had smiled at him benignly.

“Speak to her.  It’s the only way that you’ll understand.  I could tell you all about them but not as eloquently as she can.  Her name is Lily.” She looked at her watch.   “I expect you’ll see her out in the corridor in about half an hour when the nurses carry out their obs.  Take her for a coffee?”

Ben returned to the office and left the door wide open.  He wanted to cheat and check the computer system but Marian’s words had made him curious and he felt that he owed it to this obviously dedicated woman to let her explain why she suffered the abuse so calmly.

A sound in the corridor outside made him look up and Lily was standing in the doorway.  He got to his feet quickly and walked towards her, extending his hand.

“Hi, my name’s Ben.  I’m new here. I’m an advocate; I speak for people who don’t have anyone who can make their wishes known.”

She took his hand in both of hers; warm soft hands that gripped but didn’t crush.  “Marian asked me to come and see you whilst the nurses are seeing to my Tommy.  Are you free to come for coffee?”

“Yes,” he replied, slightly taken aback. “I’d love to.”

Closing the office door behind him, he followed her into the lounge and Lily poured them both some filter coffee.  She led the way to two armchairs that had a view of the sensory garden; a place guaranteed to both stimulate and soothe.  Ben could smell lavender and rosemary in the breeze.

“I hope Tommy hasn’t disturbed you; he does shout so but he doesn’t mean any of it.”  Lily took a sip of coffee and smiled at Ben.

“I was a bit concerned; for you having to listen to all that abuse.”

She shook her head and smiled again.  “He would never hurt me.  We’ve been together sixty years and he never so much as raised a hand to me.  We’ve always sorted things out between us.  I wish you could have known him when he was younger.”

“Sixty years is a long time to be married.” said Ben.

“He was such a charmer; when I first met him he was running a greengrocer’s.  My friend Sylvia introduced me to him and I used to pop into the shop in my lunch hour.  I worked in the haberdasher’s across the road.  He was a stickler for business though.   If I went into the shop for just an apple I had to pay for it, but when he took me out for the evening he’d pay for everything and make me feel really special.  He was so dashing; always well-turned out.  He’d been around a bit too, he did his National Service in the RAF and I think I fell in love with him the first time I saw him in uniform.”  Lily giggled and smiled to herself, remembering the moment and the handsome young man in his airforce blue.

Ben still looked dubious and she leaned across and touched his hand.   “We have two children; two lovely girls.  They married well and I have seven grandchildren and three great-grandchildren all together.  Not all of them live close by any more but they visit regularly, and we used to go and stay with them till Tommy took ill.  My eldest granddaughter keeps asking me to have a break from all this but I can’t leave him, not now.”

“This must be terribly draining for you.  Marian says you stay here all the time.” said Ben.

“No, no.  I have a little break when the nurses see to him.  He doesn’t like me to be present when they do the personal things.  Tommy’s always been a proud man like that. He’s in so much pain and I can’t bear the thought of not being there when he finally leaves me.  The only time we’ve ever been parted was when I was in hospital after I had the first baby.  I had my second at home.  They didn’t make such a fuss about having babies at home then.  You just got on with it.  Like dying really.  Part of me wants Tommy to let go; just go to sleep and not wake up but that’s not what we agreed to.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ben.

“My Tommy didn’t hold with painkillers.  He wouldn’t even have a jab when he went to the dentist, and when he started getting these pains in his stomach I had the devil’s own job getting him to the doctor.  I only went with him the once, after that he went on his own and he wouldn’t tell me what the consultant said.  He didn’t want to worry me but of course I knew things weren’t right.  He stopped eating and drinking; I tried everything to tempt him but nothing appealed to him.  I came home from doing some shopping with my granddaughter and found him on the floor.  His hands and feet were purple and swollen; I’d only been out a couple of hours.  We had to call an ambulance and I thought he was going to die.”  She gasped a little at the memory and pulled a tissue from her cardigan sleeve, dabbing it at her eyes but smiling nevertheless.

“Tommy won’t take the drugs that would help him.  He says that they will take his memories away; he wanted to see my face and always know that I was there with him.  The doctors and nurses tried to explain to him that the pain would become unbearable and that there were things they could do to keep him comfortable but he won’t have it.  It comes in waves you see, the pain.  He sleeps for a while but when he wakes up it hurts him so much and the only way he can cope is to shout and scream at me.  He doesn’t mean those dreadful things and he can’t say them to anyone but me because no one else in the world loves him the way I do.  No one else understands him like me.  Marian says that eventually his body will stop fighting but his mind is still so alive and scared.”

“I could sit with him, if you wanted a longer break, to get out of here for a while.”  Ben desperately wanted to do something but no amount of training could help him think of any other way to help.  She took his hand in hers again and shook her head gently.

“Bless you.  You are such a lovely young man.  He wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t there and I couldn’t bear that.  Our time together is precious; I love to watch him sleeping peacefully but when he wakes and shouts, that’s when I see my Tommy again.  I know that I have a heart full of memories and that I’ll never lose them, but Tommy is still here and being the man that he is, he can’t go down without a fight.”  She rummaged in her handbag and brought out a small green leather-covered book, the gilt lettering on the cover worn off through much use.

“Do you know the work of Dylan Thomas at all?  I love his poems.  My granddaughter bought me this little book because I remembered a poem we were taught at school. “Do not go gentle into that good night, rage, rage against the dying of the light’.  Such beautiful words, and so true to the way I feel about my Tommy.  Anger isn’t always a bad thing Ben.  If you’re going to make a career out of this advocacy thing, you need to look at things from all sides before you make your mind up.  You’d written my Tommy off as a bully and marked me down as a victim but I’ve had a happy life and I’ve no doubt that my children and their children will do their best to make sure my life is as good as possible once Tommy has gone.  I must get back to him now.  I’ll see you tomorrow I hope.”

He watched her go; squaring her shoulders in readiness for the next onslaught and felt humbled.

Ben arrived early the next morning; fired up with a new determination to listen more and keep his mind open.  The door to Tommy’s room was ajar but Lily wasn’t there.  Ben knocked on Marian’s door.

“Where’s Lily?  I really enjoyed meeting her yesterday. I have a few more questions for her though.”

Marian motioned him to sit down.  “She died just after midnight.  A massive coronary and totally unexpected.  It was Tommy’s shouting that alerted us.  We had to sedate him; not a choice we wanted to take in view of his strong feelings about pain relief but there’s no one to sit with him, his family are on the way but won’t be here for some hours.”

“I’ll sit with him.  I’d like to – for Lily’s sake.”

Ben sat next to the bed and steeled himself for the time when Tommy came round from the sedative.   This was what it was really about; making sure that Tommy had his wishes respected even though Lily couldn’t be there to see him rage against the dying of the light.

Frail, confused, in pain and sometimes wanting to give up the fight –  we can’t choose the ending but we can show tolerance and compassion to those who are vulnerable, whether their history is known to us or not.  Spare a thought for those who care because it doesn’t always come easy.

 

Feb 3 2014

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it” Ferris Bueller

Well, it’s taken a while but I’m back and many thanks to Scooby and the V-Toe for holding the fort.  I am freed from  the thraldom of ‘they-who-must-not-be-named’ or TWMNBN, which is still something of a mouthful so I’ll stick with THEM if I really feel the need to mention THEM – which I don’t.

So ner to anyone nosey-poking on my page and expecting to be able to run and tell tales again. Slimeballs.

In my new guise as a freelancer (not quite sure what I’m freelancing at yet but we’ll wait and see)  life has become infinitely more interesting in the past six months but first an update.

The Hub as ever, remains wonderful, supportive, entertaining and has the best-shaped head of any man I know – except for when it gets hit by errant paintballs.

Uni Boy is in his third year and in line for a first; he is going for his Masters next year and is happily ensconced in a little end of terrace house sharing with three lovely women.  The house is immaculately kept (they take their shoes off, and leave each other messages about recycling on the kitchen whiteboard) and as a consequence UB shows something of a reluctance to come and visit home-crap-home. Whilst UB may have a brain the size of a planet, it didn’t stop him washing his passport  a couple of days before he was due to go off to Spain with his friends.  Various plans were mooted but he missed the holiday and had to be content with spending a week in a hotel (paid for by his parents) whilst he was doing hush-hush work for a large chemical company he interned with during the summer.  It was so hush-hush that he couldn’t even tell his mum about it – not that I would have understood – 90% of what UB says goes right over my head but I like to listen anyway.

College Boy isn’t.  He was finding the teaching methods somewhat dull – as in ‘sit there and revise quietly whilst I mug up on the teaching I need to do for the other classes I take that I know nothing about either.’ When the college turned into an academy that concentrated on making money and getting stunning results rather than actually teaching young people, CB was considered to be too risky for them and so he is at home now having a gap year.  Henceforth he will be known therefore as Gap Boy or GB to his friends.  His year hasn’t been too empty however; he organised a trip to Colorado in the summer to attend the wedding of friends he made through one of his shouty internet games.  Using some of his inheritance to travel business class, he dressed up smart and after being compared to Prince Harry (GB has MUCH better hair) was the centre of female attention at the wedding. He also trounced the Yanks at clay-pigeon shooting – left-handed.   The week after his trip, the heavens opened and the wedding venue up in the mountains got washed away.  GB is currently looking for voluntary work so that he can broaden his horizons and stop getting under my feet.

The Scoob has been with us for a year now; he is incredibly loving, cuddly and intelligent – in the house.  Once outside he transforms into protector mode and barks at cars, cyclists, joggers, binmen, postmen (and women), delivery people, some other dogs (random) and some passersby (equally random).  He is very strong and after pulling me over (see previous posts) I am now limited to taking him for garden wees, holding the treat bag when we go out and calling him in a high-pitched (but attractive to dogs) voice.  I still take him for an early morning treasure hunt for treats in the inner courtyard, and as a consequence I am greeted with a loud and very enthusiastic howl of happiness when I come down in the morning.  Lovely for me but not for the rest of the sleeping household, especially guests.

2013 has been a year of extremes; extreme unhappiness and frustration with THEM but extreme joy in renewing friendships from college (34 years ago) and in particular the re-acquaintance with Bezzie Mate (BM) who has lured me out of my self-imposed exile.  I now do trains and buses again; wending my way to BM’s hometown so he can show me his haunts.  In return he has come to visit us and been adopted by the whole family including Scooby, whose adoration makes him wheeze.

There is much to look forward to in the new year; my Lovely Girl is in pod again and moving to a new forever house, we are finally getting a decent kitchen put in and this is the year where I make a concerted effort to write more fruitfully.

Freedom and freelancing have given me the opportunity to spend more time with Hub and my huge and brilliant family, see friends that I have missed and to have my own adventures.  The V-Toe is still sore and causes me to fall over rather a lot but with supportive arms and a walking stick, I get around (round, round, I get around).

Life does move pretty fast but I have every intention of stopping on the way to enjoy it.

Jul 15 2013

I didn’t mean to hurt you – I’m sorry that I made you …. fall over

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Hola!

Back into the Spanish sunshine mode.  My Valencian roots are emerging, together with the need to laze, eat and occasionally go walkies in the fresh air.

My Mum has taken to sitting outside and studying at the garden table – which I like particularly because I have to keep an eye on her.

The Big Boy is home from this Uni place and he seems to have been bitten by the sunshine bug too. Every other time he’s been home he stays in his room with big books – occasionally popping out to have a shower or cook food that smells wonderfully of garlic.

My Dad goes off to the work in the CAR but he doesn’t take me.  I am sad for a little while when he leaves but overjoyed and bouncing when he returns.  I think he is just as pleased to see me although it usually means he has to take me out for a walk no matter what time of day it is.

My Boy spends most of his time shouting at friends on his computer thing – he shouts because he has something over his ears – he can’t hear himself and he can’t hear my Mum and Dad when they shout at him either.  I love it when he comes downstairs because he gives me lots of fuss and !

My Mum had this idea of getting some kind of paddling pool for us to cool our toes/claws in – they tracked one down and my Dad set off in hot (very hot) pursuit, snatching up the last one in the shop from the sweaty hands of some other doting dad.

I didn’t like the noise the long snake thing that spits water made and I was quite wary of the big blue plastic shell that appeared in MY yard.  My Mum sat on the bench with her feet in the cold water and smiled. It really was a very hot day.

 

My Boy decided to put me in the blue shell.  He lifted me up and I stood, uncertain and wary, up to my elbows in cold water.  Then he poured the water over my back and tail.  I remained where I was, shivering, and  my Dad took pity on me and told my Boy to get me out. I shook water all over my Boy for that.

I have given the blue shell a wide berth since but my Mum still likes it because she can watch the blackbirds flying into the ivy with food for their fledglings.  I am NOT allowed to harass the blackbirds however tempted I am.

The other new garden acquisition is less scary. So overjoyed was my Mum to find that her eldest son wasn’t a vampire after all (with all that garlic – no chance!), she and my Dad bought him a sun lounger and a long lime green cushion to go on top.  It looks very inviting but once he sat down there was very little that would move my Big Boy upright and away from his extremely large and heavy books.  He is currently reading ‘Organic Chemistry’.  My Mum is reading ‘Cognitive Psychology’, my Dad has ‘Shares’ magazines and my boy is shooting BBs out of the bathroom window (he’s not allowed to do it if any of us are in the garden but sometimes he forgets).

So, yesterday afternoon we are out in the garden – well – me, my Mum and my Boy.  My Dad has gone back to bed because he was up at five o’clock in the morning and my Boy was in shouty mode again.

We had an unexpected but extremely welcome visitor – on a bicycle.

Bicycles make me anxious at the best of times and unexpected visitors make me very excited.  My Mum sent the Big Boy for Scooby Snacks so that I could be bribed into submission.  He went, my Mum grabbed my collar, I pulled and she went down – in her words – lie a sack of spuds.

Since the bad crate bashed her toe, my Mum’s balance has been decidedly off.  She tries to fall on soft things – sofas, chairs, my Dad –  but on this occasion she failed.  Her knee hit the ground, her elbow hit the brickwork edge of the flower bed and her head hit the side of the garage.  My Big Boy, my Mum’s friend and I watched her go down in slow motion.  Ouch. We were all very sympathetic and concerned.

She was okay though (she whispered to me later that if we’d been alone she would have cried a bit – but it wouldn’t have happened if we’d been alone because I wouldn’t have gotso  excited.)

With a stiff upper – how do humans do that? – she got up slowly and staggered over to the chair she uses for studying al fresco. Big swollen knee, bleeding elbow and bumpy head, but my Mum and her friend had a nice long chat and by the time my Dad came down she had lost the green tinge and was smiling again.

It has been a difficult weekend with my Mum making some important decisions.  She’s had some help in this and I’m putting some links (who am I kidding – dogs don’t do typing or computers or links!) at the end of this piece of FICTIONAL writing.

I’m sorry Mum.  I didn’t mean to pull you over and hurt you.  I’m just an anxious guy. xxx

SUMO – Shut Up and Move On

http://www.thesumoguy.com/default.aspx

http://thesumoguy.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

Jul 6 2013

Birds do it, Bees do it …..

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Whilst I am loving the sunshine  and the opportunity to loll in the garden, there are some disadvantages to the outdoor life.

The year of the cat has come and gone, so the birds have returned to our garden with a vengeance.

We have – according to my Dad who knows these things – pigeons, blackbirds, starlings, dunnocks and sparrows in the side garden, and a variety of tits in the front garden – steady – I am a dog and I don’t do innuendos.  The blackbirds have got a nest in the back courtyard and the pigeons are getting through the fatballs at a rate of knots.  My Mum has been a bit sneaky and hung a container of fatballs on a very wobbly branch so that only the lightest of birds can land there.

Talking of balls – she has sown these seedballs all over the garden – little clay balls that contain flower seeds. Part of the strategy to bring back the bees and other insects.

I can cope with most of the birds but those blackbirds keeping hopping about behind me when I’m trying to kip under my very own sunshade.  They swoop down over my head in order to tease me and they even had the cheek to grab a lump of my discarded fur after my Mum had brushed me. OI!  MY FUR!

The seedballs worked and we know have bees in abundance.  They are even more annoying than the birds and far more dangerous.

There I was, innocently chasing a bee and snapping my jaws at it, when it turned round, stuck its bum up my nose and stung me.

Unfortunately the incident happened so quickly that no one else saw.

That afternoon the nice man came to see how my annoying habits were shaping up.

Still pulling.  Still whoofing.  Still randomly growling. Lovely with it though.

We did some more work – the de-stressing was very nice but the bad noise when I woofed was not.  I am learning – slowly. Then I got treats and more de-stressing so all was good.

Except for the fact that I kept licking the air and sneezing – the humans around me came up with various hypotheses to explain my strange behaviour but it wasn’t till the next morning that my Boy and my Mum (with the aid of a torch) looked up my nostril and discovered that the inside was bright red and swollen where the bee’s bum had left its mark.  I was washing everything in sight in order to stop the pain.  Wet sofa, wet cushions, well-washed Mum (my Boy doesn’t like it when I lick him but my Mum doesn’t mind – she keeps baby wipes in the bathrooms still).

Got lots of fuss, Wonky Chomps (Yay! My favourite), treats and a handheld ice cube to ease the swelling (love, love love these doting humans).

They booked me into the vets so that my Dad could take us when he got back from work.  I was doing my best to look pathetic when my Dad came home and it worked because he made a BIG fuss of me.

To the vets – in the CAR.  I love the CAR!  Only a short trip though as the vet is just round the corner.  It was a lady vet this time and I did all the charming head-on-one-side-with-a-slight-tail-wag stuff.  It worked.  She was smitten.  I had a steroid injection but they didn’t charge me for the anti-histamines – did you know that dogs can take 4mg Piriton for insect bites? I was a very GOOD dog (that’s if you ignore the ominous growling at the other smaller dogs who were at the vets as well).

Went home.  Still lickyand a bit dopey from the drugs but oh, the attention I got from all of them – it was worth it.

There have been various other pieces of excitement darting around the house this week.

The Big Boy who lives away has done well in his exams and will be coming home next week.

My Boy has been invited to a wedding in America – so all else has to take second place whilst he holds forth about it. The next two months are going to be horrendous.

My Dad has a very posh new suitcase thing for keeping all his paintball stuff in.

My Mum has been to mysterious meetings that make her alternately mad and sad.

Although I don’t like to see her sad, it does  mean that I get the best cuddles from her when we fall asleep on the sofa together.  When she is tappity-tapping on her laptop I am at her feet to stop the bad people from coming in.

My Dad takes us up to the Monument.  He and I run up and down the hill whilst my Mum puts things back into perspective, says hello to her favourite tree (I’m not allowed to wee on it) and smiles again.

My Dad will be home in half an hour and that should mean walkies if he isn’t too tired from looking at planes and stopping them bumping into each other.  At the very least my Mum will take me outside to the front garden for a late night pitstop and some treats.  There is a bolshy looking Hebe bush that I am slowly subduing with the power of wee.

Our friend Paddy Pickles has an iPee app for his phone – it shows your where you last sprinkled.  My Dad says there is no need for us to get an iPoo for me – scented nappy sacks remove all trace of my whereabouts.

That was a bit of fantasy – Paddy Pickles is a canine chum and doesn’t have a mobile. I am a dog and I don’t do jokes either.

It’s going to be a nice day again tomorrow – takes me back to my days in the Spanish sunshine.  My Boy will be unlikely to surface till lunchtime as he has been running around in heavy boots, camouflage and shooting things with small plastic balls all day today. My Dad will be spending the day shooting people with larger balls of paint and coming home with brightly coloured bruises.  Hope he takes me out for a walk first then.

Sunshine in the garden, cuddles with my Mum, Wonky Chomps and doggy treats.  It’s a dog’s life alright.

Adios amigos.

Oh! Dad’s HOME!

Jun 4 2013

My bark is much worse than my bite

I’ve had a holiday!

I’ve been to the vets – twice.

I’ve also been assessed regarding some of my more unfortunate habits.  This was as a consequence of my managing to escape when the garden gate blew open.  I ran and ran.  So did my Dad.  My Mum picked up the bags and my lead and set off at a brisker than usual trot to try to find me and my Dad.  To be fair, I did actually turn round and stop eventually, but by that time my Dad was not best pleased, was bent double and making strange couching noises.    I was brought home in disgrace and left in no doubt about how disappointed they were in me.  I do sad dog face so well.

My Mum hit the internet with a vengeance and booked us up with a man who would visit and do some work with all three of us regarding my pulling, woofing at cyclists, joggers and delivery men, and my growling at random things and people. I don’t have a problem with any of these behaviours but apparently my humans do.

Back to the holiday first though.

I got quite excited about all the suitcases littered around the house, and observed with great interest the animated discussions about what needed to be taken and what didn’t.  I had my own rucksack, sports bag and bag of bedding, not to mention a newly stocked treats box and enough food to last me the week.  The hotel was supposed to supply me with meals but my Boy wasn’t sure if they would have food that was good enough for me (preens and grins).

I went out for a run with my Dad at tea time on the day before we were due to leave and I trod on a thorn.  The combined efforts of my Mum, my  Dad and my Boy couldn’t get it out, so at ten o’clock that night I was taken off to the emergency vets.  Oh the smells.  Sheer heaven for a scent hound like me.

I liked the vet and the nurse.  I didn’t like the sounds or what happened to the other animals that were emergencies that night.  There was a sweet greyhound that had a heart attack and died, a bunny that was savaged by a fox and an old cat whose legs went.  Four patients and I was the only one that came out alive.  The nurse kept apologising to my Mum and Dad but I don’t think they minded the wait – a thorn in the paw was very trivial  compared to what happened to  the other patients that night.

When it was my turn they put on my Hannibal Lecter mask in case I bit anyone.  I didn’t.  I just pulled the mask off in disgust.  The lady vet took me off into a back room to have some local anaesthetic put on my paw and within a few minutes I was back with my Mum and my Dad.  The nurse brought the thorn with her – it was 6mm long and hurt like hell coming out.  I had an antibiotic injection and a course of pills because we were going away for a week and wouldn’t be able to come back for a check up.  Then they gave us the bill.    All I can say is that it was a good job we didn’t go there after midnight because the tariff was even steeper.  My Mum and Dad didn’t seem to mind though, they were just pleased that I was alright.

We bought my Boy a Maccie D’s on the way home but even though I was a frightfully brave dog and deserved to be spoiled, he still didn’t give me any of his fries.  He can be very strict sometimes.

Despite the late night, we were all up very early next morning and I watched with interest as my Dad and my Boy packed up the car.  The cottage we were staying in didn’t have a washing machine, and as my Mum said that she had no intention of spending her holiday sitting in a launderette, she had to bring quite a lot of clothes with her.  This caused some grumbling from my Dad and my Boy who failed to understand why my Mum needed so many clothes.  She told them that it was a woman thing and to get over it.

It was a long journey down to Cornwall but I was very good.  My bed was on the floor between my Boy’s seat and the seat that I let the Other Boy use when he was home.  The cover has now been put back on it and I can drool on the window to my heart’s content. We made four stops allowing me to poo, pee and woof my way down the country.  I also allowed my humans to stop and eat and do whatever humans do when they disappear off into a motorway service station.

By the time we arrived at the hotel my Mum and my Boy were tired and emotional, which meant that they were snipping at each other.  My Dad was just tired from all that driving.  It didn’t help that the cottage we were staying in was miles from the car park and all the luggage had to be transported in wicker baskets on wheels.  My Mum took charge of me and we followed the parade of my Dad, the lady porter and my grumbling Boy, all loaded down with luggage.

It was a nice cottage though.  Very Scooby friendly with NO stairs.  The hotel staff even left special treats for me,  a pile of pooh bags and some old but clean bedspreads to put over the furniture.  I explored the whole cottage – except for the two en-suite bathrooms – I don’t do bathrooms – that’s where humans make smells and try to wash you.

My Mum started to look happier.  She could see the sea, and we had a nice little walled garden with chairs and a table.  The sun was shining and once everyone had eaten the world looked rosy again.

We were on holiday!

For three days it was sunny and I went for long walks on the headland, shorter walks on the beach and was let off the lead in a little cove with only one way out.  My Mum and my Dad sneaked off to the hotel and had cocktails – not sure what they are but they make my Mum smile a lot.

They took me to a place called Lands End.  My Boy and I were not impressed.  There were coach loads of foreign tourists and people with small yapping dogs.  It was a relief to get back in the car.

Because it was their special anniversary (no idea – it’s a human thing) my Boy and I let my Mum and my Dad out for a special dinner at the hotel too.  I think they had more of those cocktail things because they both came back smiling and singing songs that made my Boy pull his disgusted face.  My Mum and my Dad giggled.

The weather kind of went downhill after that but my Dad – and sometimes my Boy if he was awake – made sure that I had lots of walks.  My Mum came too sometimes but her poorly toe still means she can’t walk as far as my Dad and my Boy.

One morning when I was out with my Dad I smelled the most delicious smell on the grass and had to roll and roll and roll in it.  As soon as my Dad and I walked back into the cottage my Mum wrinkled up her nose and said “Ugh – fox pooh!”

My Dad is a novice dog owner and had never smelled fox pooh before.  It is not a smell he will ever forget now.

I was taken out into the garden where – in somewhat wet and windy conditions – my Mum and my Dad applied shampoo and scrubbed me down from head to foot.  I love it when they rub you dry with a towel.  My collar and harness had to be washed  and my Mum received a heartfelt apology from my Dad because although the car had been packed too full with luggage, it meant that she had remembered to bring towels, brushes and special shampoo for me.

We went to a place called Mousehole  the next day but the only cats and mice I saw were stuffed ones.  We sat in the car, in the rain and the humans ate fish and chips, apparently they are VERY bad for dogs.  A cheeky seagull perched on our car and I wanted it SO much. I woofed and growled a great deal. My Mum promised that she’d look for a stuffed one for me.  She looked but the best she could come up with was a stuffed penguin.  Epic Fail.  I chewed it once then tucked it under a blanket and forgot about it.

I was deserted on the last night of our holiday.  The three of them went off to the hotel and had dinner – and more of those cocktail things.  I was overjoyed when they returned though.  They were equally overjoyed to find that I had been very good and not damaged the furniture, weed or poohed anywhere whilst they were out.  I fell asleep.

Tempers were rather frayed the next morning when my humans had to get the luggage back to the car.  We had acquired some extra bits and pieces and I cringed slightly whilst my Boy stomped off to the car and my Mum and my Dad had WORDS.

They made friends again though.  They never stay angry at each other for long.

We were making a couple of detours on the way home.  The first was to a tank museum – for the Boy.  My Mum and I stayed in the car and listened to a comedian on her Kindle thing.  She laughed a lot and I looked wistfully out of the window, missing my Dad and my Boy. It made my Boy very happy though, he’s rather into guns and tanks and things that make loud noises.

When they came back we made our way to see my Mum’s sister and her husband.  He is very tall and she isn’t, and I could tell straight away that they were dog lovers.  I didn’t woof or growl and although I would have liked to stay out in their garden and chase the pigeons, I was impeccably behaved.  I ate my dinner and eventually nodded off whilst the humans ate their dinners and talked.  I like having relatives.

At last we were on our way home.  It rained and apparently we shared the motorways with vast numbers of football fans heading North.  I slept for most of the journey, only really waking up when we were about a quarter of a mile from home and the front wheel  got a puncture.  It was very noisy in the car after that, and we crawled home very, very, very slowly.

Luggage was unloaded and left in piles in the living room because the humans just wanted to go to sleep.  I would have preferred to go for walkies or play games but I curled up on my sofa and did the looking-like-I’ve-fallen-asleep-until-they-go-upstairs thing.

I think I liked having a holiday, especially as it meant that I got to walk on sandy beaches and roll in fox pooh – not sure that I’ll get the chance to do that again – especially not with my Mum’s very sensitive sense of smell.

My Dad had a birthday once we were back and the Other Boy came home for a visit.  We are firm friends now – although he doesn’t do walks or feeding me still.  They all went out to dinner again and left me to guard the house.  No one came though so I didn’t even have to woof.  The next morning the Other Boy went back to this Uni place where he lives a lot of the time – and where I’m not allowed to go because they don’t have pets.

I saw another vet in order to get my poor paw checked.  This one was a man and not as pretty or smiley as the emergency vet had been.  He looked at my paw, listened to my heart and clipped my claws.  I didn’t woof or growl once although I was disappointed that there was no lady vet for me to charm.  Nevertheless the vet said that I was a nice dog, my paw had healed and I was in good health – but I could lose a few kilos.

More walkies – happy face – less treats and cut down on amount they give me for dinner – sad face.

The next day was both strange and special.

The Bark Buster man came.

I woofed and growled at him a bit but he just sat down on the sofa and looked at me.  I stopped growling and wagged my tail a little.  He put out a hand, which I sniffed, then I licked his fingers and we were friends.

He spent some time talking to my Mum, my Dad and my Boy and making notes  as he went along.  I got bored and fell asleep by the patio door.

Eventually they put my harness on and we ALL went out for walkies.

I confess.  I pulled – a bit = okay then – a lot.

We walked round the block  – to the amusement of some of our neighbours –  then came to a halt in the cul-de-sac (very French) round the corner.  There were more neighbours out in their gardens and they too were amused by the sight of me being walked up and down the road by the BB man and then all three of my humans.  The idea of this exercise was to stop me pulling by turning round and walking in the opposite direction every time I pulled.

You don’t get very far geographically using this method but being quick on the uptake, I stopped pulling.

I also got introduced to the ‘grunt of disapproval‘.  I don’t like it. I didn’t like it when the BB man did it, I liked it even less when my humans did it.  I prefer to bask in their approval.

Whilst they were busy discussing my behaviour in the middle of the road, I took the opportunity to frighten the living daylights out of a harmless teenage schoolgirl who was visiting nearby.  At least the BB man has seen how scary I can be now.  He didn’t appear to be too impressed though.

So now we all have homework to do.

More of the ‘ road to nowhere’ training  – especially for my Mum – who is still suffering from a poorly shoulder from where I pulled her over.  She is allowed to work with me in the front garden and doesn’t have to feel inadequate if she never gets all the way round the block.

My Boy needs to talk to me and reassure me more.

My Dad needs to continue running with me but has to teach me when to stop running.

We have high happy voice for praise, ordinary voice for commands like ‘sit’ and ‘lie down’, and we have the grunt of disapproval for when I growl or pull too much.

The BB man will come back in a couple of weeks time to see how we are all doing.

Last night I fixated on a cat, growled at another dog and just as we were walking in the gate a cyclist came round the corner and I went ballistic.

Think it is time the BB man paid us another visit.

Apr 16 2013

Stranger on the shore – Scooby makes a friend in ‘Another Place’

Hello there, and humble apologies for staying away so long but my secretary (aka my Mum) has been a bit busy dealing with bureaucrats and halfwits, as well as doing some hefty reading for this Open University thing that prevents her from cuddling me, playing with me and sitting out in the garden in the sunshine (well – not all the time).

So, I have been here twelve weeks now and I am well and truly part of the family 🙂 – especially now that I’ve met the Other Boy – the one that goes to University.  My Mum and Dad brought him back in the middle of the night and after a bit of bribing with doggy treats we have become firm friends.  He doesn’t do walkies or dinners but he says hello to me and tells me to sit – so we have a relationship of sorts.  I wuff at him when he comes out of his room occasionally because I forget that there’s someone in there.  He also objects a bit when I wake him up by barking at the postman and the very nervous parcel delivery man (a dog bit him once so I guess he’s allowed to be a bit scared of my wuffing).  My Mum is so worried about me traumatising the postman that she’s bought a postbox and nagged my Dad into drilling holes in the wall and hanging in it up outside.  It was not a very nice day weatherwise.  I hope that postman is grateful – I quite liked trying to catch his fingers when they poked through the letterbox 😦

I have also been introduced to the Computer Man – who is an adopted member of the family. I grrrrr-ed at him a bit too when we first met but gravy bones can work wonders.

My family is beginning to learn more about me; most important of all is that I can be a bit unpredictable.  They were beginning to build up a picture of the kind of person I am likely to wuff at –  the problem is – I keep moving the goalposts.  Not only do I wuff at bright fluorescent jacket people (especially wheelie bin men) but I got a bit aggressive towards a nice old lady in a yellow rain jacket too (only verbally – my Mum was holding onto me very tightly).

Bicycles – mmmmm – I don’t wuff at my Boy’s bike when he leaves it in the garden – sometimes I ignore bicycles when they come past me in the road but on other occasions I go a bit ballistic.  The other day when going out in the car with my Mum and my Dad, a harmless lady in a pink bike helmet rode past and I went off on one again.  No rhyme or reason – don’t ask me – I’m just a dog.  We have established though that I don’t actually have a thing about cats – my reaction to a rabbit legging it across a field has confirmed that it is small fast-moving animals that push my buttons.  I don’t like cats but as long as they are stationary, I will behave. Promise.

I love going out in the car – even if we don’t end up with a decent walk – I just love the drive and the sticking my nose out of the window.  The Other Boy has objected to me getting HIS car seat hairy and grubby so I now have a special cover to put on the seat.  It’s a bit slippy though and if my Dad drives fast we end up finding out just how far my car harness extends (only a few feet luckily).

We went on another trip to the beach – it was the one my Mum and Dad first took me to when the tide was in.  This time it was out and there were men.  Men; just standing.  My Dad took me up to one and I was a bit wary at first – although I didn’t wuff.  I sniffed, wagged my tail and christened his leg but he still didn’t move.  Weird.  All those men and they all looked the same.  I loved the beach though and my Dad and I ran and ran and ran.  They we came back to my Mum who was waiting very patiently with the doggy treats – Yay!

They have this thing called Easter when people eat chocolate eggs – a definite no-no for us dogs but my Mum being the big softy that she is, bought me  special dog egg.  She and my Dad went off for two days on a mercy mission, leaving me to look after the house and the two boys – who forgot to give me my egg.  They remembered their own of course.  My Mum gave me the egg when they got back but it had been left in the sun and was rather melted.  It tasted nice though and I was so pleased to see them back again that I have forgiven the boys (who stayed in bed nearly ALL day – but I promised not to tell – oops).

We are going on a dog-friendly holiday in a couple of weeks.  My Dad booked the holiday to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary (they stay together a long time these humans).  It was supposed to be a romantic week away in a seaside cottage in Cornwall.  Guess who’s coming with them?  Yep!  I am.  And the Boy.  The Other Boy will be back at Uni by then.  My Mum says the cottage is right next to the beach and I will be able to run and run and run every day.  It will be a long car journey (with lots of stops for yours truly to wee and wuff), and on the way back I will be meeting more of my family; I expect they will be well-briefed about my wuffing habit and supplied with doggy treats.

So, that’s been my life for the past six weeks or so.  We have a proper routine now.  My Mum and I still play hunting for treats first thing when all the others are asleep (or gone to work in my Dad’s case), then she takes me into the front garden for a wee.  Unfortunately a couple of weeks ago an uppity husky-type dog ran into our garden and I was so anxious to sort it out that I took my Mum by surprise and pulled her over on the grass.  She did something nasty to her shoulder and it is taking along time to heal so it’s up to my Dad and my Boy to take me for walks – she sometimes comes out with me and my Dad but this thing that we can’t mention has made her a bit stressed and anxious and she worries that her anxiety makes me more prone to wuffing and growling at strangers – because I have to protect her you see.  After I’ve been outside I curl up next to her on the sofa whilst she eats her breakfast and watches the news (she shouts at the TV sometimes but I don’t mind).

My Dad and I run most of the time when we go out,  and considering he was a bit hesitant about taking me on, he loves me lots and I love him too.  My Boy is a bit more strict with me and doesn’t let me pull when we go out but he also comes down in the middle of the night and we sit together on the sofa watching ‘Storage Hunters’ and programmes about guns.  He is my Boy and always will be.  He might be going away on a course after the summer and I overheard him say to my Mum (yes, I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop but what else is a dog to do?) “What about my dog if I go away?  Would you still keep him?’  My ears pricked up and my heart beat faster.  My Mum told him not to be so daft; she said that I was a part of the family now and nothing would ever change that.

Got my paws well and truly under the table.  I promise to try not to wuff at people so much – or growl at harmless but yappy little dogs.

Mar 2 2013

The heat is on ….

Hola amigos!  Wotcha mates! Or even Aiya luv!  See how proficient I am at this multilingual stuff?

I am still here after my first month and my paws are well and truly under the table – well they would be if it wasn’t for the fact that my Mum, Dad and the Boy seem to use the table as a general dumping ground rather than for eating off.    At the moment it is a mess of paperwork, gloves, hats, books, CDs, DVDs and – ooh drool – I can see Scooby snacks half-hidden by a magazine and just waiting for me to devour them (the magazine is ‘Heat’ – bought by my Mum for the ‘Weird Crush’ article – it seems that she has a weird crush on three-quarters of the weirdos therein).

Back to life   – back to reality – back to the here and now.  What a lyrical pooch I am but before the present a small recap to explain the even greater level of disorder and chaos in this house.

The boiler died.  My dogservatory became very cold at night and as a consequence I was permitted to sleep in the living room  – on the sofa – AT NIGHT and ALL NIGHT  – not just when the Boy couldn’t sleep and came down for munchies and a cuddle.

I hasten to point out that during this period I was very, very good, and didn’t eat or destroy anything.  In fact – since the one-off incident with the stale bagel I have not pinched anything at all.  I’ll say this for my family, they provide me with decent grub so that I don’t have to help myself.  Not that I would take anything that my Boy cooks anyway – he has a tendency to lace everything with lashings of Tabasco Sauce – not good for a  doggy constitution.

Whilst my main meals are stable and of high quality (they got a 10% discount at the pet shop and bought some decent food in bulk) my Mum has been browsing in the pet aisles at various supermarkets to find a variety of healthy and enticing snacks with which to encourage good (i.e. subservient) behaviour.  Anything that smells highly of bacon is good for a snuffle hound like me but cheesy stuff is appreciated too.

I digress.  Apparently my Dad has been intending to replace the boiler – and the entire heating system –  for some time and then Fate forced his hand.  It was going to take two days, there would be no heat or hot water and LOTS of disruption.  Not ideal for an old lag like me who is just getting acclimatised to my new surroundings after eighteen months in the chokie but the alternative wasn’t too palatable either.

So there were quite a few days of dust and disorganisation whilst my Mum and Dad cleared away years of detritus from in front of the radiators (there was some recycling but much of the junk has just been moved from one space to another).  On the Sunday before the work was due to begin I became so excited about the patio door being left open that during one of my mad running in and out moments I made the mistake of revealing to my Dad how easy it would be for me to jump over the six-foot wall by the gate (not that pleasant though as there is a huge Pyracanthus bush on the other side that would have seriously wrecked my lovely glossy coat and left my family picking prickles out of me for months afterwards.)

The patio door was shut firmly at that point and the Dyson brought out in an effort to keep the dust levels down and stop my Mum wheezing and sneezing.

Monday morning and the men (well – big boys) arrived.  I should state here that I now I have my own home again I am just a little protective about it – ask the postman.  I confess to a bit of huffing and growling at first, and due to the number of open doors and heavy metal radiators in the yard, I had to wear my lead and be tethered to a family member.  We spent a large amount of the day huddled together for warmth on the sofa whilst the boiler boyz whizzed from room to room whipping out the grungy old radiators and installing the shiny new ones.  There was also a fearsome and intriguing amount of noise from my Mum and Dad’s bedroom which had a lot to do with the removal of a giant copper tank, several smaller tanks and the collapse of a wooden louvred door that used to cover up the big tank.  There was much wuffing on my part but the growling ceased.

On Tuesday a third boiler boy joined the team and there was even more noise so my Mum and Dad took me for a nice walk in the woods.  There were bunnies but although I was on the extending lead I couldn’t quite catch them (well – when I say ‘quite’ I mean they were some distance away in reality but if they’d been cats ….. who knows?)

The boiler boyz were finished by Tuesday tea time; they cleaned up and took all the old radiators, tanks and packaging away with them so that I could have my yard back again.  My day doesn’t seem right unless it starts with me and my shivering Mum out in the yard playing hide and seek for treats – it is best in the dark but she only does this when my Dad is on a morning shift or she can’t sleep.  Once I’ve stretched my legs and consumed sufficient treats we usually curl up on the sofa together and heckle news readers on the BBC.

The house was warm again – a bit too warm until my Mum read the instructions on how to programme the new heating system.  It meant that my freedom of the living room was curtailed though and I was back in my room at night (apart from the time when the Boy didn’t shut the door properly and I sneaked out once he’d gone to bed).

So a week on and we still have dusty boxes and bags scattered around; the pressure  is off so my Mum and Dad have slowed down on their good intentions – the Boy has his own standards of tidiness regarding his room but as I still won’t do stairs they must remain a mystery – I have heard my Mum yelling at him about clearing up his pit, bringing the rubbish down and putting his dirty dishes in the dishwasher.  He only seems to do these things for reward however – and we aren’t talking Scooby snacks either.

Last Friday was a pretty wonderful day for me.  We had our longest drive over to the Wirral and went on a big sandy beach. My Mum and Dad took the extending lead and I ran.  I ran a lot.  In fact I ran so much that I pulled the lead out of my Mum’s hand and legged down the beach. Hampered by wellies, my Dad came after me but couldn’t catch me.  At that point I remembered the Scooby snacks in my Mum’s pocket, took pity on my Dad and ran back to my Mum’s relieved and ever open arms.  I do like to be beside the seaside.

The Boy was helping his friend move house all day that day and we went to collect him – another car trip.  I LOVE our car especially when I can stick my nose out of the window and drool down the glass.  I was allowed in the new house and after some persuasion and many Scooby snacks, I actually made it up the stairs.  Well, they were carpeted, unlike the clattering wooden slats we have at home.  They let me off the lead and I explored but disgraced myself a bit by christening the carpet in one of the bedrooms.  They all needed to be cleaned anyway.  A dog has to leave his mark.

We went visited again a couple of days ago and discovered that their own dog (an elegant older woman greyhound who I have already approved) and a dog belonging to another family member (a skittish little whippet girl who has NO manners at all) had followed suit and also watered the same piece of carpet.  I had to be relegated to the car on this visit because the intrusive nose of the whippet made me bad tempered, growly and I used the edge of the sofa as a lamp post substitute. Oops.

I’m afraid I am being a bit of a trial to my family at the moment.  My wuffing and growling whilst out has become a bit unpredictable and as a consequence there are now places in the neighbourhood that are no-go areas – sometimes only limited by the time of day as with the local school and the demented mothers who park all over the pavement and have yappy designer dogs that they can’t control.  There is also the road where the mad man with long grey hair lives.  He too has a yappy little dog and allows it to hurl abuse from behind a gate usually but the other day when my Mum and I were having a leisurely stroll, he let the thing out and it went for us.  I out-wuffed it but my Mum had me on a tight rein (so tight that she burnt her hands and ripped off a fingernail – I am very strong) so I couldn’t do much more than tell it what I thought of it.  The mad man grabbed his dog by the tail and tried to get it back on to the other side of the road – not back behind the gates – just to the other pavement where he let go and the dog came charging towards us again.

We turned tail and walked back the way we’d come with my Mum muttering about ‘responsible dog ownership’ and the mad man stating that it was a ‘free country’.  I expressed my feelings by having a huge poop when we got out of sight.  It made me feel better but my Mum, already struggling with the burnt hands and torn fingernail, was not impressed.  The mood lifted when we passed the bus stop and a nice old lady remarked on how handsome I was.  My Mum had to agree and doled out the Scooby snacks as I melted hearts with my big brown eyes.

There have been a couple of other incidents since then; I went for a large black husky-type yesterday – well – when I say went for, I mean growled and wuffed and pulled  – but my timing was a bit off.  I really shouldn’t do that sort of thing when my Dad is scooping poop.  He got a bit cross and stern.  The day continued to deteriorate with the visit from the nice man installing some equipment for the broadband upstairs.  Unfortunately, although my Mum and Dad said he was nice, he smelled very strongly of cigarettes and that set me off with the growling and wuffing again.  My Mum put me on lockdown; on the lead and sitting at her feet, banned from the sofa, stern voice and in disgrace for the rest of the afternoon.  They took me out for a walk later but it was one of those ‘we are in charge and you will walk slowly and nicely or we stand still till you do and there are no Scooby snacks’ walks.  Being an intelligent dog, I latched on quickly, did as I was asked and got lots of praise, hugs (and Scooby snacks) as a consequence.  We were all shattered when we got home though.

So – I need to accept that my family are in charge and that they don’t like me to wuff and growl excessively (four wuffs is okay in the house – that’s part of my guard dog duty).  They need to be consistent however, and harden themselves to my imploring eyes.  I think they understand now that sometime in my past a bad man smelling strongly of cigarettes, with a shaven head,and the physique of a bouncer, hit me and made me frightened.  I know they won’t let that happen to me again but I am only a dog (albeit a beautiful and intelligent dog) and such fears are deeply rooted.

On the upside (as my Mum has discovered by reading one of the many dog books that she has acquired) I am very good in the house, I was very gentle with the little girl and the baby that visited last weekend, I don’t get territorial about food, I am not destructive and I wait to be invited to sit on the sofa where I give excellent cuddles.

We are all shaping up – and considering we’ve only had one month together – not doing too badly.

When can we go to the seaside again?

 

 

Feb 9 2013

No one gets hurt if they don’t act funny – part 2 – Warning to the sensitive – reference to faecal matter

Dog Poo!

It can be big, but it isn’t clever and people who don’t clear up after their dogs are lazy, inconsiderate, selfish and life-endangering sleazeballs – so there.

I have my humans trained – they wouldn’t dream of taking me off the premises without scented biodegradable nappy sacks (more durable than poo bags and actually cheaper – what kind of message does this send out?) to safely package up my eliminations.  In addition they also carry kitchen roll and hand sanitiser for when things get REALLY messy.  Should they underestimate the number of bags needed (this only happens on local walkies because I have a rucksack containing EVERYTHING I could possibly need including a whole kitchen roll and a packet of nappy sacks) they bring me home and go back alone with a new supply of bags to finish the clean up operation.  It may not be the most pleasant task in the world but it only takes a few moments and once inside a waterproof (and scented) sack,  the problem is solved together with the treading-in- it issues and the risk of toxicara.

So why is it that the dog walkers who pass by our house are leaving piles of poo behind them?  Not big solid macho poos (like mine – smirk) but measly little runny poos reminiscent of what chickens and geese leave behind.

We know who you are.

Neighbour with a cairn terrier and a shitzu.  Old age is not a defence.  We have seen you – the temptation to deposit a big fat jobby outside your gate has so far been resisted – so far.

Tiny woman with a pushchair and a skinny whippet.  If you can make the time to put on your face and dress your whippet in a designer pink and black overcoat, then you can pick up your dog’s poo too!

My Mum says the poo depositors have probably been doing it outside our garden wall for years but we rarely walked round that way and as new dog owners my humans are now highly sensitised to such doggy matters. (She would also like me to point out that she doesn’t do dog walking without her face on, got dressed and brushed her hair – this is why we do hide and seek games in the back yard first thing – no one can see the state of her -frightening bedhair,  flannel nightshirt and wellies – oh my!).

Yesterday my Dad took me out for a run after his nightshift.  It was wheelie  bin day so he took the bin out at the same time and left it outside the gate and to one side of a pile of poo deposited by a sneaky late night rambler the night before. When we returned home. panting and slightly exhilarated some ten minutes later, we found that some moron had deliberately moved the bin – right into the pile of poo.  The bin wasn’t blocking the pavement so why move it?  (It wasn’t the bin men – they don’t come till after lunch).  The bin was full and quite heavy – so it wasn’t a child.  The mystery of poopgate continues.

Ah well, I’ve ranted now.  I’ve been out to play games with my Mum, had breakfast and am having a lie down so that I don’t get bloat.  My Boy is going to take me out for a walk when my breakfast has gone down and my Mum says we’ll go out for another adventure this afternoon when my Dad wakes up from his nightshift.

So, you irresponsible dog walkers – get on and clean up after your beloved beast – not only is your negligence dangerous, it is also against the law and I bet you wouldn’t like it if someone did it on YOUR doorstep.

Oooh, I can hear the thunder of size 12 feet.  Walkies!

Feb 9 2013

No one gets hurt if they don’t act funny – aggressive dogs,chatty women,cold callers, joggers – and cats!

Ey Up (that’s Northern speak for Hola)

Week two in my new home and I’m slowly getting my humans sorted out.

I confess – we have all rather fallen for each other – my Mum because she gets up first and plays silly games with me in the garden and is actually beginning to understand what I want.  My Dad because he runs fast with me and makes me grin and I am SO pleased to see him when he comes back from this thing they call work.  My Boy because he laughs when I do funny things, he gets up in the middle of the night and hugs me when everyone else is asleep, and because he is MY BOY.

We’ve done rather a lot of stuff this past week.  After the adventures at Spike Island, my Mum and Dad took me to a local park where they knew there would be lots of dogs, geese, ducks, swans and those funny little black things – coots and moorhens – I think.  There were also some disreputable characters smoking whacky baccy under the railway bridge but we’ll draw a line under them.

We did running – me and my Dad.  My Mum was in charge of the Scooby Snacks; I get them when I sit, stay, lie down and don’t pull anyone’s arm off.  I growled a bit; only at dogs that looked a bit dodgy (and the chavs under the bridge of course). Some of the other dog walkers we encountered put their dogs back on leads when they saw me pulling a bit – very considerate.

We were all enjoying the walk when this woman  with a very wet black labrador came up to us.  The labrador was a bit lippy so I barked a bit  – back atcha Soggy Snout!  My Dad took me over to the pond and gave me a hug so that I stopped barking.  The lippy labby shook smelly canal water all over my Mum, and the woman said she recognised us from the RSPCA.

The woman said “Isn’t he socialised?  I didn’t think they were supposed to be homed until they were socialised?”

Pardon me?  All I did was growl a bit.  Your dog has been chasing the wildlife, jumping in and out of the canal, making people wet and smelly by shaking himself all over them, and actually – he growled at me first!

My Mum was trying to get away from this mad woman who had now gone on to complain about the park and how she hated bringing her dog there because he always jumped in the canal, frightened the ducks and made people wet when he shook himself.

Oh for heaven’s sake woman – put him on a lead then!  Or don’t bring him to the park! And most of all don’t accuse me of not being socialised when your own dog wouldn’t win any prizes for grace or charm. I’m the one that’s been incarcerated for the past eighteen months after all.  Woof!

She went in the end and we walked on through the park, ran a bit more and then I got to stick my nose out of the car window and drool all the way home.  I love fresh air!

By comparison the next day was a bit quiet; my Dad was off shooting things with paintballs and my Boy was off shooting things with little white pellets.  There are a lot of these pellets in the garden but you can’t eat them.  I had a quiet day with my Mum, although she did take me for a walk round the block after I woofed at the United Utilities man outside.  My Mum and I were both very pleased when my Dad and my Boy came home though.  There was much excited tail wagging and grinning – on my part – my Mum doesn’t have a tail but she smiles a lot.

There have been other incidents this week; nothing terrible really but my family now know that in addition to cats, aggressive dogs and mad women, I don’t like joggers either.   Someone knocked at the front door the other evening when my Mum and I were dozing on the sofa/watching Pointless.  Oh boy did I bark!  Whoever it was had vanished by the time my Mum had calmed me down – Hah! Another cold caller bites the dust.

Oh, I have a new bed!  I still have one in the dogservatory but this one is furry and fluffy and takes up quite a lot of floor area in the living room.  I still like getting up on the sofa to have hugs but this new bed is good to crash out on and keep an eye on everyone at the same time.

I’m gradually getting introduced to my family’s favourite places too.  Yesterday we went down to another place on the river by the big bridge, no dogs but a dangerous looking jogger who got the benefit of my most menacing growl.  He passed us again but my Mum was sneaky and spotted him first; she sent me and my Dad up some steps into a lovely smelly wood and by the time we got back the jogger was just a dot in the distance.

I was a bit muddy when we got home and my Boy decided that I should have a bath.  My Mum and Dad were dubious.  Bear in mind that for the past two weeks I have been firmly told that the bathroom is out-of-bounds; it also has a clattery floor that makes my nails slip and it smells of flowers.  My Mum put a towel on the floor and with the generous dispensation of Scooby Snacks managed to get me to acquaint myself with the bath.  I got one paw in it and my snout but that was all.  I think she understood that this bath thing was a non starter so she filled a container full of warm water and we all went back into the living room where I had a fairly decent wash and brush up of the undercarriage area.  Hah! Managed to avoid the bath AND got lots of hugs into the bargain – not  to mention the Scooby Snacks.

Tonight we went up to the Monument to watch the sun set.  It was a bit chilly for the humans but I loved it.  The whole place smells of rabbits and other dogs and even more rabbits but no cats.  I had a really good sniff around, we watched some buzzards circling and a couple of planes and helicopters but the humans wimped out eventually and we went back to the car.

So I am a happy perro.  Life is full of food and snacks and sleeping and running and walking and games of hide and seek in the garden with my Mum, but best of all are the hugs.