Farewell, Old Chance

It is with regret that we pass on the sad news of the passing away of the Silverwoods' old old dog, Chance at the ripe old age of about 18. He was a young dog when we first knew him, when Mr and Mrs S were first getting together back in the UK and became a great friend of Megan and Haggis. His name 'Chance' comes from the fact that they rescued him from a dustbin in a sorry state and gave him a new break. That's why no-one knows his actual age.

Lately, though, he'd been showing his age and was increasingly infirm, so the Silverwoods were actually getting to the point where they'd have needed to take that hard decision, so it's a mercy that he's picked his own moment, though sad for them that it happened while they were not around, being on the narrow boat with us.

Fare well then, old friend. Rest in Peace. We'll miss you.

Deefs

Irish Hallowe'en

kBy the wonders of technology and a borrowed laptop, a first ever report from "the foreign". We are en famille, at the Silverwood's place roughly in the middle of Ireland, and we're here to see the mad Hallowe'en celebrations tonight. The Irish "do" Hallowe'en in a more lock-stock-and-barrel way than anything we get in England, and they wrap in as well, any desire for fireworks that the English get out of their systems around Guy Fawkes Night

So here we are, after an adventurous journey up on Tuesday night, when it snowed. Dad had seen some stuff about "wintry showers" on one of the screens at work, and we'd left earlier than normal, and a good thing too. Real snow started on the M25, just north of Dartford Bridge, in the dark, and the traffic was soon reduced to 35 mph or so.

Great big flakes were coming down, and swooshing towards the windscreen like one of those "star-field" screen savers. It was so thick that it even laid on the motorway surface, and we couldn't see the cats eyes or the white lines. Dad latched onto the tail lights of a 4x4 and hoped. Some unlucky guy in the fast lane went too far to the right, put a wheel into the gravel trap on the central reservation, slithered to a stop, and had to get his passengers out pushing through the snow to get back onto the tarmac.

We survived an hour of that before the next driver swap on the M1. Here, Mum took over, the snow stopped, and we were soon doing more Mum-like speeds northward. The normal long distance rhythm for us is 2 hour stints of driving followed by a comfort stop for dogs - we have explored the grass and trees in more motorway services than it's probably healthy to know!

We made our ferry in Holyhead and there, as ever, we dogs get abandoned in the car on the car deck while the humans sneak off upstairs, on this occasion having booked a cabin to sleep in. It all goes quiet and boring and we get some shut eye, round to 06:00 and the ferry docks in Dublin (North Wall), and Mum and Dad come back to the car to rescue us.

We drive through the dark to Portmarnock's "Country Club" where we're taken onto the sand dunes and beach for another walk as the first glimmer of sunrise starts to lighten the sky. It's beautiful here, especially looking back towards Ireland's Eye (small island) and Howth Head, all lit up with street lights. The dunes are alive with rabbits.

Refreshed and comfortable again we head for the Steak Lady's house to catch up with our old chums, Yorkies Cracker and Rosie (not to mention try to steal all their chews and bones. Nobody had warned them we were coming so they'd not hidden them very well). The humans have a good fried breakfast (Dad just lurves the Steak Lady's potato cakes).

There's loads more to tell, but that's enough for now. Sam the Spaniel, George the Seal (I kid you not) - more soon

Deefer, Travellin' Babe

Stir it Up

I am starting a new campaign. Bring "Chance" indoors. Poor aul' Chance, red and white mongrel, has been with the Silverwoods since they lived in Maidstone, and has known Megan and Haggis since they were pups. He's one of these rescue pups, discovered in a dustbin, and given a good life by the Silverwoods, first in Maidstone, then surviving while they moved to the Irish midlands, and on through the buying of new dogs "Sam" and "Dancer"

Now the Silverwoods have a posh new house extension and the dogs are outdoor dogs, confined to the garden bit beyond the posh new decked terrace, all be it in a "lovely warm" kennel with nice bedding etc.

But we think that Chance, now in the Autumn of his years ought to be allowed a bed indoors away from the clamouring youngsters. We say find him a corner, a dog bed in a corner of the kitchen where he can relax in the warm and not wake up stiff and cold and have to get himself painfully going in competition with the pups. OK in the Summer, but in the cold damp of an Irish Winter, he doesn't want to be an outdoor dog.

Go on Silverwoods........ He deserves it

Deefer

Donna Noble has been Saved

Ah, the humans here love their Doctor Who. Mum is now all stressed out because the latest episode had the books on the library shelves as the place where the "bad guys' " microspores resided. Mum has lots of books, and you could see her visibly shift to leaning on the left arm of the armchair (the book shelf is on the right) when the Doctor sussed that the books were the problem

As I said, we were down at the Pud Lady's house today for lunch (proper steak and kidney pud - Dad thinks she's been cooking that every Saturday since he was born (1957) with the one exception that when Christmas Day falls on a Saturday we have the turkey on the Saturday and the pud happens on Sunday 26th). Gotta love that generation and their routines of cooking.

Pud Lady is a cause of some amusement. Very church-ified and "proper", she takes a mischievous delight in sneaking a glass of wine or sherry when Mum chooses to lead her astray. Today, we'd all spotted a very unusual spider in her garden - bright white (like A4 paper) but with bright orange Nike "swooshes" down the sides of her abdomen (we kid you not). Mum decided to take Pud Lady out to see it, and off they trotted.

When they got to the garden and the spider, Mum was still clutching her glass of wine, but Pud Lady had left hers behind. "I've not brought my wine" said Pud Lady, all concerned. "Ahhh" says Mum.... "You'll learn".....

Meanwhile, Dad harvests a shopping bag full of broad bean pods from the allotment. This, to Megan, is a sign of Summer. Megan loves her raw broad beans and sits attentively at the humans' feet while they pod them up, mopping up any that fall on the ground and scrounging the odd big one when none are falling. I tried. I really tried. I kept taking them but spitting them out, till Mum suspected that I was accumulating a pile of half chewed beans. It was always possible that the flavour would improve with each new bean. It never did.

Haggis, of couse, was no where to be seen. He doesn't do "plants"

Deefer

Spoilt for Choice....

A girl should, I suppose, always keep her options open. Hot on the heels of my Leap Year Day proposal of wedlock from Asbo (Rags), I get an email from the direction of Mrs Silverwood in the Irish Midlands. Chance and Sam are also marking my card. They do, though, say keep it quiet from the new pup, Samoyed x Labrador, "Dancer" of whom (hint hint Silverwoods) I do not yet have a picture.

If a Labradoodle is a lab x poodle, then what is a lab x samoyed? Laboyed? Sambrador?

Must rush - I have to hold Mum and Dad's hands in case they get scared watching Torchwood!

Deefs