I misteri

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The Mum disappeared for a few days last weekend. The other house-humans told me that she’d gone twitterly, which was scarcely news, and I couldn’t discern any difference when she got back. She claimed that she’d almost taken a photo for my diary; of a small terrier dressed in a pink cycle jersey, but that it had followed the Jeero before she’d been able to get her camera out. Hmmm.

News

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Apparently the Gawain is back in Newsy-Land with the Sue, and, there not being enough there, has asked for some News from Me.

Unfortunately I can’t think of very much, except that it was briefly Hot.

And then not.

(That’s the sort of thing the Dad calls a Pome and the Mum calls Dog-eral, which must be much more of a compliment. Apparently the post of Poet Laureate is currently being canvassed – maybe I should indicate my reluctant acquiescence, in the event that the Nation clamours thus…)

Remember Doctor Dolittle and the Pushme-Pullyu?

Well, Ellie and I have created our own tableau in homage thereto. If you look really carefully, you can see her tail clearly encroaching onto my side of the bed. The Dad tells me that ’twas ever thus…

Canis cantabundis

posted in: cats, music - No Comments

Not many people know what a musical dog I am. I spend hours lying on the landing outside the Rory’s room, howling along with his music. Sadly, his primitive recording equipment never quite manages to pick it up. Listen for yourselves and see whether you can hear me, however remotely.

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Of course, it would help if he opened the door.

Today’s picture has a tangential relationship to music; it’s Ellie and I having a business meeting on the swivel chairs, one of which has just had to be moved out of the Aidan’s room to make way for his drum kit… The Dad’s adding to the general jamboree with his cornet: we’re just all grateful that the Mum hasn’t managed to dig her old school recorder out. The only thing she can play is Loch Lomond, and even that gets a bit squeaky on the high notes. She and Ellie should probably stick to musical appreciation.

Catching up

posted in: cats, chess, humans, snow - No Comments

I realise that an immense amount of time has elapsed since my last entry, and I do apologise for my silence. I’m really far too exhausted (see last photo) to give a full account of my activities, but I don’t mind indulging your curiosity with a few representative photographs. Just think of it as a kind of upmarket Hello, just with a genuine celebrity instead of all those dreary nonentities.

Well, the first thing that happened was that it snowed again. I know all about snow now, so was able to enter enthusiastically into the full spectrum of wintry activities. Well, at least until I got frost in my whiskers.

Ellie, of course, just stayed on the warm windowsill and looked at it.

A couple of weeks later, something really mysterious happened; the entire family of house humans (apart from the Gawain whom I hadn’t seen since Christmas) disappeared for several days and left me in charge of the house. (Ellie thought that she was in charge, but she’d obviously misunderstood.) I was a bit concerned about the technicalities of keys and water bowls, but a delightful young lady called Sonia from the vet’s surgery came round twice a day to feed us and take me out, so I needn’t have worried. She was so nice that I tried quite hard to get into her car when she returned the keys, but I was once again thwarted in my automotive plans. I try pulling quite hard whenever we go past the vet’s, but haven’t yet persuaded them to go away again.

I don’t know where they went, whether they got as far as Newsy Land, but it certainly involved a large boat and the recovery of the lost Gawain.

So for a few days the family was at full capacity once more. One thing was rather disturbing – I heard the Sue (the Gawain’s girlfriend, with whom I established a close friendship at Christmas) calling out to me. I looked everywhere, but couldn’t find her. It appeared, to my horror, that she had been trapped inside the Gawain’s computer. It all seemed most uncomfortable, but she sounded happy enough.

Talking of individuals in inappropriately sized containers, Ellie continues to treat my bed as though it is some kind of public feline amenity. The Mum keeps showing me how to flip her out and suggesting that I do the same. It’s amusing to watch, but I fear that I am too much the gentleman to employ such tactics. (And deep down, I must confess to enjoying a nice justified sulk.)

Sadly, after all too short a time, the Gawain and the Mum headed off to the bus station and only the Mum returned. She claims that he is back in Newsy Land, though I’m almost sure that neither Ulsterbus nor Bus Eireann have it on their timetables.

His spirit is still with us, however, as the chess-playing tradition is continued by more junior members of the family. I prefer not to humiliate them by exhibiting my King’s Indian.

Meanwhile I am back at Work, attracting the sympathy of strangers as I plod along in the Dad’s wake. Their concern, well-meant as it is, would be slightly more courteous were it not expressed as ‘Aahh. He’s far too fat to walk.’ It’s thick and healthy fur, I tell you, helped along by the house-humans’ tea tree shampoo. I must confess to being a little weary this evening though.

Mistaken identity

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At the playground this morning, in the pouring rain, I saw a tall young man walking across the park in only jeans and a sweatshirt. Suddenly I remembered that we hadn’t seen the Gawain for some time. I know he usually spends the wet season at the bus station, but we all know what havoc climate change has wreaked upon traditional patterns of migration. I know my eyesight is not the strongest of my terrier senses, but I squinted as hard as I could at the retreating figure. As I turned forlornly to leave, the Mum explained, in quite a kind voice for her, that it couldn’t be the Gawain, as he’s currently in Newsy Land. Understandable, I suppose: there’s not much of it round here.

Rejuvenation

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“If he was a different species,” I overheard the Dad saying the other day, “he’d be buying a Porsche and learning to play the saxophone.”

I resent the implications of that remark. Just because I’ve rediscovered the joys of physical exercise, a pride in my personal appearance and the enjoyment of a young lady’s company, doesn’t mean I’m having a mid-life crisis. So I’m chasing Ellie up and down the stairs at seven in the morning, instead of lurking in my bed until eleven, happy to walk the nine-odd miles to Work and back and then take a trip or two to the park and keen to remind the Mum if I haven’t been brushed for a day or two; I’m still the same dog at heart. Just a rather lighter heart, that’s all.

Reunion

posted in: cats, snow - No Comments

The Dad and I went to the local shop yesterday (peppercorns and garlic bread, if you must know) and Ellie decided to follow us. That much isn’t unusual, but generally she’s distracted by birdlife in the park, and hangs around there, being feline, until we come back. Then she lurks about the shadows and, just when I’ve forgotten to be vigilant, leaps on my back. Ho ho, indeed. I’m sure it was amusing the first few times.

Anyway, whether there was a dearth of starlings yesterday, or she just felt like tormenting me in new and exciting ways I can’t tell, but she crossed the road with us and moseyed on down past the building site. Then she disappeared – whoosh – like a minor character in an Albert Campion story. The Dad, being an old softie, was all worried about her, and when she wasn’t even back for breakfast this morning, insisted on going out to look. He wanted me to come but I explained that it was before eight o’clock and especially cold and that my terrier senses simply wouldn’t be at their best.

Later on it snowed, proper snow, big white flollops of it, and I did feel the teeniest twinge of remorse, in between snores. When there was a lull I agreed to accompany the Mum on a final search. I don’t think the Mum’s sense of smell is any good at all, for she left the sniffing business entirely to me, just following on behind, quite unlike her usual bossiness. I must confess to having a bit of fun with this, leading her to all my favourite lift-the-leg spots before I finally got back to young Ellie’s scent. Unfortunately it stopped at the bottom of a tree, and since Ell wasn’t at the top of it, I was a bit stumped. It was the Mum’s suggestion that we should go on towards the shop, and my humiliation as she insisted on calling Ellie at the top of her voice as we walked along the road.

All of a sudden, as we passed an unprepossing row of brick houses, a small grey shape sped out from behind a garage, whipped across the road and hit me at a forty-mile-per-hour nuzzle. It’s a good thing I’ve got a solid head.

Cccccold

posted in: walks - No Comments

I regret that my literary talents have largely deserted me; all my creative energy has been deployed in trying to curl into a tighter and tighter ball in order to conserve what wisps of warmth remain. Yesterday the Dad had the temerity to take me along to work; an unheated breezeblock warehouse. I jumped up on a chair and shivered until half my teeth fell out, then he managed to find me a cardboard box and a hot water bottle pillow to fall asleep on. Memo to self: Terriers’ coats aren’t as warm as they look.

So my loyal readership will have, I fear, to make do with these pictures taken by the Mum on our walk this morning with her new phone. (Yes, I’m sure she said phone. I thought the photo-things were called cameras, but there we are. She listens to music, or what she calls music, on it as well and I daresay it would turn its hand to cooking the dinner given half a chance.)

Being a big brother…

posted in: cats - 1 Comment

… isn’t without its drawbacks. Where, for example, precisely is it that Ellie goes at night, when she isn’t curled up in my bed (or in the breadbin if I’m feeling Garboish)and why is she quite so manic when she comes back in the morning? None of the house-humans know, either.

New Ears Day?

posted in: Christmas - 1 Comment

It’s nearly six o’clock and they haven’t arrived yet. Never mind; I’m sure I can make do with the old ones.