FEBRUARY 2018

BERTS BLOG:   Look into my eyes, look into my eyes, you want to go out, you want to go out, you want to take me for a walk, you do, you do…..  Bother – it didn’t work!  Rain, sleet and north wind outside and the Mrs and Boss ensconced in the sitting room with the fire going,  the TV showing another incomprehensible ball game and me trying to engage their brains into getting some attention or more precisely giving me some more walks….  Not a hope, especially not in this weather!

Actually I am looking forward to a good rest after the ‘season’,  the pheasants are now safely looking for partners and testing their bravery on the roads and even teasing the Boss by appearing in our garden cockahooping in the safe knowledge they are strictly off limits until they become fair game again in the autumn.  Such beautiful birds and also extremely tasty.  I only mention their delicious flavour because of a recent incident whereby the Mrs invited me into the kitchen area – a pastime not normally allowed – and to share their Sunday afternoon in the sitting room – very special.

It was during the last shooting day of the season when the Boss was given the dubious celebratory task of cooking the Sunday dinner – pheasant – when the said incident took place while he was wrestling the extra fat butter he always uses for cooking out of the refrigerator.  Despite me and the Mrs telling him that olive oil is better for him he flatly refuses to eat anything remotely healthy and it was this cursory comment on his internal wellbeing that made him twist round to offer a non-healthy rebuke resulting in a loss of physical dexterity and a number of eggs being knocked from their nestling area in the ‘frig.

After the Mrs had surveyed the damage on the floor and delivered ‘the look’ at the Boss she called me into the normally out of bounds area of the kitchen to clear up the mess (I love her).   Carefully licking around the cracked shells which the Mrs picked up, I swiftly and efficiently cleared the floor area of any evidence of the Boss’ little accident.  It was then suggested by the Mrs as a reward to me for being so helpful that she and I repair to the sitting room to watch a suitable Sunday afternoon programme which did not involve a spherical object and leave the Boss alone to get ‘cracking’ with the last pheasant dinner of the season by himself.  Sometimes she is such a good egg!

January 2018

BERTS BLOG:   I have added a new trick to my repertoire – pulling a cracker.  This training proved to be somewhat dangerous and I would advocate it not be tried at home without adequate supervision.  The preliminary instructions involved the Mrs explaining to me with some patience that I should hold one end of the cracker in my mouth gently, but firmly enough to withstand her pulling the other end.  This looked very much like a game I had played as a youngster.  After a few false starts I had the hang of holding on tightly but at the last minute I noticed the Boss was tucking into a turkey sandwich and the urge to investigate overcame my need to concentrate on holding tight.  I inadvertently let go of my end of the cracker resulting in the sudden upending of the Mrs who lay sprawled on the floor with a look of surprised annoyance on her face.  The Boss nearly choked himself trying to disguise his laughter and earned a slap on the back to dislodge the turkey and a sharp rebuke from the Mrs about eating in front of me, especially during lesson time.  During this opportune diversion I quickly investigated the whereabouts of the dislodged turkey, safely removing it quickly and cleanly from the floor before anybody noticed.

The Mrs said she wanted to continue with my training session as she almost had the cracker pulling licked, strange I thought, she had it in her hand, not her mouth – I was the one who had it licked!  We proceeded with another try, this time with it firmly anchored between my teeth.  Astonishingly, exactly the same thing happened again but this time there was a loud crack, paper exploded everywhere jettisoning the Mrs across the floor along with a pack of small screw drivers.  Much to my amazement, thinking I was for it this time, I was completely surprised to find that despite this second inelegant sprawl and the resultant mess, the Mrs seemed exultant and covered me with pats and praise and exchanged the screwdrivers for the remainder of the Boss’ turkey sandwich!  Result!

DECEMBER 2016

Good Grief, is that an old guy with a white beard dressed in red pyjamas trying to wiggle down the chimney?  Only kidding!  It’s the Boss lighting the fire dressed in his Christmas jumper closely followed by the Mrs bearing armfuls of brightly wrapped gifts.  Woopee, I hope there are some for me.  Actually it was the Miniatures who gave generously at Christmas – two bags of doggy goodies, the down side was that I had to wear this ridiculous hat and stay still and not react when the crackers were pulled with a sharp snap, which could have meant I had to retrieve something but no, the only bird at this celebration was a bit of a turkey and had already had his goose cooked if you know what I mean.  

Another down side meant I had to be bathed in able to attend in the first place, but I am learning from experience as the good thing about the bathing is the attention I get afterwards when I have the best grooming ever:  rough towel dry then the blow dry with the hairdryer accompanied by a good brush and a smoothing comb at the end, claws cleaned and teeth brushed. I declined the short back and sides on the grounds that it is surplus to my requirements and I also said no to the shave and ear trim as I quite like my muzzle as it is and my ears are one of my best features.  There was some mention of requirements for the weekend but I had hightailed it out of the bathroom by then and was racing around the garden showing off my heavenly scented body to whoever wanted to pat it, which I am happy to say, many people did.

OCTOBER 2016

This is my ball and you are not having it! So there!  OK, OK, you can have it, as long as you throw it for me.  I love jumping over the flower borders and bringing it back to you.  It is a bit tatty now and I am not sure you could score a goal with it but I do love ball games and so do the Miniatures.  I never tire of returning it to their little feet so that they can give it a kick for me to fetch.  There is a slight downturn to the activities pertaining to my mention of jumping over the flower borders.  Although I can easily clear them with my gigantic leap it appears the kicking and throwing abilities of the Miniatures and indeed occasionally their parents fall far behind in the desired lift and direction.  The Mrs becomes very agitated when this game is played and the cry ‘not in the flower beds’ is often heard lilting over the air from the kitchen window….  Oops, there goes another pelargonium!! 

In between ball games there has been a lot of work on preparing for the imminent shooting and beating dates and I am benefitting from a clearing out of the freezers in readiness for this seasons booty.  I always take an interest in the game stock in the freezer and look forward to any bits and bobs tossed my way that are not required for the Boss. Actually the Mrs is a bit ambivalent about the game stock sometimes and longs for prepacked neat meat from the supermarket so my ears always prick up when I hear the phrase ‘not again’, then I know that whatever the Boss has suggested for dinner will end up on my plate.  It’s a dog’s life – food and ball games, but someone’s got to live it.

APRIL

I hope you missed me in February?  Sorry I couldn’t write in my blog but I was being transported via a very choppy overnight ferry crossing to my new playing place in France. It was so rough the Mrs said she had to sleep flat on her back to avoid being thrown out of the bunk and the Boss swore his body actually levitated several times but I slept straight through the trip, snug in my usual bed in the Boss’s pickup.  

Once at Maison Millie I ensured all the usual smells were still in place and we went to check the fish were still in the ‘etang’.  This photo shows me trying very hard to resist their retrieval by jumping in but I now know better and that the Boss has to reel them in himself! 

I spent my time in France making friends with dogs, electricians, builders, farmers and neighbours, some of whom were intelligible but gave good friendly pats and cuddles.  We also found some shooting buddies and watched the ‘shoot’ going on all around us, I found it very exciting and wanted to join in with the tangle of hounds but the Boss said no as I don’t speak the language….

Sadly, on our return the small furry spitty thing was not well and a week later saw the end of her sixteen year feline reign.  Apparently she is planted in the garden deep enough to ensure my bone burying will not disturb her.  I will miss my protagonist but not the nose batting she always gave me.  I was rather hoping I would take her place on the Mrs lap now, but that does not seem to be happening.  The Mrs explained it is a question of sizing but I am not sure if it is her size or mine she is worried about….  Nevertheless I will keep trying, as she says - I can be very trying!