Thursday 24 December 2015

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO YOU 
I’m desperately hoping and praying
My presents will be rather fun
That none of them feature bathing
Cos I’d rather just have none
Or maybe a bone would be better
Something to bite on and chew
That wouldn’t make me wetter
And smell like a woofters shampoo
Just wrap up a ball with some paper
And throw it a long way away
I love a good Christmas caper

And hope you all have a great day

Thursday 3 December 2015

DECEMBER 2015

Ive been fishing in France.  Actually the Boss has been fishing and I just watched.  I have to say it is not the most exciting pastime in the world but there were certainly some interesting smells coming from his dishes of bait which I was forbidden to touch. Eventually there was a little scurry of activity when a small fish appeared out of the water on the end of his line but the Mrs was less impressed when his next catch turned out to be a leaf.  The Boss said practice makes perfect and continued sitting in the sun dangling his line in the water. After watching numerous fish jumping about in the lake and breaking out of the surface of the water with a loud plop far from the Boss reach I was so frustrated that I decided to take matters into my own hands and dived in to find a few of these slippery little blighters for him.  All hell broke loose - you would have thought he would be pleased I was helping out but no, exactly the opposite, apparently I had got it wrong again, dogs cant fish they can only watch!        
Upon surfacing from my swim I broke my stroke to turn my head and realised the Boss gesticulations, commands and general demeanour meant I should have stayed on the bank and not entered the water.  You can’t help some people!  I made sure I regained dry land some way from the Boss' pitch and trotted off to see what the Mrs was doing but she was deeply involved in painting an impression on paper of the autumn trees until I shook all the water out of my coat, nudged her arm for a cuddle and upset her concentration as well as the paint pot.  Some colourful language emerged and I nearly ended up with a colourful coat but it all washed off in the lake again which finally signaled the end of the fishing expedition for that day.  I just don’t understand why I cant retrieve the fish for the Boss, just like the pigeons.  Will I ever learn all the rules.

Saturday 7 November 2015

NOVEMBER 2015

I am keeping an eye out for those dog nappers that sneaked through the village recently.  Did you see the rotters late that night?  They pinched two of my friends and made off with them in suspicious looking vans.  The doggie door locks were found on the ground and their rooms were bare – honestly, you are not safe in your own bed any longer.  I had a good smell round but couldn’t pick up their scent.  The Mrs put the word out over the ether after seeing a message from my canine friend’s distraught owners.  We figured if we made the little doggies too hot to handle they might well be set free and thankfully as it turned out, they were later found abandoned in Vyne Wood and kindly returned to their owners.  I have yet to get together with them for a good chin and tailwag to get the low down on their unfortunate adventure.  The Boss gave me a good talking to about stranger-danger which I will pass on to the miniatures if they ever get round to sitting still long enough for me to talk to them.  Every time I get near enough to have a tickle, scratch and chat they run round in circles, screaming, holding their noses and calling me Pongo!  I don’t think they appreciate my delicate canine perfume – nor does the Mrs as I have had several hose downs in the garden this summer while that small furry spitty thing sits nearby smirking and cleaning herself for the millionth time.  Never have I seen an animal spend so much time prinking and preening.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder so she obviously feels the need to continuously improve her looks as every time she walks past the mirror she nearly jumps out of her skin, whereas I am confident I pass muster and get by with a lick and a promise, except when the Mrs has that hose pipe pointed at me.

OCTOBER 2015

I don’t need to look through these large eye additions as I can see better without them.  The Mrs spent a long time gazing through them and then missed what the Boss, with his portable pair and me with my canine acuity, saw in the distance.  After much pointing and descriptions of where to look she eventually spotted…..a bird, not the type I can retrieve, but the sort the Boss likes to watch and read about in his bird book.  Personally I can’t see the attraction as they all fly away whenever you get close enough to have a proper look.  On occasion I have had to sit motionless in a field while the Boss stares through his eye extensions at a twittering feathered non retrievable flutterer and confirms his find in his book while I lay sighing with boredom without even a bone to chew in case I frighten them away. 
Luckily some birds don’t have the same rarity and appeal and the Boss and I have been out quite a few times in the past month depleting the pigeon population which threaten to devour everything in the garden and in the world, as I see them everywhere we go.
I was sitting in the glass house with the boss the other day contemplating the garden, enjoying the last of the sunshine and watching the cheepers and the tweeters outside when a pigeon of incredibly low intelligence flew to the bird table in front of us and proceeded to pinch the food left out for the Boss’s favourite garden birds.  Big mistake, and yes you guessed, it was instant curtains for that unfortunate pigeon, a reprieve for the little critters and the garden vegetables and a very short retrieve for me.   

Sunday 30 August 2015

SEPTEMBER 2015

Learning a new language is a tricky thing.  Words like half come out in dog bark as arf arf.  Now the Mrs wants to teach me French!  My picture shows me looking left but the Mrs says it is gauche which I think is extremely awkward.. it gets worse she keeps telling me to mange my dinner, but I keep telling her no, I am perfectly healthy, thank you then whoof it back in a second confusing!  This apparent difficulty with languages came to the fore recently when assisting the Boss with depleting the pigeon population.  Spending hours sitting waiting for the offenders to spot the preferred field of taste and descend for a snack can drive a dog barking mad.  I was half asleep dreaming of playing ball with the miniatures when I heard the bang and, being still in a drowsy state, mistook the command of fetch for catch and spent hours looking for the ball.  Eventually I woke up properly, spotted the flying miscreants and we managed to get a good rhythm going resulting in a decent haul for the game dealers with some left over for the Mrs to cook pigeon breast in whine”….  Most of the time I can tell what is being said regardless of what language it is in by the tone of the voice.  I now know that mechant means naughty this became obvious on holiday after I had inadvertently lifted my leg and was told in no uncertain terms to allais and spent a long time looking for a more narrow street but gave up eventually when it became increasingly obvious I had misunderstood the command!  Luckily the gentle touch of a hand on my head and a tickle under the ear is universally appreciated wherever you are.

Tuesday 14 July 2015

JULY & AUGUST 2015


 I prefer holding my own lead as I know exactly where I am going, problems only arise when my destination differs from the Bosss.  To be fair this does not happen often as I follow him faithfully most of the time.  Occasionally a delicious smell will assault my nostrils and I just have to follow it, blind to all apart from a sharp reprimand in a voice I recognise as Annoyed Boss, or even worse Annoyed Mrs.  The only other time I get side tracked is when I see a playmate I do so love to play, but not everyone has the same sense of fun as me.  The small furry spitty thing here definitely does not have the fun gene in her make up.  I have only to walk up and give her a nuzzle before she is bonking me on the nose with her paw and saying something unrepeatable on these pages.  I followed a delicious smell up some steps on holiday and charged on ahead to find out who it was, only to find the miscreant had left days before and there was no chance of a playful romp, just a tantalising scent left behind.  The steps led from the train, on which I had to pay for my seat although it turned out to be on the floor under the seat, up to a village called Corniglia, I didnt count them all as I ran out of paws but there had to be more than 1000 and I swear my legs were a few inches shorter afterwards.  I was having a breather here waiting for the Boss and the Mrs, who after the first 500 were in no mood to talk to me let alone reprimand me for going on ahead!  Phew!

Monday 1 June 2015

JUNE 2015

This is me having my morning paddle in the river with the tadpoles.  I check every morning to see if they have grown any legs but the poor blighters seem stuck with just a tail, a fairly pleasant useful tail but nowhere near as grand as mine.  These are Italian tadpoles and I met one of their parents on an evening walk yesterday but she croaked in a language I could not understand.

Talking about languages I think I have a different name over here as everyone calls me Bellisimo and they all do it so it must be right. You are probably wondering where I am and all I can tell you is it is lovely and warm and has a name like a torn face Chin Q Tearer in a National Park which seems to be almost persistently vertical. I have never climbed hills like it, the Boss copes fairly well but the Mrs drags a bit and I have to assist with pulling her along, something I am not usually allowed to do.  We have travelled here in the large white box on wheels, visiting different fields with different smells on the way.  I have met many new friends and they come from all over the world, places I have never heard of. Many people from the yew ess ay were missing their own dawgs from back home and needed a cuddle from me to keep them going.  Some small dog friends were carried by their Italian owners and one was carried in a shopping basket.  I eyed the Boss hopefully but he said he only carries the gun, not the dog and to keep walking.  He said the same to the Mrs, but she gave him the eye and he relented and carried her basket for her.  He is such a softie......

Tuesday 28 April 2015

MAY 2015

Want to play ball?  No?  Ok, I will play on my own.  I can you know, I can launch it in the air, chase, retrieve and pounce on it all on my own without any help.  I have to do this when the Boss tires of playing and it amuses him to see me amusing myself.  In fact they both, the Mrs and the Boss, stand in amazement watching me when I really get going.  They only call a stop to it when the ball goes over next doors or I get too boisterous - last time this happened I had a little contretemps with the Mrs’ washing and became entangled in the sheets drying on the washing line.  I had lobbed the ball in the air but my aim was a bit off as it went straight into the washing.  I started my search among the linen, knowing it was there somewhere and feeling terribly proud of eventually finding it within the folds.  I then made the fatal error of not only plucking the ball from the volumes of white cotton but also the cotton itself which escaped from its pegs and came with me billowing behind like one of those white geese whilst I bounced around the garden intent on my game.  I mistakenly thought the Mrs was joining in when she started chasing me around the garden but soon realised that not only was it not words of affection she was yelling but that she was trying to retrieve the sheet, not the ball.  It turned out she wasn’t too keen on playing the game after all and relieved me of my burden muttering incomprehensibly to herself -  but magic is not dead in this house – the sheet appeared an hour later on the line again in pristine condition but I could not find my ball anywhere……


APRIL 2015

Take a gander at these - I know, I know, not what you would normally buy to keep a dog company!  Actually they were a Christmas present for the Mrs from the Boss and judging by her reaction (I witnessed it first hand) I think she was as shocked as I.  Although I find my new friends quite amusing they do not reciprocate this feeling and their honkingly irritating reaction is to run flappingly down the garden whenever I put in an appearance.  Due to this aversion and their reaction I now have a new nickname and task and am commonly known as the Goose Herder, much in demand as every night they manage to break out of their designated area and appear on the patio each morning tapping at the window for breakfast.  If they were friendlier I wouldn’t mind if we spent time together but there are definite areas that would need attention.  Re-training in the toilet area is required as they are even more random than myself in that respect, also I am not keen on the hissing and would prefer honking if they really cannot manage a good deep bark.  They do tend to stick together and just lately they have started having a rough and tumble which the Boss said was normal at this time of year and we should let nature take its course to hopefully make eggs – sometimes he does talk complete gibberish – for a start I always get into trouble for rough and tumble and it definitely does not produce eggs, just a good telling off and instructions to behave!  The Mrs is the only person who gets eggs and they always accompany bacon not ganders.  Meanwhile I shall try very hard not to get goosed!

Sunday 8 March 2015

March 2015

Just showing you my special bed, kept in the sitting room especially for me and upon which I keep myself company!
I am allowed to sit on it if I have been good and promise not to misbehave or do anything which may instigate the air freshener being utilised.  Recently I have had a suspicion that someone else has been using my special bed – no, not the Boss and definitely not the Mrs – although I blame her for this gross invasion of my property. The other night, after being told I could come in and sit on my bed, which I hasten to add is right next to the small elevated bed belonging to a certain small furry spitty thing called Tiddles, I was just going to do my usual circular walk to find the best position for curling up when I smelt a suspiciously cat like aroma hovering over of my special bed – that danged cat had been sleeping on MY bed!  Vastly annoyed and not to be out done I kept one eye open all evening to see if she would be joining us.  Sure enough, in she padded, looking all innocent, spotted me and made to jump onto her own bed.  Just as she did so I barked really loudly so she misjudged the position of her cushion and instantly fell base over apex onto the floor!  Did I laugh?  Yes, for a bit, but not only did Tiddles land on her feet (don’t they always get the better of you) but my bark had woken both the Boss & Mrs who had been dozing by the fire and I got into a bit of bother, however some time later, when things had quietened down, I snoozed contentedly and dreamt of flying fur

Monday 23 February 2015

February 2015

Nicknames and tails - the things I get called you would not believe.  Bert the Bouncer I quite enjoy as I have perfected the art of jumping vertically without touching or landing a paw print on the Boss or Mrs.  This usually occurs first thing in the morning when I am extremely happy to see them (breakfast is on the way) and if I bounce high enough I can see through the kitchen window. I live in fear of a rendition of Dirty Bertie from No. 30 as I know that sometime within the next few hours I will be taken to the white room for a shampoo and shower.  Sometimes I am Pierre-Auguste Bertoir when my tail paints willowy branches on creamy backgrounds (the Mrs mackintosh) and swimmingly wet trails of waves on walls in wet weather.  For the record I can also break an elegant wine glass full of red liquid cleanly in two, crash tea cups full of the healing drink to the floor in a minute and wipe tears from the faces of miniatures in seconds and all with a swipe of my magnificent tail.   I am very proud of my tail, its elegant lines tapering to a fine point.  In the mornings while I am waiting to bounce, I suck it, a bit like the latest miniature who sucks her fingers, lip and anything within easy reach.  When the Mrs comes down in the morning and feels my wet tail she calls me Baby Bertie, I ask you.  Talking of fine points, I have heard tell of the miniatures father once practicing his barbering skills on one of my predecessors whose fine tapering tail ended in a blunt bob and finished his detailed tail painting for quite some time, a sad 'tail' if ever I heard one.