Sunday, 22 February 2015

Sunday 22 February 2015

Oh, for goodness' sake...  I turn away for a few brief moments - and return to find witless and inane drivel such as the previous post polluting my carefully-honed blog.

I blame Betty.  It can only be her fault that Gisèle's standards of grammar and language have plummeted so far.  If our heroine had spent less time messing around outdoors and giggling about boys with Betty, then this would not have happened.  I endeavoured to represent the seriousness of the matter to 'Sèle, but I lost her attention after about three minutes.  She did start to listen, but I knew I'd lost her when I saw her eyes following the progress of a robin on the bird-table in the garden.  I gave up.

One thing, at least, was achieved from Betty's most recent week-long visit; the circumstances under which she got her "modicum of revenge" as alluded to in the 9 November 2014 post.  It transpired on a hot summer's afternoon, when my partner attempted to procure the girls some relief from the heat by taking them down the lane to the ford (this being the ford where my partner has previously endeavoured to rebuild Gisèle confidence in the water - there has been some progress; last summer Giz voluntarily paddled in the sea at Lepe and enjoyed herself greatly - but this was after the events I am describing).  On sighting the water, Betty plunged delightedly into the water and immersed herself in the deepest part of the river, in the middle.  Gisèle carefully skulked at the water's edge and only went so far as allowing the water to lap over her paws.  Her face bore an expression of wistful longing as she watched her friend swimming around happily in the cool clear water.

Finally deciding that she wasn't brave enough to venture deeper, Gisèle turned and trotted to the little bridge across the ford.  As she began to cross, Betty doggy-paddled alongside and tried to persuade her little friend to join her in the water.  I watched as Gisèle stopped to watch Betty enjoying her aquatic escapades with a slight hint of regret in her brown eyes.

All of a sudden, there was the briefest scream and a good deal of splashing.  Once my eyes had adjusted due to the sparkles reflecting off the water, the bridge was empty.

Gisèle quickly surfaced, spluttering and splashing, followed by a wickedly-grinning Betty.
"-glub- You did that DELIBERATELY Betty!" squealed an irate 'Sèle, paddling around to face Betty.
"It was an accident!" grinned Betty, swimming out of range of the furious terrier towards the centre of the ford.  Gisèle splashed off in hot pursuit.  Every time she got nearer to Betty, the large dog would paddle further away, much to Gisèle increasing frustration.

Suddenly, Gisèle seemed to realise that she was actually swimming and tried to set down a paw on the bottom of the ford.  Finding that she could not, she began to panic.  Splashing and fretting, she got herself to the edge of the ford and staggered out, trembling and whimpering.

"Gis!" cried Betty, "What did you do that for?!  You were doing really well and swimming all by yourself!"  As annoyed as I was with Betty, I appreciated that she had been trying (in her own way) to encourage Gisèle to be more confident in the water by demonstrating to her that she was an able swimmer, despite her (reasonable) fears.  Betty struck out and swam to join her friend as quickly as she could.  "I'm sorry Gizzy; I didn't mean to frighten you."  Poor Betty was mortified.
"That's ok Betts." replied Gisèle in a small voice and the two friends cuddled and nuzzled each other.  "At least I'm nice and cool now..."

Gisèle fared somewhat better where her supercilious buzzard "friend" was concerned.  Despite Betty's advice, cajoling, persuasion (even threats at times) and irritation, sweet 'Sèle continued to visit the nest of buzzards, more often than not bringing them some sort of gift or "advice".  She persisted in her cheerful and hearty banter, even though she was never met with more than nods or stares.

Inevitably, alas, came the day that Gisèle had been convincing herself would never come.  She was trotting happily along the path, enjoying her walk, when a large buzzard loomed and circled a little too close for comfort above her.  A cursory guess suggested to me that this was a male buzzard; possibly the patriarch of the nest upon which she had been calling.  Further and lower swooped the buzzard, encompassing tiny Giz in his menacing shadow.  I saw concern beginning to register in young 'Sèle's brown eyes.  At length, one of the big raptor's outstretched talons came close enough to graze the terrier's head and she screamed.  She tried to run, but she was on open ground and the nearest cover was too far away.  As the buzzard dived for a more concerted attempt to snatch little Giz, there was a sudden violent clash of feathers and much noisy screeching.

"You leave her alone!  She's alright, that one!  You're NOT to take her! Leave her!"  The female buzzard, mother of the chicks Gisèle had so assiduously visited, battered her fellow-raptor with enough force to put him off and Giz was able to make her escape.  I would like to think that Gisèle has learned a salutory lesson from this experience.  As much as I would like to think that - I know that she will, as ever, have learned nothing.

I did, out of interest, ask Gisèle how things were progressing with her new boyfriend Bracken.  She cannot remember who Bracken is.  There's no hope...

Pip pip!

Thursday, 15 January 2015

Wednesday 14 January 2015

Hello, hihihi...
Gisele-Stephanie here but shhh! Don't tell Jasper, shh!

I do does have a new boyfriend who is called Bracken. He is does come from a rescue home and didn't have know how to enjoy his food proper until I is have show him yes I did.

I written is not good and I am is sorry but I do it want to say that I do is like Mr. Bracken yes very much. I might is that want to have my own yes please husband and am babies soon and no might be better not even cross if Bracken had been help get me marriage babies. Yes yes.

Sorry my own written is not be better. Jazz be able back to help me sorry soon.

Bye then love from Gisele xx

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

Wednesday 31 December 2014

Quick update - my partner has been working flat-out at the vets. At a dinner party tonight to see the new year in...

Betty is to return for a week in a few days' time, which has caused much joy in the household.

Gisele's behaviour has improved beyond anything one might have anticipated and she has become all that I could have wished for my partner - a loving, devoted companion; whilst losing none of her cheeky, saucy, mischievous, independent and lively personality. So different from myself - and happily so.

Pretty Giz consented, in a moment of Christmas weakness, to go on a date with Archie, the Jack Russell from the house at the end of our terrace, who has long lusted after her. It was not a success.

More to follow anon...

Saturday, 22 November 2014

Saturday 22 November 2014

Well, I should like to be regaling you with information from sweet Gisèle - but when I chatted to her about her news and about what she wished to bark, when she began with "Hihihihi... I's on heat - write my 'phone number and address and tell all boy dogs to come and visit pretty Giz, hihihihiiiiiiiii...", I knew that it would not end well.

Instead, therefore, whilst our diminutive heroine "cools down", here is a piece written by my partner; composed as she visited the WWI commemorative art installation of poppies at the Tower of London.


Blood Swept Lands & Seas of Red

 

 
This was the name of the art installation in London, consisting of 888,246 ceramic poppies (one for every British military fatality), created to mark 100 years since the beginning of World War One.  I happened to be in London & went to see it two days before it was fully dismantled.  I found the experience somewhat unsettling & sat on a step to capture my thoughts in writing.  This is what I wrote:

The Tower of London, 15 November 2014, 11:52am

They are coming in waves.  Something vaguely unsettling [is] going on here. [On my] arrival here [earlier, there was] only a certain amount of good-natured jostling followed by apologies & awkward smiles.  But now tourists of all hues & accents pour down Tower Hill as the coaches & tubes disgorge their contents in droves.  A man holds a ladder above the heads of the slowly-moving morass & a pair of Police-officers keeps a vigilant watch, mounted atop powerful, patient horses, both of whom blink unflinchingly as their photographs are taken & their noses are repeatedly tapped by strangers.

The art installation is undeniably beautiful. A single poppy for every UK soldier lost in the bloody slaughter of WWI – & [in this] setting; England’s mighty fortress, which has held firm for centuries -  stronghold of our crown & resting place for executed monarchs & traitors alike.  The mere words “the Tower” once filled Londoners’ hearts with dread – & now it is almost impossible to withstand the huge tides of people rushing to its walls, marshalled by a small army of people with loudhailers trying desperately to keep the crowds in motion & avoid a devastating crush.

There is something ugly about this now.  People are pushing to get at the front, for the “best” view.  An heavily-pregnant woman has just stumbled after being shoved.  Those with high-powered cameras seem utterly oblivious to the presence of tiny children in front of them as they jostle & position in order to get the best angle.  One man barely notices that he has kicked over a toddler, so absorbed is he in focussing his lenses, & he grunts the most cursory of apologies to the tot’s parents.  Helicopters offering “aerial tours” fly & hover noisily overhead at regular intervals, & still more surges of people come.
 
What have they come to see?  The sea of red spilling from the mighty Tower & filling its moat, representing the blood of the fallen?  The art installation that is the current zeitgeist, the pièce du jour, to keep pace with fashion?  An opportunity for a “poppy selfie” to prove to their Facebook friends that they were here?
 
Or do they fix their eye on one single poppy & spare a thought for the lost life that that individual ceramic bloom commemorates?  Perhaps a 19 year-old Tommy, shot in the throat by a German sniper, fallen to the ground in abject terror; the last coherent sound he is able to fix upon as he begins to drown in the endless mud & his own blood is that of his mates being yelled at by their commanding officer: “Forget him!  Leave him! He’s gone; there’s nothing you can do! Keep going…!”
 
Perhaps some do see these poppies as the 888,246 individual lives snuffed out so brutally.  But for the most part – today, at least – more visitors seem keener to push & mutter obscenities at the back of a stranger’s head, when they deem him to have “taken too long” to capture his photograph & his memory.

I wonder what the ghosts of the Tower make of all this?  I found elements here more ghoulish than even Anne Boleyn’s reputed spectral wanderings.




 

Friday, 14 November 2014

Friday 14 November 2015

Nothing coherent from Gisele this week, though I am prepared to forgive her; my partner is - even at this moment as I bark - at BBC Broadcasting House, raising money for Children in Need.


0500 22 11 22 today - help raise some money for the human pups!

Today from 7am to 7pm it's the Children In Need Jukebox on Radio 2 - Call in on 0500 22 11 22 to make a pledge. 

Calls are free from land-lines - but some networks and mobile operators may charge you for the calls

All terms and conditions can be found on the R2 website: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01n9wgv

Might speak to you later!

See you anon!

Saturday, 8 November 2014

Sunday 9 November 2014

I was left with no choice, dear reader.  Kind cajoling, implied threats, humble pleading - all came to naught.  And the only option remaining to me was that of the "ultimate weapon".  It has been successfully deployed on a now suitably-chastened Gisèle.  I like to think that her looks of contrition and apology were genuine... (hmmm...).

Having finally consented to fulfil her duty, I turn back to the post that had been only partially completed when 'Sèle decided that her time would be better employed in things other than the upkeep of the blog (not necessarily in order of preference nor a fully-comprehensive list: playing and gossiping with Betty; flirting with boyfriends Boris and Monty and assorted other suitors, visiting her buzzard "friends" (we'll get on to that in a bit); and maintaining her youthful beauty.  I insisted that my work of 25 August should not go to waste - and so here it is:

Monday 25 August 2014

At last, after some three or four days, Gisèle was able to look at Betty without grinning and peace reigned in our small world once again.  Not for long, alas.

Repairing for their evening exercise to one of their usual favourites, Betty and Giz were happily occupied in caperings and gossip for most of their walk.  Until, that is, little Giz spotted the most part of what had formerly been a pigeon just off the woodland path (pigeon-shooting often taking place in the woods).  Seizing it by the remaining shoulder, Giz snatched it up and dashed off with it.  I believed I could guess where she was going.  Betty followed dubiously.
"Hello, nest-babies!" squealed 'Sele, triumphantly displaying the gift she had brought them to one of the adult buzzards.  "This is only a bit manky, but I hope that you will all like it!  Bye!"  She skipped away, pleased with herself.
"I thought you promised me that you wouldn't associate with those buzzards any more?" Betty demanded angrily, as Giz pottered up to her.
"Eh?" replied a momentarily-puzzled 'Sele, "No I never, I - oh sh*t - er, uh, I mean... um... what buzzards...?"
"Pathetic, Gizzle, you invidious weasel," sighed Betty, shaking her head, "Just pathetic." She sighed deeply again. "Well, you cannot bark that you've not been warned.  I will not say that I have 'washed my paws of you', but you must accept that you are mistress of your own fate.  I urge you to rethink, before it is too late."
"Hihihi, OK!" yipped Giz, before dashing off on the scent of an incautious squirrel and leaving Betty, still shaking her head despairingly, on the path...

Betty was able to claw back a modicum of revenge later though, when

And that is where it ends.  I cannot think for the life of me what Betty's revenge ultimately turned out to be.  Giz pretended to try to remember, but Boris is staying with us at the moment and so she is at her giggly worst.  I doubt she could recall what she had for supper this evening...  If I remember, I shall tell you, but my hopes aren't high.

If truth be told, Gisèle is not really barking to my partner at the moment.  The uneasy atmosphere has persisted for almost two months.  The reason for this is that my partner has taken proactive action to get rid of the last vestiges of her debts once and for all.  Her insolvency is over (see THIS ENTRY for the beginning of that wretched affair), but the last after-effects still needed considerable 'mopping up'.  And it was for THIS, dear reader, that I tried so hard to stay alive for my partner - and why I could not leave her even after I lost my fight with the Big C.  I had vowed to myself that I would not abandon her; that I had been there at the beginning of the IVA and I would support her throughout.  Alas, that was not to be; in a physical sense at least.  I hope this helps to explain my steadfast determination not to let go.

I digress somewhat.  Rather than moping and feeling sorry for herself, my partner has gone out and secured a second job, in addition to her full-time one.  This second, part-time, job - and it mortifies me to have to bark this - is at a Vets' Surgery.

A Vets' Surgery.  Oh yes. 

My duplicitous partner is their evenings and weekend receptionist.  She does her day job from 9 - 5 (like Dolly) on Mondays to Fridays, after which she dons a jaunty uniform and works 7pm - 11pm on weeknights, 2pm - 10pm on Saturdays and then 9am - 7pm on Sundays.  It seems to be tiring for her, but she has the gross temerity to claim that she "enjoys it".  The double-dealing wretch.  After starting this additional job halfway through September, it was a full month before Gisèle could bring herself to even look at my partner.  And the occasional gift of a gravy-bone from a well-meaning vet has done nothing to placate her.  Her one consolation is that it is not our vet, but an out-of-hours-only one - based, coincidentally, at Betty's vets.  Sweet 'Sèle has derived some cheap humour from this at Betty's expense, but she remains still largely unimpressed.  My partner has promised to buy Gisèle a special Christmas present, now that she is less financially-embarrassed, but I suspect it will take more than that for 'Sèle to fully accept the situation...

And so - now that I have secured Gisèle's agreement and her (not entirely convincing) mitigations; let us trust that normal service will now be resumed!  Hurrah!

And the ultimate weapon...?  Why the worst that there could ever be.

I simply took Gisèle aside and explained that I was not angry with her; I was just disappointed...  How many amongst us would not prefer the righteous irate b*ll*cking?!  Certainly not Gisèle-Stephanie, hehe...

Onwards and upwards!


Tuesday, 21 October 2014

Tuesday 21 October 2014

Jasper's partner here. SUCH an awful hiatus between posts, I know. Even this I am typing via iPhone... Gisele refuses to listen to Jasper's reasoning with respect to keeping his blog going - though he has yet to deploy his "ultimate weapon" which I know will not go unheeded when it IS ultimately unleashed... For now, however, these are my last moments of youth... I turn 40 in some ten minutes. Scared and alone. No Jasper to comfort me. Naught but a vain and selfish terrier. Sometimes I don't know why I bother... For the sake of what used to be, perhaps. But - dear GOD - I miss Jasper...

Good night