MAY 2019

Can you believe it!?  I am supposed to wear this snout hugger when I go sailing.  Most people on board get issued with a life jacket but I get this!  I am seriously dogged off!

This is a demonstration photo only.  I have already completed around 16 channel crossings without one but being a stickler for following the rules the Mrs heard that animals should have a muzzle and decided to add one to my very limited wardrobe.  To date it consists of 4 things, this, a lead, a neckerchief I never wear and my blanket.  That’s two things more than I need – ditch the neckerchief and this muzzle.

Upon the very unlikely happening of the boat sinking apparently, I need to be wearing one of these when I am rescued to ensure I do not bite the hand that saves me – as if I would!  I only have to wear the snout hugger on board when I am outside of the vehicle and as I am always inside the vehicle I am a little confused.    When on the boat I stay in my bedroom on wheels and go to sleep while my two chauffeurs depart to their own cabin to sleep.  I am not allowed to vacate my vehicular bedroom and must stay there until they return in the morning to transport me and themselves off the boat.   There are a lot of other dogs around me occupying their own vehicular bedrooms.  Presumably if the boat starts sinking someone will rush round applying this contraption to all concerned while letting them out of the vehicles so that they can all swim to safety - ridiculous - I am going to practice removing it and may well have to eat the evidence.

Muzzled!!  I prefer the term mugged and I am not at all sure I can swim with this thing on – best keep that to yourselves in case the Mrs hears and decides we need to trial it in the lake – this could be the last time you hear from me!!

APRIL 2019

This is me rolling in laughter at the Mrs and her fitness regime, which in my doggist opinion is not working.  I intend to get her walking more and more steps.  Every morning racing down the hill for my walk I do not have to do much encouragement as she is fairly brisk.  We walk around looking for sticks, balls, smells, evidence of night visitors and then we walk back up the hill but believe me that is when the ‘fitness’ comes into question…

All the stick throwing, collecting spoor (mine), and path meandering means her energy levels for climbing back up the hill are already spent and towing her behind me is fairly hard work.  We arrive on flat ground again only to have the delicious silence broken with heavy breathing, a heated red face, bending double with hands on knees and instructions to “wait a minute”.  I have to turn away and feign investigating a nearby scent so she cannot see the amusement on my face.   After “several minutes”, we can resume upright again and stagger home where I am reduced to unmitigated mirth again tinged with relief that we made it.  If she thinks this one walk a week is working I am a poodle’s topknot!

My mission is to reduce the unfitness and spruce her up a bit so that she can keep up with me on the hill climbs and reduce the drag on the lead as it is giving me a pain in the neck.   Progress is slow and steady but if I get too barkingly encouraging and start pulling her she gets a bit sharp with the reprimands.  Gently does it with nudges against her legs, the lead in my mouth and a wistful look on my face she eventually succumbs and we set off on another exercise, oops, I mean walk!  I try to remain straight faced but heard her tell the Boss the other day that she was sure she caught me laughing when we returned from a walk – the Boss and I exchanged a cautious smile as he commented on how fit he thought I looked!  Ha! What a tactician.

MARCH 2019

I am alert and ready for anything.  Throw me a stick, a ball or even a shoe and I will retrieve it forthwith.  My ears perk up and my forehead creases and I am at our service.  The Boss loves it when I look like this and he knows I will retrieve anything he wishes including pheasants, duck, geese, and any other edible fowl.  However, at the moment they are all out of season so I am reduced to fetching balls and sticks whether they be on land, sea or lake.

If the Mrs looks out of the window first thing in the morning and sees the mist and rain she will reject her normal walk to the lake and find my favourite squeezy squeaky orange ball from the cupboard along with her trusty ancient wooden tennis racquet and practice her forearm smashes with me.  She informs me I make the best ball boy ever and I get a pat and kind word every time I return my squeaky ball to her.  I am sometimes reluctant to give it up and feel the need to squeeze it several times to experience the squeaky squeaks before allowing her to set up another volley.   I admit the tennis ball which is furry and soft in my mouth goes much further when she gives it her best serve but it does not have the squeezable squeak that my orange ball does when I retrieve it.  I really prefer my orange ball but the Mrs sometimes gets quite cross if I do not relinquish my prize to her immediately and she has to test it to make sure I have not ruined the squeaker. Just when I am getting into this match the Mrs loses her competitive streak, if it ever existed, and is easily distracted.  As soon as the Boss calls that breakfast is ready she immediately says tennis is over, washes and returns my orange squeaker ball to the cupboard and heads indoors and I think “you cannot be serious!”