Sunday 29 November 2020

I am very cross indeed.  It is all Mistress's fault.

I am a sociable terrier and I like playing with my friends.  I know that there is a Big Nasty Thing (not Donald Trump.  Well, yes HIM, but the other really bad Covid thing) out in the world and we have to be safe.  But I have been a very good girl for 33 days in a row and I am bored of it now.  And my writing starts to get bad if I get cross.

I am normally a very patient and good girl - Mistress and lots of people say that I am a very chilled-out young lady.  But today I am cross.  I have told Mistress that this virus must stop, but she says it doesn't work like that.  But those are my orders. I demand that it goes away and that I be allowed to play freely.  But still the answer is no.

Mistress took a cheeky picture of me, which normally is OK because I look pretty even when I's being cheeky but it just made me feel hot and cross.  I wanted to bite Mistress but I took it out on my chew from the pet shop instead.  It didn't even squeal at me; it just sat there, cold and dead, staring at me.  Mistress says that this is "normal for chews".  I said some rude words about the picture, which is of me next to a bag with a message on it which I am sure she will use to make a snippy comment about me.  Mistress says she will put it on here.  I says she will not.  Mistress asks me if I want my dinner tonight.  I says BRING ON THE PICTURE! 

To use a human expression, I am climbing the walls.  I thought it might get a bit easier.  But I find only frustration and I gets cross at things that didn't used to annoy me before.  And when will it end?  I thought that if you is a good girl then nice things happen as a reward.  But there is just NO end.  Every day, no release or special treats.  Just more like the same. I hates it.

Mistress says to be brave and that it will be alright soon.  But she always says that.

…..

I have been out for a walk now and I feel a bit better.  I went to a favourite place locally (one of Jasper's favourites too) where I played with my new ball, shouted at a distant pheasant, behaved myself very well (good girl Giz) with the grazing cattle and met one of my friends.  That was nice.  And the Christmas trees have been put up in our little town, on all of the shops and buildings and they look pretty.  That is a good thing.  And in a minute Mistress is doing a writing course on something I don't understand called Zoom. The course is not called Zoom and it's not about anyone doing any zooming.  It's from Chawton House and is about writing.  I don't understand why she is bothering.  Jasper was writing this blog since the middle of 2006 and now I am writing it and so I don't understand why she wants to get in on the act.  Perhaps she is jealous.  Well, lots of people is jealous of me and I don't mind, as long as they are my friends as well.

And I barked before about the Christmas lights which have gone up today. That DOES make me feel happy.  Where I live, there is one big tree and a nativity in the main street and all the shops and houses in the middle of the town have an individual tree with lights on them.  It's very nice, I will try and get Mistress to take a photograph.

I feel better now.  I have had my dinner as well.  Maybe Mistress is right.  Maybe it WILL be alright in the end and in the meantime we will just have to do the best that we can.

And barking of photographs...

Me, asleep after my walk and dinner.

I asked Mistress about the photograph.  She said that, pound-for-pound, and even including jewels and precious metals, the best value thing in the world (and what you can really trust when life is grim) is a dog.  She says you always get more out than you put in. Well, that is nice.  I just pray that she is not talking about my dinner...

Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.

Lots of love from Gisèle x

Thursday 26 November 2020

"Nippie Bartram has got a willie like a turnip."

So went a number of remarks left on several wee-mail post sites around the town.  I scented several on my morning walk earlier today, and had sniffed similar previously.  Various different versions of the same, from different dogs, but all concerning the unfortunate Nippie Bartram and his apparent physical affliction.

If you were not already aware, most dogs "read" through our noses.  Our noses are around 1,000 times more sensitive than a human snout.  It's the easiest way for us.  An average dog’s sense of smell is around 10,000 - 100,000 times better than even the biggest-nosed human's. We've got up to 300 million olfactory receptors (big words.  I don't really understand them.) in our noses compared to about six million in a human's and the bit of our brain (yes, I have got one somewhere...) that analyses and processes scents is around 40 times greater than a person's.  And we like to sniff bottoms.  Wee and secretions from scent glands are very pungent (even humans know this, often to their cost, hehe...).  But they tell us everything we need to know.

For dogs, "spray it, don't say it" is best.

Scents on wee-mail stations tell us who is out and about, their status, health and sometimes even their intentions.  Shifts in pack hierarchies, newcomers to the area, local gossip (my favourite) and warnings - all are left for others to find and add to.  Posts about Nippie Bartram's whatnot seemed to be quite widespread but from the luckless Nippie himself there was no response.  I doubted that he could be unaware of his fame, but guessed that he was either tired of or indifferent to (or a combination of both) the aromatic tattle.  I had never met Nippie, or heard or smelt of him before now, in physical OR nasal terms, so couldn't say how he felt about the business. 

This morning, Mistress and I decided to have an extra walk (we usually go in the afternoon; we did today as well as this morning).  As we were walking up the hill towards GrannaPea's (we are allowed to visit her; we three are in a "bubble") a gentleman and his dog were walking down towards us.  The dog was a mixture of many and varied breeds, quite small with mottled fur and a tail that was far too big and bushy for him.  We went into the road to maintain the safe passing distance (this does not affect us dogs, so we may still safely sniff) and Mistress and the gentleman exchanged pleasantries.  As they bid each other a good morning, my eye was caught by the dog's undercarriage. There dwelt the traditional items, save only that one of them was unusually round and somewhat bulbous.  I meant to bark a greeting - but it came out:

"Nippie Bartram!"  Oops.  Well, it was rather remarkable...

"Yes?" he replied politely "Do I know you, my dear?  I don't believe I have had the pleasure...?"

I hastened to redeem myself. "Oh no," I hastily yipped "someone told me about your lovely fur and handsome tail - I recognised you from that!"  Nippie seemed pleased and gratified by this and went on his way wagging the massive tail.

But, although I didn't feel inclined to add to the wee-mail posts, I couldn't deny it.

Nippie Bartram has got a willie like a turnip.

Later in the afternoon, Mistress took me for a good long walk.  I was minded towards a spot of digging, the effects of which Mistress found amusing, though I can't say I can see it myself.

Have you met Salvador Dalí...?

Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.

Lots of love from Gisèle x
 

Tuesday 24 November 2020

Not such a good day today, though the weather was remarkably fine.

No, today was the third (third; it doesn't seem possible...) anniversary of the sudden and tragic death of my Mistress's father and my "Mr. Roger".  He was a good man.  We went and put some flowers on his grave.

The church cat tried his best to disturb me, deliberately positioning himself in my line of vision to sharpen his claws on a yew tree.

But I ignored his prancing.  This was not the day to give him the satisfaction of a response.

It really doesn't seem like three years ago today.  I still miss him every day. And still very glad that, just for a little while, he was my Mr. Roger.

"The last enemy that shall be defeated is death." 1 Corinthians 15 v26

(and quoted in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling)

Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.

Lots of love from Gisèle x

Sunday 22 November 2020

Word recognition. 

According to a psychologist, a dog can learn approximately 165 words.  I shudder to look back at my early illiterate posts.  As a pup education was just "something for others to worry about".  I was too busy being pretty.  Well, I am still busy being pretty, just with a better vocabulary.  My (and Jasper's) late friend Ewan, of limited brain but infinite affection, would probably have interpreted this as, and been happy with, learning the same word 165 times.

My recognition of words sometimes prompts amusement.  My mistress's mother (my GrannaPea) generally says "Right!" whenever movement is imminent; from her chair, out the door, to the kitchen, etc., any or all of which might involve a treat for me.  And so what is a girl to do but respond appropriately?  I leap up, eager for my prize.  I have learned the times at which it is most likely to occur and am subtly on the watch.  Last night, for example, I perfected the art of soundly sleeping without actually being asleep.  I even snored.  When the "right!" came I went in a heartbeat from snoring and twitching to being bright, alert and squeaking for the off.  No-one appreciated my skill and I was laughed at.  Cruel.  Actually, I am often laughed at for responding enthusiastically at every uttered "right!".  But I get my revenge.  I do.

Mistress has another word for me: "mistress".  Or, more specifically "mistress of the protest-pee".  Because, even if my bladder is empty and running on dry, I am able to produce a noxious brew of pee, expertly directed where it is least-likely to be welcome.  I have climbed shelves in the airing cupboard, taken items from a clothes-line or a peg and when the boiler cupboard was emptied of sheets and clothes for the annual boiler-service I nearly died of dehydration.  Each item had to be washed twice.  Hehehe...  Perhaps that will teach certain people to not let the treat-jar become empty...

I think my greatest triumph in the urine-as-righteous-retribution department was on the last holiday that we were all together as a family, back in 2017.  We had a holiday cottage in Wales.  I had a lovely time with my cousin Doug and his family.  On the last night, Mistress's brother had arranged a family dinner out at the local pub.  As the time drew nearer, I carefully prepared my fur in a winning style and took care to ensure that my eyes and ears were clean.  I was therefore most put out when Doug and I were taken out for a brisk walk "to do their business before we go out".  Doug and I did our duty, though I didn't really understand why we were going out before we went out.  I did soon afterwards though.  Doug and I were ushered to our baskets in the kitchen and watched as everyone else went out.  I was not impressed.  I gave them fifteen minutes' grace to rethink their plans and return.  After that, there was only one course of action to take...

I tried to get Doug to come with me, but he refused and even tried to persuade me not to go.  I love Doug very much but he really a goody-goody.  He flinches at the mere mention of cheekiness and, if I was a snippy type, I would say that he is too highly-strung for his own good.  It's almost impossible to engage him in mischief.  Every time I try, he either stares at me without understanding or runs off to tell tales on me.  No-one to tell tales to this time, so I set off alone along the passage.  I passed Mistress's and my room.  I knew who the villain of this piece was.  I pushed open the door of the bedroom allocated to Mistress's brother and his wife.  There, on the floor, lay his suitcase.  It was full, everybody having packed ready for an early-morning departure.  My way was clear.  I flipped the lid over, climbed in and deployed my golden liquid revenge.  All over his neatly folded clothes.  ALL over.

I was in a lot of trouble.  Mistress's mother had to wash every item in the suitcase again and have it dried before departure.  Mistress was joined as a partner in my disgrace.  It was not a happy occasion.

I learned a few new words that day.

Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.

Lots of love from Gisèle x

These two look familiar.

Saturday 21 November 2020

I am trying to think of something smart to write upon this blog.  All the while knowing that I am not as witty and will never be as clever as Jasper.  Funny things don't really happen to me like they seemed to with him (for, as unlikely as it may seem, a lot of the escapades and antics described by Jasper, and the personalities (or dogsonalities...?) he encountered had their basis in truth or actual living beings).  

Accidents happen to me, that's for sure - there have been no shortage of those.  I almost drowned, I have been stamped on by a cow, been trapped underground (wedged into a rabbit warren by a tree root), been badly bitten by a bigger dog, impaled from shoulder to groin on a long spike (I ran onto it; only by a miracle did I survive - a millimetre to the left or right and either a major artery or my heart would have been pierced. That was around 5 hours in surgery and several thousand pounds' worth of treatment.  But I pulled myself off the spike unaided - I might not be the brightest crayon in the tin but I think I AM brave), suffered a phantom pregnancy and the dreaded pyometra.  By the natural order of things I probably shouldn't be alive.  But I am - and happily thankful to be so, too. I enjoy my life; life is a short yet beautiful thing and I don't want to waste mine.  My Mistress and others say how 'chilled out' I am.  It's true - I don't mind gunshot, fireworks or thunderstorms.  I only once got so seriously scared by a storm that I almost wet my fur; that was when the storm was right overhead and the most almighty crack of lightning happened in the same instant as an explosion of thunder so great that the windows in the house all shook. I did what any self-respecting terrier would do in the situation and hid under the duvet.  Generally, then, I am a fairly philosophical little lass, rolling along with life as it comes and with whatever it brings to the party.

I have been looking back at old blog entries, to try and get some inspiration for amusing and engaging things to write about.  And what did I find? Here - my first EVER appearance on this blog in 2012, five months after Jasper went to Heaven. Complete with embarrassing photograph.  

I suppose that this makes me 9 years old; I'll take that, happy with that.  Respectably middle-aged.  Not quite as bonkers as when I was a pup, but still reassuringly (or not, depending on your point of view) ME, hehe!

After a bit more looking, I thought I might share with you the time that my Mistress, Betty (my Giant Schnauzer friend who used to stay with us sometimes) nearly ended up getting arrested.  I think it might have been posted before, but it probably bears a second barking...

We were, all three, in the car (the Gizmobile), all behaving ourselves very properly, Betty 'riding shotgun', with Mistress driving and I sitting in the back, on our way to work.  My Mistress noticed in her rear-view mirror that we were being followed by a Police Officer on a motorbike.  On exiting the first of two adjacent roundabouts it became very clear, from his flashing blue lights and obvious hand signals, that we must pull over and switch off our engine.  After negotiating the second roundabout, Mistress steered the car into a lay-by at the top of the road.  After telling us to ("for goodness' sake, girls!") behave ourselves, she wound down her window and waited for the officer's approach.  Uh-oh - what had we done wrong to attract his displeasure?!

We sat in an uneasy silence as the Policeman got off his motorcycle and marched crossly towards us.
"Hello sir!" Mistress greeted him brightly, trying to smile and not look shifty, "Is everything all right?"

The scowling gent glared at her.
"Is that child wearing a seatbelt?!" he barked angrily at my Mistress.  Her winning smile faltered in her confusion.
"Excuse me?"
"THAT CHILD!" he snapped, irritably.  "In your front passenger seat!  Is it WEARING a SEATBELT?!"
"Um...."

At this point, and with impeccable comic timing, Betty turned her great shaggy, tousle-furred head to look at the officer.  The Policeman did a spectacular comedy double-take and leapt backwards at least three feet in length.
"Aaaarrooohhh!" he yelped, mid-jump, almost tripping over his own feet in his shock.  "It's a DOG!"

"Yes." said Mistress, torn between being amused and wondering how anyone could be so stupid as to confuse the back of a dog's head with that of a child's, as well as mindful that she didn't want to aggravate an officer of the law in an already testing situation.
"A dog!" repeated the Policeman.  "Not a child!  But from the back it looked-"
"Yes." said my Mistress again.  "She's got my eyes and her father's tail.  We're very proud."

The unfortunate man gaped, open-mouthed, at all three of us, temporarily incapable of speech, while I promise that I tried my very hard best not to giggle out loud. 

"Erm," spluttered the Officer, trying (and failing) to recover a bit of his lost credibility.  "I'd better let you get on your way, madam... I am sorry to have troubled you..."
"That's OK.  Thank you." replied my Mistress, though this was lost on the Policeman's hastily retreating rear as he stumbled back to his motorbike and sped off as quickly as the law would allow.

We all laughed as we went on our way again.  At least, until we stopped at the next set of traffic lights.  Mistress looked thoughtfully in the mirror and soberly rubbed her chin.  "Hang on..." she said slowly, examining her reflection, "That chap thought that a Giant Schnauzer was legitimately MY CHILD." She frowned and carefully rubbed her chin again "Time to get me an ol' shave..."  I didn't understand, but Betty did and the two of us kept laughing all the way to the office.

I will try and think of some more things to write about.  In the meantime, stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling (even if it's a bit difficult sometimes).

Lots of love from Gisèle x

Me and my cousin Doug. Mistress says that

we look like King Charles II and Nell Gwynne.

Hmmm... I don't like oranges. But I do like Doug.

Saturday 14 November 2020

Well, here we still are.  Despite the virus, despite the lingering wafts of the Donald about the White House in the USA.  Despite even the weather, which today is wet and stormy.  I'm still me and Mistress is still Mistress.

I have been reading all about Jasper in his Evolution series and his other blog entries.  He started his blog long, long before I was even a tiny puppy.  On August 13 2006 - 2006!! - I can't even imagine what it must have been like all that long time ago...  Here is his first ever entry, which sparked the flame of this blog: The very BEGINNING.

It went on to record a lot of his life, and that of his friends (and enemies. Thankfully Peaches is no longer with us.  He has been succeeded by Merlin, cheeky - but not an evil being).  Honey is still around, and Archie, but that is all now from Jasper's day.  The blog has also had stories about me and my friend Betty.  I haven't seen Betty for a long time. I suppose she is with Jasper, Ewan and Fizzy now.  But I hope there will be lots more stories about me to come.  I am going to try to write some bits about me, although I think they might be a bit boring at the moment.  "Virus still about, had a socially-distanced walk and apart from that stayed in." gets boring very quickly if you keep barking it.

I am very glad that we have these stories of his life and his times, and the pictures.  They bring the old days to life and mean that our long-gone friends can walk beside us once more.   But, even in all of the present madness, we are doing our best. And very happy to be doing just that.

Keep smiling! Love from Gisèle x