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Something terrifically interesting happened today;

posted in: boats, dogs, ducks - No Comments

1:46 pm 1:46 pm

so noteworthy that if I’d had a snooze when I got back home, I’d be tempted by now to think that it was a dream.

The Dad took me down to the lough this afternoon, and I made my usual convivial, if futile, attempts to befriend the ducks. Then, from under the bridge, glided two small boats, laden with …. dogs! There were a couple of humans with them, and the dogs had very tactfully allowed them to think they were in charge, but it was quite clear who were the true leaders of the expedition. There was even one hairy terrier who looked like me, though when we got into conversation he confessed that he wasn’t really a Border, but only some upstart breed called a Fen Terrier, not yet recognized by the Kennel Club. I tried to cheer the poor chap up (actually he seemed perfectly cheerful, as well as dog might, having led such an intrepid voyage) while trying to avoid revealing that I’d never heard of the Kennel Club. I suppose it must be some kind of society for dogs with outdoor sleeping arrangements. Perhaps I ought to found a Bed In The Kitchen Club. We’d let Fen Terriers join, especially ones with their own boats.

A quiet sort of day today.

posted in: dogs, ducks, sleep, swans - No Comments

1:47 pm 1:47 pm

The Dad went off to Work but left me with the others, so I had a good long morning snooze. When the sun came out the Mum and the Aidan took me down to the Round O park (on the edge of the lough – that’s a lake to you foreigners) with a large bag of bread. Needless to say, I got none of it.

The lough was thronged with birds – eighteen swans, the Mum said, fifty or sixty seagulls and over a hundred ducks. The swans look most elegant and inviting from a distance, but when I tried to take them up on the offer of friendship they made the most unpleasant hissing noise you can imagine. Never trust anyone with webbed paws. As we were leaving, a car arrived with a very small child and even smaller spaniel puppy, which seemed to want to play with me, pulling on its little lead and squeaking excitedly. I nodded, with dignity, and passed on. Really, the youth of today need to show a little more respect.

Further along the road we met quite a different class of canine; a gentledog in late middle-aged, lean and somewhat grizzled, loping along the pavement. I instinctively felt that we were destined to be friends, and gave a few exploratory snuffles and barks. To my surprise he simply sniffed, in a rather cold manner, and crossed to the other side. I was a little hurt, but tried not to to show it. As my mother used to say, a little politeness costs nothing.

On a more positive note, the combination of a good sleep and the usual Fermanagh rain has wrought wonders on my coat. You’d never imagine that I’d been subjected to a bath only two days ago. That’s one advantage of being a Border Terrier – one is never far distinguishable from the most miscelanated mongrel.

Zzzzzz.

posted in: sleep - No Comments

1:48 pm 1:48 pm

I’m a happy dog again.

posted in: cats, humans, virtue, work - No Comments

1:49 pm 1:49 pm

The Dad and I went back to Work today, so I knew where I was and what I was doing. It might look like sleep, to the casual observer, but that’s all part of the plan. I’ll explain it to you properly one day, when I can be sure that you don’t pose a security risk.

The Mum stayed at home with the younger house-humans while we walked as far as the bus station with the giant one, the Gawain. I knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away from there for long. I’m assuming that he found himself a bus to chase, maybe the big one with “Dublin Airport” written on the front (I’m not illiterate, you know) as he hasn’t come back home and his bed’s been made, which never happens when he’s around. I used to worry about his disappearances, when I first arrived here, but now I know he always comes back in the end, sometimes accompanied by some very exotic smells.

I suspect the Mum of playing with that interloper Henry while we were out. The floor had that tedious sameness about it that usually means he’s been trundling around. He’s not a real dog, you know, whatever whining noises he might make, and I bet that cupboard under the stairs isn’t so very thrilling once the novelty’s worn off. I’d rather have my bed in the kitchen. Talking of my bed; she’s been fiddling about with that as well, and my blanket. It’s taken three and half months to get the pong just right and now the whole blasted caboodle smells of lavender. I ask you! With my fur all clean and fluffy after that bath and towel-dry, and a lavender-scented bed, what’s left of my macho doghood is severely impaired.

But I’m too tired to make much of a fuss. It’s over four miles to Work, which, given our respective leg-length ratio, is a bit like expecting the Dad to hike to Omagh before starting a day’s sle…security work. On the way home we saw a cat sitting on the playground beside the Sligo-Leitrim Way. The Dad tensed up, the way they do, poised ready to dart off after me. ( I must confess to having been evicted from the last place for cat-chasing.) But I couldn’t really be bothered. It was a decent sort of moggy, too, not the silly giggling young sort, so I just sauntered over, raised my tail politely and returned to the Dad. You should have seen his face. “Good boy,” he said, “Good boy.” I didn’t like to tell him that I hadn’t been thinking about goodness at all, only about preserving my amour-propre and the pads of my paws. Oh well, a bit of credit never does any harm.

I don’t think I like Boxes Day much, either.

posted in: Christmas, baths, food, humans, music - No Comments

1:50 pm 1:50 pm

It started badly, when the Dad came downstairs an hour or two later than usual, by which time the odd things I’d eaten yesterday had wreaked their vengeance. The kitchen floor has no idea what’s hit it; being mopped twice in three days.

So much unprecedented housework obviously went to the Mum’s head, for as soon as she’d put the mop away, she appeared wrapped up in her big white apron. Big white aprons only mean one thing in this house: a dog’s bathtime. It wasn’t too bad, actually; the water was a decent temperature and she made some attempt to keep the shampoo out of my eyes, though she wouldn’t let me give a proper shake to see how far I could spread the bubbles. But afterwards I enjoyed my usual post-balneum dash about the house, barking madly, just in case any dogs peeping through the windows get the idea that I’m some sort of clean-living softie.

After that, of course, I was quite worn out, and retired to my bed for a mid-morning rest. That was when the real trouble started. One of the Aidan’s wrapped-up things from yesterday turned out to be a mouth-organ, and he had the kind idea of playing me a tune on it. I didn’t realize what it was, at first, and stretched out quite bestofpossibleworldsly as he sat down beside me. But at the first notes something went terribly wrong. Not that the sound was bad in itself, you understand me; he’s a tuneful sort of boy, and I’m distinctly partial to a bit of music, especially the folk or rock varieties. Ask the Rory, if you don’t believe me; the number of times I’ve had to make a subtle adjustment to his mixer when he’s recording his electric guitar… But this was different. There was something about that mouth-organ sound that brought back terrible memories. Something really black that happened to me long ago, years before I came to live with this human pack. I cried while the Aidan was playing; horrible little yelps, I’m sure they must have been, but I just couldn’t help myself. He stopped really quickly, thinking he might have hurt my ears, but it wasn’t that, it wasn’t that at all. Afterwards I just kept trembling, my legs rigid with fear and my heart beating so fast that it seemed as though it would pop out of my half-dried fur. I couldn’t tell them what it was, of course, and I can’t tell you either, but it brought back all the nightmares. They don’t know anything about my old life, what happened to me before I was found wandering outside the hospital in Belfast and was brought here to the little town of Enniskillen. They know that I used to belong to an old man, they can tell that by the way I get excited when I see one in the distance, but before today they’d only imagined happy scenes. It’s a bit sad, really; I’d like to leave them their illusions. But they were kind, especially the Aidan, stroked me until I calmed down and wrapped me up in my nice smelly blanket (the Mum keeps trying new kinds of washing powder, but I’ve got it throroughly imbued by now). And in the end I went to sleep, and woke up later quite happy. A bit wobbly maybe, but happy overall.

I had a good day after that, I have to admit, though not many of my friends were out at the park, and after my evening walk there was a bit of muddle between the Aidan and the Dad, each one thinking the other had brought me in while I stayed outside on the doorstep for ten minutes. At first I thought they’d left me out deliberately, for being naughty, but after a few minutes I remembered where I was, and knew they wouldn’t do that without coming out again to explain it. So I gave a big bark; though I say it myself, I have the bark of a dog at least twenty pounds bigger, and they all rushed to the front door and let me in again.

So, despite everything, Boxes Day hasn’t ended too badly; I’m lying across the Rory’s feet now, with my head against the radiator, and the sweet smell of chocolate orange in my nostrils. Life isn’t so bad, really, even without a cardboard box.

Christmas Day 2007

posted in: Christmas, humans, toys - No Comments

1:51 pm 1:51 pm

A perplexing day. I knew something was wrong when the Gawain and the Rory, our adolescent house-humans, came downstairs at seven o’clock in the morning. Generally speaking, if it isn’t a school or a catching bus day (the Gawain’s job seems to be running after buses, though he can’t be much good at it, as when he sets off to get one, he usually doesn’t come back home for several weeks) I can be pretty sure of a quiet spot curled up on their feet until well after midday. So I was on my guard as soon as they came down, especially as they weren’t making any groaning noises.

Then they, with the Aidan, each found themselves a giant red sock (I warned you this was going to be bizarre) and began taking things out of the socks; thrilling things wrapped up in crunchy paper, an awful lot of them smelling of chocolate. It was all most exciting, what with the boys making their little yapping noises, and the smells, and the rustling paper. And what was more, the Mum brought through another of the big socks and gave me a new teddy bear out of it. He’s a bit of a wimp, with a very nerdy hand-knitted jumper, but I’ll soon get rid of that, together with his ears and probably a paw or two.

Anyway, by now I was getting the hang of the thing; it was obviously a special kind of treasure hunt. So when the house-humans all went out I joined in the game by checking through the kitchen bin. Nothing doing, though I knocked it to the ground (quite an achievement, as it’s five times my height) and spread the contents all across the floor. I thought they’d be hurt if I didn’t look properly. They were a bit disappointed when they got back, though they didn’t say much, even the Mum only said “Bad” a couple of times before putting the rubbish back and spraying the bin with that evil-smelling anti-puppy stuff. Cheek, I call it; the vet says I’m six and a half.

Then, to add insult to … well, insult, they trooped into the dining room where they’ve recently installed a thing that looks (though doesn’t smell or feel) like a tree, and started getting more of these wrapped up objects from underneath it. Socks yes, trees yes, bins no. How’s a chap supposed to work that out? I did get some more stuff myself, though: a cotton bone (haven’t seen that Lab’s one since the kitchen floor debacle), some decent snacks and one of those puzzle balls that humans fill with snacks and test their dog’s intelligence by watching to see if he can undo it. My intelligence doesn’t need testing; I just gnawed straight through the thing. Result. Or it would have been, if the Mum hadn’t taken it off me at that point and put it in a high-up cupboard. Honestly, you show a bit of initiative…

All this wore me out so thoroughly that I fell asleep in front of Polar Express and was only woken by the Aidan nudging my face with his. The trouble was, I was immersed in a dream about my own early puppyhood and thought he was one of my insubordinate little brothers. As soon as I’d stretched out to snap a warning I realised, but by then it was too late. The Dad, who hardly ever tells me off, was very cross and made me sit outside in the rain to contemplate my wickedness. Quite right, of course; the cardinal rule of living with house-humans is not to let them see your teeth. But I do wish the Aidan had waited until I was awake before, er, waking me up.

So I’m a chastened dog now, watching the boys with my big brown eyes while they play with the odd television-and-stick combination they call their Wee. (This is not to be confused with the other thing they call Wee which they do in the bathroom, and don’t let me in.) I’m hoping that tomorrow will be slightly less eventful. I overheard something about boxes: maybe I can curl up in one and sleep it all off.

Christmas Eve 2007

posted in: Christmas, bones, dogs, humans, walks - No Comments

1:52 pm 1:52 pm

A bit of an unfortunacy, as I think the humans call it, this morning; and I’m rather surprised not to be in more trouble.

I have a nagging feeling that it all started last night, when the Dad (I think that must be the proper word; it’s what most of the other house-humans call him) took me down to the park after his dinner. To both of our surprises, it was full of my friends, including the nice rather dopey old labrador. We had a bit of a runaround, and a chat about the weather, and why there are so many coloured lights on the outside of the human houses (mostly electric blue, though the Lab tells me that most years they are red and green). Anyway, after a while the Dad suggested that we might be getting back, and that’s when I realized my bit of luck. You see, usually when I’m at the park with the gang it’s daylight, and though I’m pretty good at pinching things from the others, the Dad always notices and makes we give them back. Last night, though, it was too dark for him to see, and I managed to get all the way home with the Lab’s new bone. How I managed to get it up the hill, I’ve really no idea, as it’s as long as one of my legs and at least three times fatter, but sompehow I did it. Desperate times, desperate measures, I suppose. Anyway, I sneaked it into the kitchen, and just managed to nudge it over the threshold into the dining room. I’m both observant and highly civilized, you see, and having noticed that the humans take their food out of the kitchen to eat it, I try, whenever possible, to do the same. It’s a sad reflection on their woeful inconsistency that they (well, the Mum, principally) periodically object to this, even going to far as to close the kitchen doors when there’s a steak pie or chocolate fudge cake for me to finish off. Anyway, this time they decided that the combination of marrowbone and carpet wouldn’t be too disastrous and that the Lab would have gone home by now (and in any case they weren’t quite positive that was who I got it from ), so they let me bring it through and gnaw on it for a few hours.

That, in retrospect, was our mistake. You see I’m not really accustomed to bones, being more of a custard cream sort of chap, and it seemed to have an unfortunate effect on my digestion, and hence on the kitchen floor overnight. But the Dad and the Mum were quite calm about it, getting to work with kitchen towels and mops and nasty smelling stuff, and letting me go outside without even a shout. Anyone would think they’d been through it all before. (Note to self: Must not ponder too deeply on this point. It may well be that I am not their First Dog; after all, as they know very well, they are far from being my First Owners; but I can certaintly aspire to being their Last.)

Anyway, when the floor was all shiny and smelling horrid, the Dad decided that a long walk would do me good, so we set off for Work. I will tell you about my Work another time; it is highly skilled and sensitive, and far too important to be explained in a footnote. While I was Working, my stomach righted itself, and I felt so bangersnmash that I ran all the way along the Sligo-Leitrim Way. (I must confess that this athletic achievement is not quite so supercanine as it sounds; the Sligo-Leitrim Way extends into neither Sligo nor Leitrim, but is a few yards of disused railway in the centre of Enniskillen. Nonetheless, it’s quite an feat for anyone with paws my size. (Feat, feet, get it?) Again, with hindsight it perhaps wasn’t the wisest course of action. By the time we got to our side of town, my legs were completely trotted-out and I had to lie down and get the Dad to carry me. He usually does this quite happily – I’m really quite pleased with his training progress – but today he seemed a bit slow on the uptake. It might have had something to do with all the bags he was carrying, but instead of simply picking me up and taking me all the way home, after a while he stopped, got out his little black box and starting talking into it. Then, a couple of minutes later, I saw the Aidan (the smallest of the house-humans and the best to be licked) running along the pavement towards me. Perhaps it was the excitement of seeing hiim, perhaps the small Jack Russell who got mixed up with us, but somehow I found myself back home under the power of my own four paws. Some sort of hypnotic trick no doubt. It really shouldn’t be allowed.