Hold the front page - mad dogs and mousers

I really do love Melvyn Bragg.  In his newsletter this week:

“The unforced attention of a lovely dog can make your morning.”  

Otherwise, the world has gone mad.

And I’m not referring to revolution in the Middle East…  although I am mildly offended by the repeated description of Gaddafi as a ‘mad dog’.  (And mildly perplexed by Weird’s often -repeated comment that he looks exactly like her ex-husband in a woolly hat).

I am referring to it being a big news week for cats.  First of all Dave Cam’s PR machine made a desperate bid to divert us from the economic crisis of the century by installing Larry, to deal with an apparent rat infestation at Number 10 … very Dick Whittington.

Never thought of that did you, Andy Coulson?

Then the Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office hit the news for a second time by stealing the limelight from the ubiquitous Kevin Spacey, as he was presented with a Big Society award by Dave at an impromptu photocall. 

Next came the news of Smokey, the cat with the loudest purr in the world – an ear shattering 92 decibels (evidently the sound of a Boeing 737 coming in to land)  compared with the average 25. According to her owner, Mrs Adams from Northampton, Smokey’s favourite pastimes are ‘eating and sleeping on the window ledge.’  Well really.

Finally, and best of all, we hear that an ugly cat who scared potential owners because he looks like the Harry Potter villain Lord Voldemort, has finally found a new home.  You couldn’t make it up.

Actually, he really does look like Voldemort.  He makes Gaddafi look attractive.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/8337786/Ugly-Lord-Voldemort-cat-finally-finds-home.html

Snail snacks and sexism

Back to blogging at last after being so sick they let me lie on the furniture....

Rather ironically, one of my favourite snacks to date has been bark, so you can imagine how delighted I was a couple of weeks ago, to stumble across a so far-undiscovered tree stump in the corner of the garden. After spending half an hour stripping the bark , I made a thrilling new culinary discovery - snails!

Apparently all of the snails in the garden had decided to over-winter in this precise spot. And how delicious they were. I knew I had to move fast and there were about twelve left when Weird found me in mid-scoff, but by then I had eaten quite a lot more than that, shells and all.

I won't go into detail, but the consequences, as you may have guessed, were dire.

Anyhow, I am now up and about again, and have even made my debut at the University animal behaviour class, where Beard behaved like embarrassing dad at parents' evening.

In all honesty, I was doing really well until they handed out sausages to all and sundry.  I simply did a quick circuit of the room, collecting everyone else's sausages... which I put down to showing initiative, but apparently no one else saw it quite that way.

Prior to that, while ill and  lounging on the furniture, I was eagerly anticipating  the appearance of HRH Camilla on the Archers.  Sadly this was not to be.  I had forgotten for a moment that I was living in a radical feminist Marxist household, and as the familiar theme tune began, the radio was snapped off with alarming vigour. 

Which leads me to an interesting incident.  I joined Weird and Skydiver Liz (who are rabid campaigners for equality- and  from my point of view would be more at home at Greenham Common than on the Cow Field) on a long walk yesterday.  After much heated debate, the conversation turned to the animal behaviour class.

Weird:  "It's amazing. The behaviourist says that after ten minutes of mental exercise, he will be as exhausted as if he'd been running for an hour".

Skydiver Liz: "Well he is a bloke, after all".

Biting bums and saving lives

I spotted an interesting piece of news today. It seems that millionaire pet boutique owner Andrew Saville-Edwards has had to cough up over a thousand pounds after his long haired Weimaraner, Jazz landed him in court.

Jazz’s crime was shoving his nose up a jogger’s shorts in Kensington Gardens and biting her on the buttock.  Apparently she couldn’t sit down for days.

If you ask me, Mr Twiddly Bumbag-Smith got what he deserved, if only for owning ‘Pet Pavilion’, which caters for London’s celebrity dogs and sells Japanese herbal dog shampoo along with Swarovski crystal collars – not to mention running dog yoga classes.

Although the best has to be dog umbrellas....yes really.

A very different world from mine, where I have been out in gale force winds and rain for most of the day and am currently in trouble for eating half a bag of builder’s sand.

Back in the real world, I’m feeling a little inadequate after reading about Shirley the medical detection dog in today’s Telegraph. If her seven year old owner’s blood sugar levels fall, Shirley springs into action and alerts the family.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/8309298/Amazing-dog-smells-diabetic-emergencies.html

I am training myself to raise the alert if Beard slips into a coma. It’s quite simple. I just count the number of cans of Stella and once it gets up to six I start biting his feet.

Murder most horrid

In my dog bed, keeping well out of the way following yet another human over reaction.

After going on DEFCON Level One alert after the spectacles incident, Weird put every vaguely edible item in the house out of my reach.

So what was I to do? I had a mooch around the front garden and found an extra-bouncy new toy that squeaked when I stood on it. After a while it stopped bouncing and squeaking, so I ate it.

And so Frog Murder has now been added to my long list of crimes.

An amusing follow up though, as Beard got up three times in the night to make sure I hadn't died.

W, who clearly had no interest in my potential poisoning, said she ate a frog dinner when she was starving in remote China and it didn't do her any harm... which made me wonder if that's just a smidgen hypocritical for someone who claims to be a vegetarian? 

Bet if it I'd fried it in butter and garlic she wouldn't have complained.

Out of sight, out of mind

I am a bad dog.

Worse than that... according to Weird, I am a "little sneak".

This major over-reaction from the humans arose because I was bored this morning and, without really thinking it through, I ate Beard’s spectacles.

Specifically, I ate Beard’s spectacles when he needed them TO WATCH THE RUGBY.

On a positive note this means that while W is upstairs working I can do pretty much what I like, because B can’t see me.

Result.

Postscript:  Beard took me to the Cow Field this afternoon. Guess who he bumped into?

EVERYONE!!!!!!

Well it made me laugh.

Canis Invictus

I am invincible.

I have returned to the Cow Field.

Weird is back in London and Beard, beset with worry that my confidence and friendly demeanour would be damaged by last week's incident, took me back there this morning.

I admit I wasn't hugely keen - I fell for his latest trick and followed a sausage trail.

It wasn't long before rabid Bono made an appearance. It seems his human has taken Beard's advice and now has him firmly attached to a leash. This gave me a fantastic opportunity to get up close and snarl menacingly as we walked past.... growling inside my head:

My name is Bouncius Maximus
Commander of the dog armies of the North
General of the puppy legions
Loyal servant to Pedigree Chum
Faithful companion to Beard and Weird
And I will have my vengeance

In this life... or the next.

Grrrrr. Forget the zen thing. When I am a bit bigger that hairy b*****d is toast.

You talkin' to me?

Battle scars and sausage heaven

Has anyone else realised that today is Ground Hog day?  First celebrated officially in 1887, at the wonderfully-named Gobbler’s Knob near Pittsburgh. US.

Here in dog world, I’ve had a few days away from blogging after being half eaten by an angry Labrador and a subsequent altercation with a barbed wire fence up on the Cow Field.

The downside of all this was a visit to the vets to have my leg stapled, while the very significant upside was Beard’s attempt to aid my convalescence by introducing me to ... SAUSAGES.

The Cow Field drama unfolded while Weird was away in London, so B took advantage of the absence of the only vegetarian in the house to hot foot it to Sainsbury’s. So far we have worked our way through 80 chipolatas. (Usually when she’s away he eats Ginster’s pasties and hides the wrappers, but has yet to share one).

Beard, of course is consumed with guilt by his inability to rescue me from either the rabid Lab or the fence, so if I play my cards right, anything could happen. I might even get a bite of the Ginsters.

Anyhow, back to life in the kitchen.  Staying in and feasting on sausages has given me plenty of time to listen to world news.... and there’s plenty of it, from Egyptian protests to Australian cyclones.  And in the midst of this turmoil comes the news of the day from the Daily Mirror....... apparently Cheryl Cole is the star that most people want to name their dog after.

Yes really. 

Her christian name was the first choice for bitches, ahead of Victoria, Lady Gaga, Grace Kelly and Beyoncé.  And the number one celebrity dog name in the National Geographic poll of 3,000 was Ozzy, followed by Boris, Arnie, Elvis and Bono.

I bet that t**t that bit me was called Bono.