Ruby Ruby Rubyrubyruby!

Apologies to the Kaiser Chiefs.

Tanking it down in Kent today but had let up by the time we got our walk. Dad made us take the skanky old deflated soccer ball back to the Rec. We kicked it around for a while but then gave it away to some kids, when we were all distracted by.....

Tiny 5 month old mini-Dachshund pup "Ruby" and "best mate" big brown labrador Chewy. Size contrast or what? The Dachsy was no more than a foot long and definitely a contender for Dad's cute-dog-wish-I'd-brought-me-camera-along prize for January 2008. Lovely too to see these two together, with big old Chewy very attentive to little red-haired Ruby.

Well, attentive up to the point that he realised that we three westies were no threat and anyway there was an old split tennis ball lying around that Dad was willing to throw huge distances such as could not be managed by the 2 ladies walking these dogs (My Hero!)

Then on the way home, extra treat - we meet on the pavement a brown mongrel being walked with a genuine Husky, one blue eye, one brown. Right fur for this weather.

Yee hah! Snow on the forecast
Deefer

This I have to see

Who can remember over a year ago, back to 30th Dec 2006 when I was only 3 months old and we visited Ireland, and the Silverwoods? Search back through this blog using the keywords "Samoyed" and "Tammy" and you'll find that living next door to the Silverwoods, and kept almost entirely in the garden was a big white fluffy Samoyed, which we as a family took out for a walk to the local woods.

Well, that young lady is now grown, and has produced a litter of pups, just before Christmas 2007, and the Silverwoods have bought one. However, this pup, who is called Dancer, is no pure-bred samoyed. No. I'm not one to gossip but (looks over both shoulders) it would seem that Tammy had a short fling with a "handsome stranger". She's an attractive girl, and said stranger managed to scale an 8 foot garden wall to press his suit. He was, some say, a short haired labrador....

So, the pups are apparently "interesting looking". This I have got to see, and when the Silverwoods eventually furnish me with pics, I will , of course, post them

Holier than Thou
Deefer

Bye Bye Felix

Felix runs out of lives and luck today. His bulging cheek diagnoses out as a big tumour, and Dad makes the decision to have him put to sleep while he's still under sedative for the examination. The Vet says it is a good decision and that she'd have done the same if it was her own cat.

Dad collects him and brings him home after work, and prepares a burial hole in the old chicken run alongside the damson bush. When Mum gets home they bury him, still in the towel from the basket in which he went to the Vet. It's a shady spot down there among the fruit trees, so they will plant suitable plants to mark the spot - probably anenomes and woodruff

Felix had a good, healthy, long and happy life, and a dignified, pain free end. You can't really ask for more than that for a cat, can you?

I was confused and curious when the basket came home, and had to go have a look and a sniff where Dad put it on the terrace table. I couldn't understand why Felix would not come out, and I sniffed him again as he was being carried down the garden. He was a good friend and an endless source of chase games and larking to me, especially when I was younger - suddenly breaking into a scampering run up the garden or up the stairs, easily outpacing me, especially on the slippery laminate floors.

You were a good mate, Felix, and I'll miss you.

Deefs

In Safe Hands

It is not looking good for Felix our poor old hand-me-down, rescue, discovered-in-a-dustbin-when-a-kitten, black and white cat. He is currently at our very capable vets and will be sedated and examined in the morning, but it's almost certain he has a cheek/throat/nasal tumour and will probably not be reversed out of anaesthetic. Don't give up on him yet - there's an outside chance it's a treatable abcess, but don't get your hopes up either.

He's had a good life, Bless him, after an unlikely start. Mum's sister, "Mrs Silverwood" found him in the dustbin at the old Shell filling station in Rainham, where she used to work. He was found along with his litter-mates, in a very sorry state. She passed them to the Cats' Protection League (more power to their elbows - a bunch of heroes if ever there was!) but asked, when they'd done what they needed to do to return them to health, wean them and neuter them, could she have the little black and white one back.

Years later, when they moved to Ireland, it was Foot and Mouth year, so no livestock could go with them, and we inherited him. Then when Diamond wanted an affectionate cat he fitted the bill, so Felix went to live with her for a while. She, as you know, then got Asbo (Rags), the dog, and the two loved being pup and cat together. But then Asbo started to get a bit to heavy on poor Felix, who got upset and too anxious to go on the floor. So we rescued Felix again and he's been with us since - and is now approaching his 14th year.

Wish him luck, poor old fella. He's going to need it
Deefer

Fair Dinkum

When Dad and his 2CV cronies go over to the farm in Preston, East of Canterbury to work on Mademoiselle, their project 2CV, Dad always comes home smelling of dogs.

These are, specifically, 2 Cavs, an aunt and neice combination called Daisy and Dinkie (actually "Fair Dinkum" - they got the dog when they'd just got back from Oz and were full of Australian jargon and expressions)

A more disreputable pair of farm dogs you'd struggle to find but we know them well from our 2CV camps (they live in the farmhouse of the farmland where the camps happen so we meet often). They are always matted and tangled with burrs and debris in their fur. Dad hesitates to criticise anyone else's dog-husbandry but has to steal himself not to bring the clippers, combs and scissors when he goes to work on Mademoiselle.

Dinkie, in particular, likes to immerse herself in the experience of restoring the car, so she is always trying to make herself a bed on the rubbish bags, or get her nose too close to the shower of sparks from the angle grinder. Can dogs get arc-eye from a Mig welder? Who knows... Here she is in the picture getting comfy on a carrier bag of car bits and an aerosol can.

Deefer

Stunt Kite

We have that "all is safely gathered in" feeling, having just got back in from a good romp on the Rec, the cats and us fed, fire cleared and laid, coffee made and other human chores all accomplished.

The Rec was chocka with dog walkers and children. We met shiny black collie cross "Ben" with the white toes, white staffie "Amy" out with long haired Chihuahua "Louey" as well as old Jack Russell Patch.

Joy of joys, there was a couple out there playing with a day-glo pink stunt kite, so we were able to do our charge around barking up at it as it whizzed overhead cabaret and amuse the crouds. We soon gethered quite an audience and the kite man was enjoying showing off his skills, whooshing the kite low over our heads to make us run about.

Exhausted, we are!

Deefs

Shhhhh....Haggis

Fair far y'honest sonsie face
Great chieftain o' the pudding race etc etc

This is the night Haggis traditionally keeps very quiet and maintains a low profile, due to rumours going about that humans eat ... um.... the "H" word tonight, with bashit neeps and clappit tatties, not to mention good onion gravy.

Our humans love their haggis (small "h") but they're on fierce diets at present following over-indulgence at Christmas, so gloopy butter-laden mash is off the menu. We had a treat - we've not been forgotten. When Dad shot out to buy wine (OK, not that fierce a diet then?) he came back with dried beef-tripe strips for us as a treat.

He'd got back early from work, so we'd had a decent walk, taking in the boat yard and the town, and meeting a couple of nice people who admired and fussed us at length (couldn't get away), and then a brown mongrel called "Monkey" (It's short for Toby, apparently).

Anyway, the H is over his fears of Jan 25th now, having survived 10 Burns Nights with his drum-sticks, shoulders, breast-meat (ooe-er), bavette, neck shops,best end and thighs intact, so he's fairly cool, and has even been texting all his Scottish dog friends a Happy Burns Night

Yeay Mollie, Hector and Arch'

Haggis the Bard
...and Deefer

Oxtail!

Dad has a day's holiday, so we are being spoiled again. We head for the Forest, entering at the Jacket's Field entrance and exploring the paths used on the Deer Walk in October, and passing through the "sleeping" rutting stand, now green with newly emerging bluebell shoots. It's a good walk - warm and sunny.

Dad must shop, and returns from the local "proper, old-fashionned" butcher (Barkaway's - good name for a butcher from a dog's point of view! We like this butcher anyway because he happily gives Dad bones for us) this time with a kilo of oxtail, which he steals a chunk each for us out of before it goes in the freezer. We have never had this before and it's love at first sight! We chew, gnaw and slurp deliciously for nearly an hour on them before reducing them to small meatless cylinders of vertebra

Then it's off to the vet for annual boosters - at least for Meg, Haggis and Mississippi the cat. Not me this time, but I go along for the ride, and I'm allowed to stand on the weighing scales - a trim 6.48 kgs! Just over half what the solid old bird Megan weighs!

Deefer

Football

At last, a nice warm sunny day and Dad's home nice and early, so we can go a good walk to the Rec, armed with yellow frisbee which keeps me amused for a while... until I discover.... enormous adult sized, semi deflated football! What a treat. It is just deflated enough for me to pinch up enough of a "side" to grab it with my teeth and carry it.

I can not really lift it but I struggle to wrestle it around and get all protective over it. We play for a while with Bindy, but I won't let her anywhere near it. Then comes the time to get it home. I must carry it all the way - the only bit I can't manage is jumping down the low wall onto the pavement. Here I stop and drop it, and look hopefully up at Dad. "Ah!", he says, "You're gonna let me near it now you need help, are you?"

No need for that sarcasm, I thought. Anyway, he drops it down the drop, and I grab it again and strut off down the pavement. I brought it all the way home. Mum will be over-joyed! So proud!

Deefs

Joe Cosgrove

I promised you a tale of salty sailor men. None came saltier looking or more gravelly voiced than Mum and Dad's erstwhile friend and pub-quiz team member, Joe Cosgrove, with his old grey stubbly face and ruddy, gale-lashed complexion. Glaswegian and low-pitched, you'd think he was straight off a Clyde fishing boat and he was, in working life, a Merchant Seaman

He quizzed, with Mum and Dad, in the Shepherd Neame league, for the Anchor pub years back (before Megan was even born), and was always accompanied by scruffy, straggly ancient westie Gertie (whose name Joe pronounced with a good Glaswegian rolled "r" Ayeee.... Gurrrrrrrti' !). Gertie was completely disreputable looking, but had in her pedigree, some Italian Champions.

At the time Mum and Dad had no dog, but they all made a fuss of Gertie, who became effectively the team mascot, coming to all the quizzes ("we" wouldn't go in any pubs who didn't allow dogs!) and sitting quietly beside Joe for the duration. Mum and Dad would occasionally meet Joe out for a dog walk, where he'd usually have Gertie, but also his daughter's three scotties who, if Dad recalls, had names like "Towser" and "Aggie"

Dad, at the time, was hankering after a long haired Goldie, but resisteing temptation due to the muddy dog-returning-from-walk scenario described previously. When they fell in love with Gertie, the talk turned to "Well maybe we'll have a westie and Goldie - that would be a good combination". My Sister (Ellie)'s mum actually had that combo when Mum and Dad first knew her - the goldie called Bonnie, the westie called Suki, actually Megan's half sister (same mother).

Soon, they went ahead with the Westie so Megan appeared on the scene, and soon after that, Haggis , and these two went the occasional walk with Gertie and the scotties (3 whites - 3 blacks!).

Not long after that "we" stopped quizzing and had not seen Joe for a few months, when we heard from his Daughter that Joe had sadly passed away, laughing fit to bust a joke someone had cracked in a restaurant. We know he'd have wanted to go in some way like that, Bless him. She'd been trying to contact Mum and Dad but hadn't got hold of a number, and the funeral had been the day before. Mum and Dad offered, but the daughter had wanted to keep Gertie and see her through her autumn years.

That was all 8 or 9 years ago now, so we dare say Gertie has also passed away, but Mum and Dad will never forget Joe or Gertie, indeed, every time they look at us they can't help remembering her and therefore him.

Nice story...

Deefer

Trespassing

Dad is sure that today I was on a mission to cause mischief. To start off, I dived into a bramble thicket chasing rabbits down the Abbey Fields and would not come out. A man with a collie came out on his walk, the came back past on his way home, and we were still there. Dad's voice had started to go from the cool calm confident tone that says "Ah... she's only over there... if I whistle and clap twice (my signal) she'll come racing out" to a slightly more high pitched and anxious "Deeee-e-fer!".

The whistles were getting more frequent, longer and louder. But you see I was having sooooo much fun. Still I came out eventually and we carried on into the boatyard. They are an interesting of characters in the boat yard, not your run of the mill Town Residents. They live at various times on properly kitted out boats, or wrecks , portacabins, or in the case of a German couple of a certain age, in an old railway truck with no wheels on it, and those big heavy sliding doors on the side.

Outside the carriage they have laid out a nice little garden, with (in Summer) tomatoes growing up cane frames, pots of flowers and a couple of flower beds cut into the gravel and stone of the boatyard, then backfilled with top soil like a raised bed. Meggie and I generally pause at this point to sniff round the place, or thrust our noses through the narrow crack between the doors, and the couple happily greet us and make a fuss.

Today though, Dad realised with trepidation that the doors were well open, with an easy westie-sized gap between them, and that I was in there like Flynn. The people did not seem to be around. Suddenly there was cacophony - me barking and a cat streaking round the truck, zooming out, then back in again. Dad by this time is in hot pursuit of me and yelling.

I dive back into the truck. Dad calls - "Hello"... "Anybody there?". No answer, so he has no choice but to dive into the truck whereupon he finds me on a put-me-up bed in the left hand end of the truck, all the bedclothes thrown back as if someone has just got out of bed! He grabs me and retreats, horrified to have effectively been in the poor guy's actual bedroom - uninvited! The guy is not even about to apologise to. How embarrassing!

I am severely scolded and told that in future I am on the lead past the poor old couple's "house"

Well there was a cat in the bed Dad! It needed telling!

Deefer

Blue Barn Agility

We met a very smart fit young Jack Russell recently, resplendent in a claret coloured coat. We commented on it and the lady said that this dog, Jake, was her daughter's dog, and that the claret coloured coat was the "team strip" of his dog-agility team at "near Blue Barn" in kent. That's all she knew. We have tried to google it, but can only get some chat about it in the "Horse and Hound" magazine on-line chat forum.

We also met a gorgeous long-haired goldie, named Max. These dogs make Dad go all weak at the knees for some reason - we are told he always wanted one, but the impracticability of owning one when the way into the house is straight into the Dining room (tall, long haired, wet, muddy dogs shaking after a walk.......). This made his thoughts turn to Westies (for reasons I will tell you about another day - watch for a posting called "Joe Cosgrove" - and we've all been very happy since. I suspect though, that if we ever did move to a house with a Utility room, "we" might end up being a westie and goldie family.

Have a good weekend
Deefs

Mackerel Sky

Dad gets off work nice and early today, so we have time for a nice walk along Reculver. It's been raining but now it's dry and a stiff South Westerly is starting to break up the lower level of grey clouds. Through gaps you can see the most gorgeous mackerel sky - all luminous peachy pinks and pale blues, lit from beneath by the low sun setting out of sight behind the lower clouds over Bishopstone.

We walk along with a King Charles Spaniel called Alfie (no relation to barge-dog Alfie) and a mongrelly brown lady called Ellie (no relation to my Sis'). A bit of Ridgeback in her, we think, going by the darker stripe of hair along her spine, but she's more of a collie sized girl, and as fast, we'd say.

The wind being in the SW is coming off the shore, off the oyster farm making us all streamlined when we are gazing inland. Dad smiles to note that when I jump up on the inland wall I keep my back feet on the proper walkway. Is that the wind, or am I remembering my dive over the precipice last time?

Up on the walkway / seawall, we keep coming across broken dead sea shells, we guess dropped by gulls who are breaking them open to get at the whelks and other molluscs, and leaving occasional smears of dead whelk on the concrete. We ladies have already rolled nicely in some decomposing bladder-wrack on the shingle, but now we can have a good neck-rub on these smears of smelly sea snail.

It's only we two ladies, Megan and I. We get right down, necks on the ground and bums in the air, then roll over and writhe about against the (invisible) smears to a band playing. Often we are like a formation team, synchronised diving and rolling. Haggis does not indulge - perhaps rotting whelk is not a manly scent for a dog. He stands bemused. He loves a roll on the Rec grass or in frost, but never has done this scenting thing with corpses, fox poo and other fragrances.

Mmmm... Essence de Dead Whelk!
Have a great weekend
Deefer

Long Throw

Excellent time at the Rec this evening - our arrival coincided with those of our good friends Bindy (young female Jack Russell), Patch (old stout male JR) and Luca (extremely speedy lurcher whose Mum uses one of those 2 foot long spoon shaped launchers to fire day-glo orange balls great distances.

Dad had a try with it and could nearly launch them the full diagonal of the Rec, which had Luca looking up at him admiringly. Meanwhile Luca's mum used her ordinary arms to launch treats in the direction of us terriers which caused us to look up at her admiringly! Ever seen a motley line of 5 terriers all sitting in perfect obedience.

Well, Haggis did till he realised the treats were "dog-chocolate". The H does not "do plants" and chocolate counts as a plant. He is only interested if the treats are meat-based, so he soon wandered off and started killing the 2nd orange ball while Luca was distracted with Dad's 200 yard trajectories.

Go Dad! Go Luca!

Deefer

Sounds Promising

Well - it was still lashing down with rain at lunchtime, but we were all going stir-crazy in here, so Dad put on some suitable rainproofing and we went out anyway, all down round the boatyard loop to check up on the barge, Cambria

The gale was still a-blowing so the wind was screeching through the rigging of the boats, and slap-slapping the halyards and pulley blocks against the masts with that unique noise that can only be a boatyard full of aluminium masted boats

Down at Cambria it all looked promising - there were sounds of heavy hammering coming from the depths of the lighter, and occasional shouts. The car and trucks we know to be those of the Master Shipwright were parked there, and there were two big braziers, one an oil drum, another a rivetted sheet metal water tank burning vigorously, well stocked with size-able chunks of old boat timbers. We didn't want to disturb them, so we went on our way, happy to know they are cracking on a-pace.

By the time we got back indoors we were like 4 drowned rats, so Dad pulled out a wad of dog-towels and we all got rubbed dry. We love that! We end up battling with the towels that get wrapped all around out faces and bodies, and even racing from room to room and on and off the sofa, festooned with damp towels.

Now we're all tired out, and crashed out various places about the house steaming gently and probably stinking of damp rug. It's a dog thing!

Deefer

The Gas Man Cometh

'Twas on a Monday morning the gas man came to call.
The gas tap wouldn't turn - I wasn't getting gas at all.
He tore out all the skirting boards to try and find the main
And I had to call a carpenter to put them back again.

Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do."

Not really. But we are tied to the house waiting for an appointment "between 0800 and 1300" (Dad asks why they can't do half hour slots as Ocado seem to be able to manage for your internet shopping - you end up potentially frustrated indoors all day, not able to stray away from line of sight of the front door. Very frustrating) for our annual "old boiler" inspection. Poor old Megan. (ooops)

We had plans that once the inspection man had done and gone, we could all go off for the mother of all dog walks, maybe in the forest. In fact the day has dawned blowing a gale and lashing down with big wet sloppy drops of rain. The gas man arrived, in fact at 0900, so that was efficiently over, but now we still have the gale and the rain, so we are chilling out for a while before we go walking. We have the added bonus that Dad took the day off to be here for the man, so we get Dad's company all day.

Good old Flanders and Swann
http://www.iankitching.me.uk/humour/hippo/gas.html

Deefs

Le Petit Marseillais

Windy and spitting rain. Both Mum and Dad have "missions" today, so the alarm goes off at 8 am and we're up and running, being walked at speed to get it out of our systems. Just a sop to the human consciences, because they're going to abandon us all day.

Still, better not complain, as there is talk of us needing another shampooing, and they have run out of the stuff with the westie on the front. It might end up being "Le Petit Marsaillais" aux extraits naturels d'orange et de capucine. Scary. Mind you, Dad used it tonight and doesn't smell too much like a tart's boudoir. "Capucine" as any fule no, is "nasturtium" in English

So... off went Dad in his overalls to work with his cronies on Mademoiselle, their project 2CV, and off went slimmed down Mum on that most pleasurable of trips, the shopping for "next-size-down" clothes.

Good weekend
Deefer

Peepie-Hole Shoes

Rain, rain and more rain. The Rec is like swamp, and the roads are puddles and muddy slush, especially around here where the constant traffic of lorries and builders' vehicles to and from the huge building site behind us, shares it with local residents at every pass.

There is a small gap between the clouds when Dad gets home, so we race to the rec armed with the yellow frisbee ring thingy. We follow Mini-Milly in, the tiny ("petite" I guess you'd say) westie who lives above the bakery. She looks for all the world like a 2/3 scale model of a westie - she must weigh just a couple of kg's, probably a quarter of what the solid Megan tips the scales at.

We also come across black collie-type cross Ben, with his vivid white flash at the chest, and his odd looking 2 white toe-tips on the middle toes of each back foot. His owner thinks they look like he's wearing open-toed black shoes, or indeed has those school-boy "potato" holes in his black socks.

Have a great weekend. I think we have Diamond coming round for a meal and a chin-wag with Mum. Girls' talk

Deefer

Wrecking the House

Mum's been off work, sick with flu, and has had a chance to catch up with favourite medical drama on DVD, "House" with Hugh Lawrie. So as soon as Dad gets home Mum grabs him and drags him to cries of "You gotta see this bit!".

An episode about 4 from the end of the most recent "season" starts with House asleep, where-upon a white dog's ear appears on scene. "It's a Westie!" says Dad, now watching eagerly. The scene unfolds as said westie keeps bringing training shoes etc to House, who is trying to sleep, in an attempt to get his attention.

"Better than that!", says Mum... leaving the sentence hanging while the camera pans back to the sight that greets House's eyes as he wakes and looks over the edge of the bed - a scene of devastation - chewed shoes and bits of shoes , bits of torn papaer and notebooks etc strewn across the carpet ...... "It's a Deefer!" says Mum grinning

Rather unkindly, I thought.....

Deefer

Beer or Tea for you, Rosie?

2 nice pics of Rosie, 11 year old dog belonging to "2CV Llew", local hero amongst Dad's 2CV owning crowd. This is one superb dog, full of character. She lives with Llew in his small-holding-y, green-house-y, 2CV workshop-y humble abode and has freedom to roam around terrorising the local chickens while Llew works - the perfect outdoor / outbuilding rummaging life for a terrier, we say!

When Llew stops for tea, Rosie has to have some too in her own mug on the floor, which she laps up enthusiastically, and (as you can see) she is also partial to a nice English Bitter, which (if she can get away with it) she will lap off the top of Llew's pint! In this case it's Wells's "Bombardier" so she must also be a Lady of Impeccable Taste

She is also most accommodating and welcoming and will happily show us Westies around when Dad takes the car in to see "Doctor Llew" with its occasional ailments.

Fair play, Rosie!

Battling Bindy, Dodging Dudley

Dad's home a bit late again, so it's almost dark again we get to the Rec. But not so dark we can't see Bindy, our little Jack Russell friend crouching down in sheep-dog position, trying to stalk us through the close-mown grass.

There follows the usual mad charge about with Bindy at high speed whizzing between the three of us and bouncing off the humans' legs. At one point we cannon into one another and have to have a bit of a snarl and growl. (I won, I think - I ended up on top anyway with Bind on her back under me and my tail well forward... Yay Me! Why was Dad not so delighted with this outcome? ). But it's only a quick spat and we go back to playing as we wander round the top of the Rec and the upper path

Here we all meet up with a new kid on the block - handsome black Lakeland terrier 2 year old called Dudley. He has a very smart white chest marking but even so is almost invisible in the dark, so he's on the lead. His Mum says she's getting one of those hi-vis jackets for him or a flashy red collar. But we've seen a staffie out here with a dangly torch-light LED thing hanging from the collare alongside the ID-tag.

Deefs

Ordinary Names

Cold and frosty, the Rec is white with rime, and we can do "snow angels" by lying on our backs and thrashing about in the crispy grass. It's a day for meeting dogs with "ordinary" names. There's a big old black greyhound called Dave. He lopes across to us with his face obscured by a huge, grown-up sized proper stitched leather football (which makes me woof a bit in alarm ; never have I seen a football-headed dog before!).

Dad assumes it must be damaged and flat because surely no dog could grab onto a full sized soccer ball? But, No, he has such a massive wide gape he is simply gripping it in his cannines, like we would a tennis ball. Dave puts it down to do that sniffing all round thing that we dogs use for "Good day to you, Sir!", and I try to nick it. Ha! Could barely nip the stitching, certainly couldn't get hold of it.

As we part the man boots the ball a hundred yards or so, Beckham-style, and Dave, barely breaking into a canter, chases off to round it up again. Apparently, that's his way. Half an hour of chasing the ball and meeting other dogs, the walk home, 10 minutes lie down in the yard to cool off, breakfast, then he'll sleep for the rest of the day!

Also "Charlie" the golden lab who comes and says a friendly hello and runs around with us for a while. We looked around for a "John" or an "Andy" but no. Mind you we did find the ever more bouncy and healthy Gigot and his crowd. He's signed off by the vet now - clean bill of health, and a credit to the humans who have rescued him and taken him in.

Enjoy your Sunday

Deefs

Agarophobic Alsatian

Well, here she is, as promised, the world's first agarophobic alsatian, Keira

She's pictured here at Christmas, "opening" her presents, which she thoroughly enjoyed and loved taking a firm ownership of. She has also nabbed the Grandson Cole's green furry stuffed toy (from, I think, Monster's Inc, but I wait stand corrected by Keira's Mum, Xena)

The prezzies were all chews and squeaky toys. She enjoyed less the gang's attempts to put a santa hat on her, so is probably well and truly traumatised by now - no wonder she doesn't want to go out. Probably saying "In these shoes? No way Jose!"

Have a great weekend

Deefer

Don't Make Me Go Out!

Xena has been cracking them all up at work with tales of pup alsatian Keira (now about 12 weeks old?) who hates going out. They put it down to her being reared in a kind of stable building indoors, and never being taken outside with her Mum, or by the breeder lady. What ever the reason, they are having a devil of a job persuading her outside, either out back to do her poos, or out front for a walk.

Dad and First Dad were peeing themselves laughing at the stories and saying that all the westies and pups they'd known are stir-crazy by the age of 6 weeks and can't wait to go exploring out doors - rummaging in compost heaps and under hedges, falling in garden ponds (under close supervision, of course!) and generally causing outdoor havoc whenever possible, streaking out through gaps in doors left a-jar - 2 to 3 inches was always enough!

But, no, Keira doesn't mind the lead, and will get walked happily round the house, but take her to the door, and she plants her feet firmly on the threshold and whimpers. Meep meep. Xena had a "major breakthrough" only yesterday, when Keira ventured into the back garden by herself, and yeterday her Dad thought she'd enjoy a stroll down to nursery with the 2 and a half year old Grandson, Cole. But, reports Xena - she wasn't happy and ended up with her Dad having to carry her home in his arms. Soppy thing!

There were other stories too, of normal pup stuff, mouthing everything, play biting etc, driving Xena crazy, but that just comes with the territory.

Go Keira!
(More pics soon)

Deefer

Jungle Book

One of Dad's Christmas prezzies was the DVD of Jungle Book, finally released by Disney and, in Dad's opinion the best film ever made in the history of the known Universe. Certainly seemed OK to us. We were gripped immediately by the shapes of Bagheera slinking across field of view (Meggie and I sitting up, alert on the sofa, heads cocked to one side) and then by the wolf cub shapes.

Mind you, I say "gripped immediately" - it was almost as quick to lose us when it became apparent that these weren't real animals or animal noises. We dogs KNOW, you know. Animal Hospital with Rolf Harris? You bet. The Archers on R4, with dogs barking "off". Yep. Oddie-Watch? Yes Sir! But anything where the animals are just cartoons, or the saounds are faked by humans.... naaaah!

Poor old Dad has been off work today with some kind of gastric flu (man flu?). He's been home after a fashion but no good to us what so ever, sleeping for most of the day and then only able to mope upstairs to the computer, mope downstairs to let us out, mope pathetically back up to lie down on the bed. Gah! What use is that. When a dog's owner is home there should be big long enenrgetic walks o'er hill and vale!

Deefer

2008 !

What will the New Year bring. Other than the predicted mass launchings of fireworks, that is. The whole town seemed to be exploding, and there were some big, heavy (expensive) fireworks amongst it, too. We found a fair number of casings on the morning walk.

The walk is great - everybody seems to be out and about, even though some of the humans look a bit jaded. We met the people up the road with Westie Jock (always immaculate and frequently entered in dog photo competitions) and the Cav "Twiggie". We met another westie we'd not seem before, name of Lewie, about Haggis's size but I guess about 4 years old. We met pointers and alsatians, springers and patterdales... everybody!

We walked past Cambria and wished her New Year, and we walked on past Greta and said Hi and Happy New Year to skipper Steve (but barge-dog Alfie was below decks sleeping off his own walk).

Now we're back home, resting (or in Meggie and Mum's case, watching girlie movie "Polly-Anna" from the sofa) . Dad's reading a book he got for Christmas. All is quiet and warm - very mild, although the forecast is for freezing cold weather and snow.

Happy New Year
Deefer