Dogs of the world – thank you all most profoundly for your kind and incisive comments. I always knew that we canines had a infinitely more refined and discerning hippocampus (can that really be the word?) than the humans, but I never thought to find myself the recipient of such penetrating analysis. Handsome fella … cutie … beautiful … the phrases are rolling around my mind, in just the same way as the Rory’s Easter egg would be rolling around my stomach, had I not been fatally delayed by the silly wrapping.

Never mind – they had a sausage and pasta thing for dinner tonight and I used my telepathic powers to get the Mum to wash the leftovers under the cold tap and pick out the sausage bits for me. Not that I got them all at once – that woman has a most unhealthy obsession with my digestion – but I happen to know there’s a little Chinese dish in the fridge…

While I curl up for a quiet drool, here’s a picture of me in action – well, not actually asleep, at least.

I’m very excited about joining Dogs With Blogs (member no. 842 – who’d have imagined there was so much canine consciousness out there?). The Mum tells me they are based in Australia, which is where the Gawain caught his last bus to, so I hope he throws the odd ball for them while he’s there. I’m not sure where Australia is, but suspect it may be even further than Portora Castle where I took the Aidan for a walk yesterday.

Anyway, I’ve already made a new penfriend via DWB, as we savvy multimedia mutts call it. He’s a Wire Fox Terrier from London, and I’m going to ask whether I can show you his Easter hat picture.

Hi, ho, silver lining…

Something strange has been going on during the past week – a lot fewer trips to Work and School and a lot more singing. Then this morning, curiouser and curiouser, the Mum went round the house hiding bits of wrapped up chocolate. I might have told her that wouldn’t work, and sure enough, as soon as the Rory and the Aidan came downstairs, they started hunting in drawers, cupboards, the oven (there was even one in the toaster, which even I know is a Bad Plan) and found most of them within five minutes. Uh-oh, I thought, that’ll enrage her. But odder than anything, the Mum and Dad both grinned like Cheshire you-know-whats, and the Mum even went off and showed them where the last chocolates were. Completely sea-lion.

Talking of c… those feline creatures, one had the timerity to cross right across the front garden this afternoon. Well, the humans might be full of benevolence and charity, but there is still such a thing as a species barrier. I remained on guard duty for the rest of the afternoon

but it didn’t have the nerve to come back.

Went out with The Coat for the first time today. Luckily it was nearly dark and pouring with rain, so no one of a canine nature saw me. It felt a bit odd – I kept trying to shake my fur out in the usual way and finding I couldn’t – but I must admit that I was a lot drier than usual when we got back.

Talking of fur, I haven’t got so much of it as I used to have – the Mum got carried away by reading that website and decided to do a bit of pruning. The pulling bit wasn’t so bad; it was when she had the brainwave of using a fine tooth comb that it got a bit hairy (pun intended). I’m not exactly a skinhead, but the resemblance to Dougal is definitely diminished.

Zzzzz

The Dad made me come to Work with him today, even though the Rory’s school was on holiday, so I could easily have kept him company curled up on the duvet. All my most altruistic impulses are thwarted…

I suspect that the plan to take me walking five miles to the other side of town, while of course principally inspired by my technical usefulness in the back office (see previous entry for a demonstration of my computer skills) had an insidious secondary motive. For some time the Mum has been making the most uncivil remarks about my figure (pot calling the kettle black, I’d say, if I wasn’t such a gentleman) and interfering quite unpardonably with my personal relationship with the custard cream packet.

All this wasn’t helped by her impulse purchase, while at the doggy supermarket, of a garment for yours truly.

I’d like to think that her motives were entirely benevolent, but can’t help thinking that this will be an excellent excuse to drive me out in the rain still more often. There is also the delicate fact that, although specifically stated to be the correct size for a Border Terrier, the jacket is, unmistakably, on the snug side. As I’ve been trying to explain to them, any excess bulk is nothing but fur. As soon as the Mum gets around to stripping my coat, in the best Kennel Club approved manner*, I will be revealed as a mere waif. Meanwhile, I can content myself with a small sulk.

* On second thoughts, I’m not in a great hurry to embark on this stripping business. The website of the Border Terrier Club of America recommends that the owner should

“with one hand grasp the dog’s hide at the shoulder firmly enough so that the hide will not move when you pull on the hair. With your other hand, trap a few hairs between the thumb and index finger and pull the hairs out with a firm and quick motion”

My eyes are watering at the mere thought. A quick change of subject is called for, I think. Here, for your edification and delight, is a picture of my bowl and toybox. Readers’ Quiz: How many decapitated soft toys can you identify?

Back to Work today – it seems they can’t really run the place without me…

The Gawain is obviously getting more serious about his bus-chasing – yesterday he got up at five o’clock to catch one. Unfortunately, when he and the Dad set off to the bus station, I found myself on the wrong side of the door, being taken for a hideously early walk.

When we got back I collapsed into my bed for what I hoped was at least a fortnight of uninterrupted slumber, only to be pounced on a mere four hours later by the Mum, wearing an apron. (She was wearing it, I mean, not me, excuse my dangling participles.) Well, not being exactly a domestic goddess, there’s only one activity she puts one of those one for, and it involves me, water, and something rather impolitely called deodorant shampoo.

Actually it wasn’t too bad – the water was warm and I managed to lull her into relaxing her vigilance for long enough to give a really satisfying shake. After all, if I have to have a bath, I don’t see why she shouldn’t have a shower at the same time.

In the evening we watched the first day at Crufts, and Ben Fogle’s Dog of the Day, which was, naturally enough, a Border Terrier. He (or it might have been she) was part of something called Dog Therapy. Giving, apparently, not receiving. From watching Eddie (that programme the humans call Frasier) I know a bit about these things, and expected that the BT in question would have a first degree in medicine, have qualified as a G.P. or similar and then taken an advanced and rigorous course in psychiatry. But it seems that all a Dog Therapist has to do is sit still and look cute.

I can do that. Admittedly, the Border at Crufts had his hair cut, whereas I prefer the Dougal look myself (for practical, as well as aesthetic reasons; the house-humans here are woefully mean when it comes to central heating. Green? Blue, more like.)

Anyway, for those of you without your own Border Terrier to soothe away the anxieties of life, here’s another picture from the Mum’s MacBook.

The Mum has been acting even more oddly than usual this weekend. She was out all Friday evening, and most of Saturday, because of something called Fairtrade Fortnight and then when she got home on Saturday evening, the Aidan sang a song to her, something about happy burping, and then they gave her a medium-sized white box. Since then she’s been happily tapping away at it, burbling about apples (which we’ve nearly run out of, since the organic deliveries have stopped) and macs (which we always need, being in County Fermanagh). Anyway, it has at least encouraged her to produce a picture of me that approaches justice…

More elegant, sophisticated images to follow ( I hope).