Hugo the Dane

Dad comes home smelling of big ol' brown Dane, Hugo ("Hughie" for short). Dad's giving a guy lifts to work at present, and stopped for tea and cookies, met the folks and met the Great Dane. He's a big boy. His head is as big as I am, and he's as soft and friendly as you'd want. Doesn't like to be ignored though, so he tends to shout if you stop fussing him or leave him indoors when you're in the garden - big bellowy bass barks. You'd know he was there!

When Megan and Haggis were young they made friends with 2 danes who walked regularly on the Rec, Rudolph and Valentine. They'd run in circles and dive under the danes' bellies, causing those big ol' gangling, unco-ordinated, over-sized pups to trip over as they tried to chase the disappearing westie tail under their own self. Looks of confusion on their faces, and if westies could hide behind their hands and giggle.....

Our walk tonight is round the cemetery, where hot and cold running rabbits are provided for terrier entertainment. The rabbits are lazy and unfazed by mere terriers. The can scurry off twice as fast as even a young fit (ahem) terrier, and are always in range of the vertical cast metal paling boundary fence - the pales wide enough to take a rabbit at gallop speed, but too narrow for a westie (even a young svelt, slim, good looking one!).

Good fun trying though

Deefer

Climbing Feet, Climbing Feat

Mum and Dad are getting used to the fact that they have a climbing dog about the place, achieving remarkable feats of climbing which neither Capt. Haggis nor The Lady Megan ever tried. Tonight Dad was just back from a post-work, post-walk session up at the allotment (He's enjoying the late evenings now we're on BST, and the warm dry digging weather; Makes a nice change. says he) and was in the kitchen briefly to make a coffee. He came back to find me on the dining room table, just about to explore a re-sealable sachet of dog-sweets. He's sussed that I can sprong onto the chairs from the floor, and from there onto the table top

They've already got used to seeing me on the patio table - even quite young I could leap from the flower bed onto the shelf beneath the table, from there to the chair and from there to the table top. Piece of cake. Climbing Westies. A new breed? Mind you, both real-Mum (Mollie) and real-Dad (Hector) are great ones for lying along the backs of sofas, and all 3 of us kids must have that in our blood (or we saw it enough times when we were pups and it stayed in our heads).

Archie now always joins Moll+Hector along the back of the sofa, looking out of the big living room window, it's my favourite place when the humans are sat watching TV, and (we learned a couple of days back) that it is also Ellie's favourite perch, especially as her new-Dad loves eating his supper sitting on the sofa. He is forever battling off Ellie, who sneaks round the back of his neck and sneaks a wet nose round his collar, past his ear and onwards to try to intercept food en route from plate to mouth....

Think I'd probably die if I tried that. Discretion is the better part of cowardice

Deefs

What big eyes you have...

Unlike Megan and the H, who usually sleep through the experience (see photo, H is left, Meggie right), I like to enhance any photo-opportunity if possible by getting as close as possible to Dad's camera. If I can get a slurp of wet nose onto his UV filter, I feel I have scored maximum points (although Dad does not seem to appreciate this)

Had a superb run around today with sis' Ellie, whose walk to the Rec coincided with our own charge down the side path of the house towards the pavement. We were all complimented on our behaviour, and we were at our most charming when sitting properly in a neat circle round Ellie's Mum's feet. Her rattling the "sweetie" pot had nothing to do with this, I swear. We are always that obedient!

Maybe

Deefs

Shouldn't laugh but....

Descended on this afternoon by Diamond, John, Den and Asbo (also known as Ragworth / Rags), all the humans tucking into a roast lamb meal (Yay! Bones for us when the guests have gone!). Rags used to bully me a bit (although 'tis said I was a screaming drama queen and wailed even if he didn't actually touch me), so it was funny to hear tonight of him coming unstuck when out being walked by Den.

Apparently he had spotted a big ol' ginger Tom cat near a car, and when the cat crept under the car, Rags lunged under too, to the full length of his lead. The cat struck back! Rags emerged backwards from under the car, screaming like a drama queen ( :-)) ), with the ginger Tom on top of him gripping on and biting into his spine. Den had to separate the two animals and retreat, with Rags looking anxiously over his shoulder till the cat was well out of range. They crossed the road, and the cat crossed too, ending up sitting on the pavement coolly washing himself.

Also, I hear that Asbo, as a pup, was terrified of the decorated wheelie-bins. Plain green ones were OK, but some people like to customise their wheelie bin with stick-on transfers of clematis plants, or clown faces. Rags gave these a very wide berth.

The bigger they are.....

Deefs

ps - No more of the r*t. Dad blocked up the holes with some square section weld-mesh, and the varmint has not, so far, been back. Megan is watching out for developments. meanwhile we had a squirrel in the Albertine on the back of the house, as an alternative entertainment today

Sussed it, Tim, I think

Tim

Thanks for your advice. I have now managed to add the site meter java script bit to the page. What a clever Pup I am. A wet misearble wintry day. The poor old Magnolia stellata in the front garden is reduced to brown rags by the wind and cold of last week. I am denied access to the greenhouse in case I trample on the emerging seedlings. But - (devilishly exciting!) we have a r*t in the compost heap. Megan knows it - she is down there every time we are let out of the back door - we streak down the garden in a shower of gravel and yips as we barge each other out of the way to get there first (and Megan's meant to be an old girl! She can't 'alf move when there's a varmint to git).

It's one of those big plastic dalek type compost bins and and the varmint has chewed a hole in the front by the inspection slidey door. Dad has opened the top and found burrow up to the top so the little critter presumably sits up there, under the lid and gorges on our old compost peelings. Dad has tried the live trap a number of nights with different baits, but there's no ratter quite like Meggie, and I'm proud to be her apprentice. Meggie had 20-30 of the little b***ards while our humans had bantams, and she'll not have forgotten the fun and the technique.

Deefer (Trainee R*tter)

Pics of the Iron Wharf

Hi. I keep talking about the local creek and the boat yard (Iron Wharf and Standard Quay) where the old Thames Sailing Barges are restored and maintained, but it occurred to me that I've never given you any pictures. Here are a couple to sort that out.

The first (if they stay in the same order when I press "publish") is of me chasing around on the quay-side with Greta's barge-dog Alfie. who is great fun. Sorry about the back view of the ship-wright man who snuck in there.

The grassy one is the three of us approaching the boatyard along the creek side path. In the distance stands a typical reefed in "sprit-sail"rig but this boat, the "Alice of Rochester" is, I am told, not a "real" old sailing barge, but a converted lighter, made to look like a barge top-sides. The rigging and masts look genuine enough to me, but then, I'm only a pup, so what do I know?

Finally, that's me chasing Alfie and a passer-by terrier "Dotty" around the quayside again, with the blue and yellow striped sprit pole of Decima behind us, the gear lowered for winter maintenance. The quay side is actually streaked with the oily mixture (I think lanolin, veg oil and ochre) with which the guys paint the terracotta coloured sails to preserve them. Lovely smelly mess, great for a white dog to roll in and chest-plough through till they get shouted at. Personally, I can't think of a nicer thing for a westie to "ming" of, but Meggie prefers dead slugs or fox poo.

The gear is designed to be lowered, by the way, so that the barges could get under the Thames bridges. They'd sail up to them, getting plenty of way on, then quickly drop the rigging and let the momentum carry them under, before raising the masts again the other side. So Dad says anyway.

Coo - what an educational post we're having tonight

Deefer

Ellie's bigger than me!

Sometimes Dad wishes he had his camera with him. Tonight we sneaked a quick walk round via the cemetery, in between wintry showers, and we were delighted when we met Ellie, my sister, out with her Mum. She's gorgeous! She's a s big as Archie, but has not had the hair cut yet, so with all the thickness of bright white fur, she looks bigger still - about one and a quarter times my size in any direction

We were both off the lead, so we had a superb race about. Gone was the wee cowering submissive thing of our first visit - here's a dog who is confident, fast, manouvre-able, full of beans and who loves to rough-and-tumble. She was easily my equal and often got the better of me, bowling me over! We loved it!. Dad and her Mum watched grinning to see the change, and enjoyed (meanies!) me not getting the upper hand all the time. We ran and ran and ran, and back in the Rec Haggis also decided to join in, so three dogs were racing about, cannoning into each other and trying to roll each other over. Quite a sight

Dad has told Ellie's Mum about Leybourne Lakes too, so maybe next time we'll have 7 dogs gathered!

Meanwhile, Meg's guts are all sorted, and Dad has her on Chum "Senior" to see how that goes.

Look after yourselves

Deefer