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