Dancing sheep and scary toast

September has been an interesting month.  One of the highlights has been this week with the World Sheepdog Trials on TV.  Mind you, it took me a while to realise all the whistling wasn’t aimed at me – I stared intently at B and W for the first 15 minutes to see if their lips were moving, then did a couple of tours of the house looking for the phantom shepherd before I realised where the sound was coming from.  In their usual juvenile way, they found this highly amusing of course.  I then spent the next hour glued to the screen, occasionally checking behind it when the sheep ran off into the distance.

Sheep have played a big part in my life recently. It all started when, in a sudden moment of clarity one morning, I realised that the garden fence is actually only three feet tall, so I jumped over it.  Next I jumped over the neighbours’ fence – and then, having reached maximum velocity*, cleared the five foot wall into the sheep field.   The woolly ones got quite a shock at my sudden arrival, and by the time Beard followed me over the wall in his pyjama trousers, I had them neatly pinned into one corner.  I thought he’d be impressed by this, but he was incandescent, dragged me back to the cottage and set up a complicated rope system that means I am now clipped on to a wire every time I go out of the front door.  Grrrr.

We went to the local Food and Drink Festival not long after that, which is held at a nearby farm. Due to the fantastic British summer weather, this had all the charms of the Somme, with desperate looking stall holders plying gourmet cheeses and chilli flavoured chocolate, while cagoule-clad visitors stumbled through two feet of welly-sucking mud to get to them.  I passed several toddlers spread-eagled face-down in the mud while their parents attempted to carry buggies over the mire. There were cooking demonstrations, folk musicians and even a circus tent, but the best thing of all was the sheep show.

photo: Flickr Richard Gillin



This was hosted by Craig the New Zealander, who introduced us to his collection of sheep friends. With much abuse targeted at Australians and rather too much innuendo for a morning’s family entertainment, he ended the performance brilliantly with a whole row of sheep, who were dancing ... yes dancing....  to ‘The Hustle’ by the late great Van McCoy.  Baaahrilliant.

I have also had lots of visitors – Skydiver Liz (who has now gone off to throw herself out of a plane); Pilates Susie; Andrea the Accountant; Vicar Jan (who I will love forever because she brought her empty butter container to lick) and -perhaps  most exciting of all – Friendly Pete, who brought my first ever dog visitor, Poppy the Spaniel.  In all honesty, she didn’t share my enthusiasm for intimacy on a first date but we had a good run around on the field, so all was not lost.

Finally, the downside of the month is that I have developed a morbid fear of toast.  Apparently this is a Pavlovian thing.  For some unknown reason, W routinely burns the toast.  This sets off the smoke alarm, which hurts my sensitive dog ears, so I run away.  Now I only have to sniff or clap eyes on a piece of jammy toast and I have a complete panic attack.

So, in conclusion, I love dancing sheep and I really, really hate toast.

*A fit collie can reach speeds of up to 30 miles per hour. That’s faster than Beard’s Landrover



Sorry Vicar!

Jan the vicar came for lunch today, during which I ransacked her handbag and chewed her sunglasses.

But she has forgiven me.

She should be a role model for all the rest of you humans.

Definitely not bad to the bone (this week)

I am still on my best behaviour and quite frankly, everyone is amazed.  I have been walking to heel, sitting, offering paws and looking adoringly at all and sundry.

I think the kennels idea may have been abandoned as B was looking at campsites on the Internet today.  Paws crossed.

Friendly Pete turned up this afternoon. He works with Weird so I was warned to be on my best behaviour.  His friends have taken a year off to travel around the world and each picked their favourite five albums to take with them to indoctrinate their children ..... so he threw B and W the challenge of choosing theirs.

They are still pondering, so here are mine for the record:

Who let the dogs out? Baha Men
Diamond Dogs  Bowie
Rain Dogs  Tom Waits
A Dog's Life  Bonzo Dog Band
Black Dog  Led Zep

Beard - who I am beginning to suspect is clinically insane - was telling Friendly Pete that he has been looking for a motorbike and sidecar for a while, so I can wear goggles and travel around with him.


This is the kind of thing he has in mind..........

But this is more like it- check out Chopper the Biker Dog on Youtube along with George Thorogood's iconic Bad to the Bone.

Grrrrrr

An encounter with Batman

I am on my best behaviour this week.

This is all because I overheard a discussion about holidays, which centred on the pros and cons of kennels. 

The options are currently ‘Scotland’ and ‘Abroad’.  Obviously I have no intention of being left locked up with a bunch of other mutts while they go swanning about in the sun, so for the time being I am being the most adorable, obedient dog imaginable. I am verging on the wonder dog. In fact on Sunday night we were out on the marsh and I walked next to B holding the end of my lead in the style of Lassie!

Suckers.

Other than the self-imposed creeping, I am having a good week, with a trip to the beach in North Wales yesterday and dog-sitting by Grandad Ronbo and Auntie Jean on Saturday night – spelling a plentiful supply of dog biscuits and other treats.

While this was fun, I do worry that the humans are becoming increasingly eccentric.  On Saturday night they strapped on their hiking boots and marched up to the Cow Field. Without me.

Nothing strange about that, you might think.

Except that they went with a Bat Expert, called Laurence, and they were carrying bat detectors. 



This one looks a bit like me



Laurence, from the Bat Conservation Trust, is the world’s most enthusiastic expert on bats.  He knows everything there is to know.  For instance, there are 18 different kinds in the UK and two million of the little blighters, all eating 3,000 insects each night. Who’d have thought it?  And they can live for 30 years... which means there are bats around who remember Bucks Fizz winning the Eurovision Song Contest.

How many people spend their Saturday nights bat detecting?  Especially when they rush back, bursting with excitement because they have identified four types of bat: a pipistrelle, a noctule, a long eared and a whiskered.  A whiskered bat? How can you tell in the dark at 100 miles an hour?

Predictably, Beard is now scouring the web to buy his own bat detector.  Amazingly there is an online shop for bat fanatics, where you can buy these along with other fascinating and useful items.

Sadly if we do get to Scotland I will probably be forced to spend the week listening to high pitched squeaks.

Which reminds me. ... this is not the first family bat experience. When the New Zealand Weirds were visiting recently, there was a clan gathering at Chester Zoo, where the junior Weirds were very taken with the Bat Cave.  Not surprisingly, after half an hour of bat-watching wonderment this led to one of them emerging into the daylight, elated but comprehensively doused in bat droppings. 

During the ensuing (major) clean-up operation, one of the staff mentioned a couple who had been leaving the zoo a week before, only to find a fruit bat hanging upside down, asleep on the back of their pushchair in the car park. 

To  confirm the fact that both my humans are completely mad, Weird has spent the week singing ‘Bat out of Hell’ by Meatloaf to herself.  You can join in here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO9Piug_oqI&ob=av2n

Ironically, Meat Loaf was a vegetarian for 15 years.



Rin Tin Tin eat your heart out



A new toy box!

Hmmmm. What a shame that Habitat has gone into administration.

Goodbye Drift

The world lost a special and much-loved dog this week.  Goodbye to my friend Drift.

Smiley, who is a very special dog person, summed it up best:

"Run free, little blue dog".



Drift



Big cats and bush craft



In my bush shelter, just like Bear Grrrrrrrrrr ylls



Where does the time go?  I have been having one heck of a summer here in dog world. 

I should start with a massive tail wag  by thanking everyone for reading this – I have now had well over 1000 views from as far afield as the US, Australia, NZ , Holland, Germany, Singapore, Canada, Russia and the United Arab Emirates.  I would particularly like to thank Skydiver Liz, who recently toured Australia’s Apple shops, switching all the display laptops to my home page. Guerrilla marketing at its best!

So what’s been happening.... well, where to start?  Since our holiday at Camp Weird in June I have had some fantastic days out including a particularly good one with the Leigh dog pack and their super-chilled humans, Beardy Gary and Vicar Jan – who had no problem at all with me drinking out of the lavatory, eating a shower scrunchie and at one point climbing onto the dining room table to finish off the delicious fish pie and rhubarb crumble.  B and W were totally mortified of course, which made it even better. 

Another really good day was a couple of weeks’ back when B and W went to help Hairy and Smiley in Wales with the bush craft course they were running. 

Just before we arrived at the farm there was a reliable report of ANOTHER big cat sighting (yes really... see 7^th June blog), and I have to say, I felt this news was treated rather too casually by B and W – especially when Hairy mentioned the words ‘seven feet long’ and ‘glowing yellow eyes’.  Anyhow, fast forward to my evening walk, before going to bed.  It was absolutely pitch black outside and the three of us set off to wander around the big field.  Well, get this – I waited until we were as far away from the farm house as we were going to get, then simply ran into the middle of the field, stared into the blackness and growled as ferociously as I could. 

B and W stopped dead, peered into the gloom for about two minutes and then, to my everlasting delight, turned and did a Linford Christie back to the house.  They could have qualified for the 2012 Olympics.  As B had the only torch, and that was strapped to his head, this resulted in W doing a forward roll into the ditch and both being covered in nettle stings.  Humans are so gullible!

The bush craft course the following day took place in Hairy and Smiley’s woods.  Weird was sent off with Hairy’s mum, Horsey Ann, to make a giant pot of stew, while I went with Beard (aka Ray Mears) to join the course.  It was great. Not only did I sneak up and steal people’s twigs as they desperately tried to light a fire without matches (why?) ... at one point I actually ran right through one bloke’s pathetic little fire and put it out just as the instructor walked towards him.  I waited until lunchtime to run away with the stew ladle (and ate the whole thing) before being flung into the Landrover for the rest of the day. RSPCA take note.

On a positive note, despite B and W’s extreme grumpiness, they seem to have forgotten their threats of castration – although I had a narrow escape when Skydiver Liz called in with some dog treats, which turned out to make me hyperactive.  Frankly that is not my fault – and if Beard will leave his favourite sunglasses next to my bed, what does he expect? 

As well as being grumpy, they are also increasingly eccentric – B has now taken to wearing Bear Grylls survival clothing (quote ‘designed for the alpha male’)  along with a racoon fur hat.  W meanwhile is tackling middle age by having her eyebrows tinted. I got the shock of my life when she walked in on Saturday – she currently looks like the love child of Susan Boyle and Leonid Brezhnev.  B, who never learns, made the fatal mistake of looking up from the laptop and saying “Nice hair but what’s with the Groucho Marx?” You can imagine the consequences.

Which leads me to my news item of the week – also involving a flying missile.  What joy, on the heels of Rupert Murdoch’s custard pie, to see that our favourite magician, Paul Daniels, was hospitalised when Sooty threw a pizza at him. Go bear! 

That’s all folks. I’m off to loot Pets at Home.

Look - no matches!



Full of stew