tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54281482143522649002024-02-07T06:24:41.957+00:00The Dog's BlogRuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.comBlogger498125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-44999824163429718152023-07-30T14:09:00.003+01:002023-07-31T17:43:48.240+01:00Sunday 30 July 2023 - The Holiday<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9xfxJyqF5o-_1A0WMwqHDobAFWvmD6ZC_DBI6AmM37uGSCDxlf8cPRv5s9N0l2C-iKk-fDHlcpT09Rw3Nsw-QhvIl-RMeGflDAMUeRqEs2oxQgyEN_ofY4iCrEVCtkzOqTNmIg4MIMFjS5ZPJi2P8QfmWc69qvIk7_w0dhPoFByr2ZRdn9lKUzhmMPT8/s3264/IMG_20230716_182536.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9xfxJyqF5o-_1A0WMwqHDobAFWvmD6ZC_DBI6AmM37uGSCDxlf8cPRv5s9N0l2C-iKk-fDHlcpT09Rw3Nsw-QhvIl-RMeGflDAMUeRqEs2oxQgyEN_ofY4iCrEVCtkzOqTNmIg4MIMFjS5ZPJi2P8QfmWc69qvIk7_w0dhPoFByr2ZRdn9lKUzhmMPT8/s320/IMG_20230716_182536.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Well. Rory Gamin de Pycombe and I have just returned from our first Dartmoor holiday. I am not sure that there are words adequate to describe the events of our first trip together. Rory cannot be relied on for accuracy (as you may guess from what follows), so it falls to me to sum it up as best I can for posterity...<p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SSbTEwwecsBUhKRWMQ0225PzgmVRyHFv92_kGw6M5HrROLA6cqN8-zaSNTBmMMI0t9h6u2m5uBOJr428lulYZbb8kgj_2c4A_PJvY1nTf0e6AAXTPTIv-IckT5EYjwZMmzI9Jd8fiPF0CJUDWzF6QAvI8bfhTqiQ7zJSpUpW06QnrjT3JVZSWdP_Bp-T/s3264/IMG_20230717_155901.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SSbTEwwecsBUhKRWMQ0225PzgmVRyHFv92_kGw6M5HrROLA6cqN8-zaSNTBmMMI0t9h6u2m5uBOJr428lulYZbb8kgj_2c4A_PJvY1nTf0e6AAXTPTIv-IckT5EYjwZMmzI9Jd8fiPF0CJUDWzF6QAvI8bfhTqiQ7zJSpUpW06QnrjT3JVZSWdP_Bp-T/s320/IMG_20230717_155901.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>We set off in the New Blue Corsa on Saturday 15 July. I had prepared well in advance (or so I thought), armed with a waist-harness with secure pack for safe tethering of an exuberant and strong young dog to ones self, a newly-purchased second hand GPS device and a new waterproof jacket in a rolled-up pack. More on those items later. I had even procured a new personal letterboxing stamp, based on my previous ones:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v19uZ0n_a8rfozfNhOFcWssj8IP6m5VWnrGDPihdnc4lmAx0zayA3YueHQzfZAT7h26envRikzvy3DISgUIY56klKThRFn14prr2fkgnysMShxdIUpOaLM1HAwbZA8HkIfWvguK-8-zeO7PB2CUVBZvyvvXybb1jpwjvK_vmx3qrbOUDHHeyMDhDtvtY/s780/Personal%20Stamps.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="780" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v19uZ0n_a8rfozfNhOFcWssj8IP6m5VWnrGDPihdnc4lmAx0zayA3YueHQzfZAT7h26envRikzvy3DISgUIY56klKThRFn14prr2fkgnysMShxdIUpOaLM1HAwbZA8HkIfWvguK-8-zeO7PB2CUVBZvyvvXybb1jpwjvK_vmx3qrbOUDHHeyMDhDtvtY/w640-h388/Personal%20Stamps.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Sweet Gisele-Stephanie never had a letterboxing stamp (I was mostly too poor or too unwell to letterbox more than a couple of times with her, sadly), though she is immortalised standing at the central Southern Dartmoor's Ducks Pool letterbox on my work Teams background...</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjglZZa40jzs4tUqfVM6UbYAdU5Z5OnHHT-Jlr-JALcftE04sJVpNYzHONW4djcf09by0uoHSpQWqVnAR4x2U15_SrV9TIj5Yd3x7zCZkReBfW9ilE2KG8KtPai2rsyhzCGRQlxcxZf2Sht8W6hYioOmN7UTD5TW0U7Fvt1fuoHAZae71jEpPgEinelLABC/s640/MoorGiz2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjglZZa40jzs4tUqfVM6UbYAdU5Z5OnHHT-Jlr-JALcftE04sJVpNYzHONW4djcf09by0uoHSpQWqVnAR4x2U15_SrV9TIj5Yd3x7zCZkReBfW9ilE2KG8KtPai2rsyhzCGRQlxcxZf2Sht8W6hYioOmN7UTD5TW0U7Fvt1fuoHAZae71jEpPgEinelLABC/s320/MoorGiz2.jpg" width="240" /></a>...)</div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To set the scene - it was the first holiday that I’ve had properly by
myself since @2016. And the first time back to Dartmoor under my own steam for
many, MANY years. So, this week away was much anticipated and dearly looked-forward-to.
And my first ever holiday and
letterboxing trip with Rory Gamin de Pycombe. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Exciting! How could anything go wrong…?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I should have
known that it was cursed from the outset. The very first day, in fact.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before leaving
for Dartmoor, I knew I’d need a new waterproof coat - so off I went to Mountain
Warehouse on my way back from a work meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Being currently a larger lady, the choice is somewhat limited… I spotted
some macs rolled up in individual packs and one in a large size – “brilliant” I
thought, I’ll have that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in a bit
of a rush as it was after a lengthy work meeting and I was on my way home, so I
grabbed it, bought it - I didn’t unwrap it but just put it in my rucksack. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The very first day out we went off onto the
Moor and we were a good hour into our walk, when it started pouring down with
rain. “No problem” I thought, and I put the rucksack down, got the new packed jacket
out; unpacked it - it was a pair of f***ing <i><u>trousers</u></i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I taught the
dog a few new words that day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So that was day
one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Day two we
began by going into Plymouth to procure a new waterproof jacket in a vast Go
Outdoors store on a godforsaken industrial estate. It was grim just getting
there and back, unhelped by having to negotiate the same hellish roundabout on
which Jasper had once memorably silently vomited all over the gearstick whilst
we were stopped at traffic lights...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New
jacket purchased (after having tried it on instore – you can’t be too careful…)
we headed to the very North part of Dartmoor, really remote – right out on the
military ring road from Okehampton. A traffic accident near Tavistock and
subsequent diversion meant that the journey to our intended destination, which
would have taken @ 50 minutes from our hotel, took some 5 hours to complete. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a GPS device which I’d bought second-hand
from eBay (my original trusty one having died a death some years back) but it looked
and seemed alright when I was programming it the night before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Out we got onto
the moor in the direction of our first waypoint and the GPS display suddenly
started spinning round and round and then just died, never to resurrect. So we
had to abandon the walk - we just couldn’t do it without the GPS device – and return
to the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found and ordered a brand-new
GPS unit from Amazon (£216) that they could deliver the next day and
ascertained that the hotel reception were happy to accept delivery for me.
However, they needed a one-time password (OTP) for the delivery driver and,
although the hotel was lovely, and the staff particularly were really REALLY
lovely - their first language was not English. I had to explain the delivery
and the concept of a one time password and phone that in to them from the moor when
it arrived, but that was alright; all went well and I received the device as
planned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rory professed
himself “unimpressed” with Dartmoor thus far. I can’t say I blamed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t too impressed myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQa56hCl-oNlUgMopG01YlCfBrg4GHJdQMhXwDyNYo3Lwdan8fzCYoVtuO48NW_XLMa-uISF2MCOXaAfR8cwlNErdjt7xUxjGjYNTVqNKG_uvwivOh31wIc2eT6nBSzGGqLoI83yXJ0mSHKoZIG4H4pESLuqwoeo4hUQh_XWYQMP_4UhfEccyorTV7T-F/s2048/357730025_10161580947622922_8977153767310064932_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQa56hCl-oNlUgMopG01YlCfBrg4GHJdQMhXwDyNYo3Lwdan8fzCYoVtuO48NW_XLMa-uISF2MCOXaAfR8cwlNErdjt7xUxjGjYNTVqNKG_uvwivOh31wIc2eT6nBSzGGqLoI83yXJ0mSHKoZIG4H4pESLuqwoeo4hUQh_XWYQMP_4UhfEccyorTV7T-F/w200-h150/357730025_10161580947622922_8977153767310064932_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p>Unfortunately, the
new GPS initially proved a baffling challenge – the units were in American
measurements and it gave our exact location as somewhere in central New York
city… but I managed to work it out and reset it (I had my laptop for online
guidance, though the internet connection was weak and very rarely working) to
UK data and GB mapping. With a sense of high triumph, I programmed it for our
planned walk on the North moor, the co-ordinates all tallied as per our plan
and map, and all was set fair and fine for the following day.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still feeling
highly pleased with myself, off we went back out to the North moor on the
Wednesday for our third attempt at the planned walk, with new waterproof
jacket, new functioning and fully-programmed GPS… and here is where the fates
conspired against me in the cruellest of ways.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had bought a
special belt thing to clip Rory to, knowing him to be a strong, fit lad, so I thought
I was being canny by both holding him on the lead and ensuring that he was
clipped to me to prevent sudden escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Off
we went, out to our first waypoint which we found with the new GPS with very
little trouble (thinking “ah-ha! this was money well-spent”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On leaving that waypoint, Rory jumped down
from a low rocky shelf and, at the exact same time, saw a sheep in very close
proximity. He leapt and lunged at the same time and the thing around my waist
snapped and he was instantly gone. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
almost flew after the fleeing sheep, I saw him again briefly once and then no
more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was screaming
and screaming for him and in utter dread, because he was chasing sheep and I so
desperately did not want to be <b><i><u>that</u></i></b> person; that
thoughtless irresponsible dog owner who allows their pet to terrorise and maim
and kill livestock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At work and
elsewhere, I have seen the misery, lasting harm and despair that this causes;
it is an utter, many-levelled nightmare, often made worse by the callous and
ignorant stupidity of the dog owner. I was sickeningly certain that Rory was
going to kill or maim something, and it could end with the farmer – rightly -
shooting him (or him being reported to the Police and having to be put down
when caught).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After having initially
seen him chasing some sheep and then, a short while after, not Rory himself but
the sheep clearly running fast away from a pursuing dog (obviously him), very
soon after that I saw the same group of sheep just huddled together in a little
area beneath where I was standing, calm, clearly unharmed and no longer being
pursued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see no other livestock
running anywhere in the vicinity, and no trace of a wounded or killed animal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, no sign of any animals anywhere,
apart from the now peaceful and huddled group of sheep, so I knew Rory was just
well and truly gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was then
that I noticed that he’d taken the waist-strap along with him in his flight (when
it snapped, it must have become caught up with his lead as he fled - to which
was clipped a pack containing my MOBILE PHONE <b><i><u>AND</u></i></b> MY CAR
KEY.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh yes. I was
in the middle of north Dartmoor, miles from anywhere, and the dog had gone with
my car key and my phone and as the further horror of this dawned on me I felt
utterly sick. It was it was awful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called
and called for Rory - I yelled for at least an hour in increasing desperation –
but there was no sign of him or the discarded waist-pack.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually I realised
that I’d got to get myself back to the car, as soon as possible - because if I
get back to the isolated spot where people park their cars and there’s no other
cars there where I could try and summon help, I’m <u>seriously</u> screwed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed that, at the very least, there might
be someone there I could ask for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
made my way back there, which took nearly another hour, and I saw three people
who looked like they had just come back from a walk. By this point I was almost
in hysterics, certainly very distressed, and I said “I am so sorry, but can you
please help me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve lost my dog. He’s
gone and he’s taken my phone and car key with him.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They just laughed at me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They laughed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which is not characteristic of people on the moor
– generally the people you meet are friendly and happy to say hello.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most especially in such a remote place as
this, a place where you have to make a real effort to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amid their laughter, they pointed out a
nearby vehicle and said “You want those lads; best ask them.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as I walked to this vehicle, they laughed
at me all the more.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not far from
the access point to the North moor lies the UK military’s Okehampton Battle Camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the route that all cars use to
access the more remote parts of the North moor is the old military ring road,
kept in a state of semi-repair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had noticed
before that there was a big military exercise taking place on the moor, with
soldiers in camouflage crawling all over the place with blank weapons, firing
and shouting at each other in full battle-training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out that they were training
Ukrainians for the ongoing war and four of the UK officers were in a vehicle
where the cars were parked, observing proceedings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went up to the officers and said “I’m so
sorry, please could I ask for your help,”, explaining the situation and begging
their assistance. They were wonderful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The officers immediately
said “Don’t worry - we’ve got officers all over the moor. We’ve got guys on the
other side of the hill here; they’re all over the place and we will help you.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Karma also came a-calling for the initial
trio who had laughed at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were
parked on the military ring-road, where they shouldn’t have been. One of the
officers asked if they were with me and when I said no, he and a colleague
marched off to administer them an A-grade bollocking. Ha ha.) <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before I could
even finish expressing my heartfelt thanks, some of the officers immediately
started - and it was like a REAL military operation; I was mortified - going
over the moor in a sweeping motion, whilst summoning their colleagues in other
locations to do the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see at
least eight of them on my side of the hill and knew that others elsewhere were
similarly mobilised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was surreal - like
something that you might see on television - those police searches where they
are combing an area for a missing person or evidence – looking everywhere quickly
and meticulously for any sign or Rory or the missing pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They moved so fast and so thoroughly,
covering the distance it had taken me an hour to traverse in what seemed like
minutes. I was so thankful to them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The officer in
charge, as soon as I had explained my predicament, had got straight onto his walkie-talkie
radio to communicate with his colleagues. Now that I am on the other end of
this sorry episode, and knowing that it had a better outcome than at the time
seemed likely, I can see the tacit, or inadvertent humour in the situation
(certainly not at the time though).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
officer’s radio dialogue with his unseen colleagues elsewhere on the moor went as
follows:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Officer: “I’m sorry chaps, real world
situation here. We’ve got a civilian who’s just approached us; she’s lost her
dog…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Radio:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i>…
Real world situation. Lost dog. Description. Over. <i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i>
…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Officer:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Staffie
cross French bulldog. Gunmetal grey. Wearing red harness with black straps,
trailing black lead. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Radio: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i>
…[repeated description]. Over. <i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk…</span></i>”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Officer:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Additionally,
the dog was attached to pack. Was green with black straps…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Radio:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i>…
green with black straps pack. Over. <i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i>
…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Officer:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
wait, there’s more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside the pack were
the civilian’s mobile phone and car key. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Radio: “<i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i>
… … … <i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i> … <b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">****ing h*ll</span></i></b>… <i><span style="color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #767171; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background2; mso-themecolor: background2; mso-themeshade: 128;">schkkllkk</span></i>
…” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He wasn’t wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We waited by
the vehicle for quite a while, as officers swept the moor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the while sat by my car, which I could
not get into.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was almost as if it was
sitting there <i>mocking</i> me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another officer
telephoned the RAC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were useless –
they first denied all knowledge of me (I’ve been a paid-up member since 1998)
or my vehicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, once they’d
identified me, could not help beyond saying that they’d texted a link to my
phone and “all” I needed to do was to follow the link and help would be on its
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were utterly unable to cope
with the concept of not having access to a mobile phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the officer testily explained to them (again)
that the phone was gone and unavailable he was met with incomprehension and
silence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The insurance
company (Direct Line; I’m not afraid to name them) were no bloody good either.
They were unable to suggest anything that might help in the moment, beyond “isn’t
there anyone local who might be able to help you out?” and “we can email you
something but if you put in a claim, your premiums will go up…” Yes. Thanks for
that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All the while I
was feeling sicker and sicker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wondering
how the hell I was going to get out of this – and how I was going to have to go
home without Rory, never knowing what had happened to him and what harm and havoc
he had caused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dreaded having to ring
my mum and tell her that he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The military officers
were so kind and reassuring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had
not found Rory or the pack but, equally, they had not found any injured or
killed livestock, so that was some small reassurance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They stressed that, sadly they regularly saw
such things on the moor; they knew the signs generally present and the
all-too-obvious sad evidence, but in this case there was absolutely
nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No blood, carnage or mangled
remains, and they assured me that, had anything of that nature happened, they
would certainly have seen indications of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This brought a small measure of relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They then needed
to get back to their base.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did ask
of their superiors, but understandably I was not allowed to go to wait within
the battle camp for any further developments - but they did say that I could
sit in the guard room, so they took me down there by vehicle (that was heart-wrenching;
being driven down, away from my stricken car and from where I had last seen
Rory). Once there, they phoned the hotel and said “We’ve got your guest here,
can you arrange a taxi for her from the Okehampton military camp?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hotel staff said that they would sort that
out, so there I sat for ages, still trying to summon help from the RAC or Direct
Line without success.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the
officers had said that, generally, dogs lost in the area eventually made their
own way to the military camp. It was the only thing around for miles, and when lost
dogs became hungry and tired, they could smell food and signs of human
habitation and arrived at the guard house of their own volition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although this was reassuring to hear, my
hopes weren’t high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really believed
that I would never see Rory again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After at least
another hour (possibly more) had passed, the phone in the guard room rang. It
was a member of the public who said they’d found a dog - miles away on the
other side of the hill – loose and running about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The officer said “Oh! We think we’ve got the
owner here, bring him on down.” It was clear from the lady’s description that
it was the fugitive Rory, unharmed and without any evidence of having
killed/injured anything. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She drove down
in a gold-coloured Volvo - with Rory sitting on her lap in the driver’s seat with
his head poking out of the window. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank
all goodness. I thought I’d never see him again. I was so grateful; the lady
was glad to have been the means of reuniting us and said that it was her firm
believe that he had not been involved in the harassment of livestock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The officers concurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had he caused harm, the physical evidence on
him, on his harness and in his mouth would have been clear for all to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was doubly thankful for that. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So Rory was
back - but he was no longer attached to the waist-pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I knew from the outset that it was
gone. There was that faint glimmer of hope that it MIGHT still have been entangled
in his lead – but in my heart I knew that it was long gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The one officer
in particular who had been helping me (he was very lovely in lots of ways; I
only found out his first name – Luke) he let me use his phone as much as I
needed to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also took Rory and I back
up onto the moor to see if we would locate the pack one last time – he tried to
access a “Find my Phone” tracker (but could only find one that he’d have to pay
for and I refused to let him do that), then he tried ringing my phone, it rang
all right, but we couldn’t hear it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
jogged all the way to the top of the tor and back around, while Rory and I
struggled around the lower slopes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the
early and repeated questions from the military officers was “do you know
roughly/can you point out roughly the area where you were when you lost the dog?”
Not without a cruel sense of irony was I able to say “I can tell you <i>exactly</i>
where I was - down to the last inch practically.” Because it was bloody Waypoint
One on my GPS device, on which I had just spent a fortune and was using for the
very first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been clutching it
in my hand throughout the whole ordeal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I knew exactly where to guide them – as well as the route we’d taken
to get there, including diversions, the length of time it had taken to get
there AND how high above sea-level it was…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But it didn’t help. Rory had been gone for hours; he could have gone
anywhere between there and Princetown so goodness knows where he and the waist-pack
had finally parted ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luke and I
searched the areas around waypoints one and two but of the pack there was no
sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hopes were not high though. The
area was rocky, boggy in places, with gorse and heather and the bracken was
above waist-height in parts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could
have been just a foot away from the pack and walk right past it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Luke was kind
and offered as much calm sense as he could in the situation, telling me that
the dog was back unharmed, everything else could be replaced, it would all be
alright.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, he was right.
Everything else COULD be replaced, and Rory was safely back and clearly
innocent of wildlife or livestock destruction (I wonder what he DID do all that
time?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably found himself a shady
nook and had a jolly good kip, the lazy git).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the beginning of the crisis, as I was trying to keep myself rational
and calm on the way back to the car, I was telling myself “this day will end.
This day will be over, and it will be alright.” Although I couldn’t see
how.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bad days DO end, and better ones
come after them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was what I kept
telling myself as the horrors were unfolding in my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once back in
the guard room, Luke brought me a cup of water, and another cup for Rory. We
were both very grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also brought
me a Snickers bar, god bless him, to cheer me up. Unfortunately, I’m allergic
to nuts so I had to say thank you very much and hide it in my pack when he wasn’t
looking. I managed to achieve that without anyone noticing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After quite
some more time had passed, another officer eventually they phoned the hotel
again to say “Look, it’s been a while now - what’s the ETA on this taxi for
your guest?” Unhappily, the hotel chaps (again the lovely young men, but for
whom English is their second language) replied that they “weren’t able to get
any taxi firm to accept the job. We’ve been trying to ring Miss P----- to let
her know, but we haven’t been able to get a reply.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>Arrrgh!</b> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How is it
possible to exist these days without a phone?!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was exhausted
after at least four hours of this, heaped upon the initial distress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, Luke continued to let me have
free use of his phone. We looked up all the local taxi firms and I tried each
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of them answered – until the
sixth one, Acorn Taxis. After hearing about my situation, she said she could be
with me in half an hour and would take me all the way to my hotel near Plymouth
for £55.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was profusely thanking her
until I heard “oh, wait, hang on. Did you say you had a dog with you? I’m not
sure I – “<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I almost broke
down. To be so near help and then to hear that it might be denied was nearly
more than I could bear. I began “oh, no, <i><u>PLEASE</u></i>, no-“ but then
the lady asked me to describe Rory and after the first few sentences she said
that it would be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out
that a very large, hairy and slobbery dog had once unexpectedly accompanied a
booked ride and all but destroyed her car interior; she was fond of Staffies
and French Bulldogs and as long as he was seated on a towel, Rory was
welcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t have been more
thankful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It turned out
that the taxi lady was an angel in more ways than one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I had left the guard house expressing
my deepest gratitude to Luke and his wonderful colleagues, and was explaining
the full history of the afternoon whilst towels for Rory were laid on the back
seat of the taxi, she said that her husband worked on a vehicle recovery truck
and had a mate who did emergency car key replacement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She offered to telephone her husband and get
the number for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The key man, James
(from keytomycar.co.uk, god bless them) was out on another job at the time, but
she kindly left a message for him to call me at the hotel, or via her if we
were still <i>en route</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
formulated a plan that she would get me and Rory back to our hotel that
evening, hopefully key man could make a replacement key, which he would deliver
to taxi lady. Once done, Rory and I would get ourselves to Okehampton (ideally
the train station), where taxi lady would meet us and hand over the key and
then take us up onto the moor where the car would be waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I had renewed
and thankful hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had resigned myself
to the fact that the phone and keys would not be recovered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was having minor palpitations about all the
work contacts and data stored on my phone but, most especially, all the
photographs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holidays, memories, almost
all of the offline photographs I had of Gisele-Stephanie were stored on that
phone – the thought of losing those was a real sadness. At least Rory was safe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back at the
hotel, the staff (Sunil and Jetain) were very pleased to see me looking unharmed,
but sorry for what had happened, and then I think the full horror of the
situation actually dawned on them and they were mortified at their unwitting part
in it, not having realised that the phone had gone, along with the dog and car
key, and the implications of their not having been able to summon a taxi and
not letting the army officers know but leaving a voicemail on my vanished phone
and innocently believing that they’d done enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could not have been kinder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It really wasn’t their fault.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They let me use the hotel phone as much as I
needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to let my mum know
what had happened, but that Rory was safe and unharmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And finally, after a number of attempts, I
was able to speak to key man.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Key man was aware
of the situation by the time I got through to him, having spoken to taxi
lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was kind and didn’t laugh at my
misfortune at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was calm, matter-of-fact
and reassuring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the fact that he
lived fairly locally to the North of the moor, he didn’t know where the car was
located – it really was that remote - but fortunately his father-in-law was
staying with him and his father-in-law knew where it was. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So they went out together <u>that night</u> and
successfully made the new key.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rang
me back at the hotel once it was done to reassure me (so that I could at least
get some sleep that night) and I promised to call him back first thing in the
morning to pay him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I then began to
plan how I was going to get myself to Okehampton the following morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taxis from the hotel were known to be hard to
come by(!) but I thought I might at least be able to get one to Plymouth
station and thence get the train to Okehampton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Alas, there’s no such thing as a direct train these days - I would have
had to get a train from Plymouth to Exeter and then Exeter to Okehampton – with
Rory in tow. But then I wondered how - even if I get to Okehampton - how am I
going to ring the taxi lady? Because there are no payphones anywhere anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That quandary was rendered irrelevant in any
case – because the bloody trains were on strike the next day. Joy was just being
heaped upon joys.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I decided I
would phone taxi lady in the morning and see if I could appeal to her to taxi
the key all the way to us in the hotel and then return with us to the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hotel staff were anxious to be sure that
I would have a taxi in the morning, and so wanted to book one for me there and
then in advance, but we agreed to wait until the morning and after I had spoken
to both key man and taxi lady again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But cruel
circumstance had not finished with me quite yet. Rory had been safely installed
in the hotel room with his (ill-deserved) supper, and I went to return the
hotel phone to reception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was
another guest in the hotel who had overheard my relation of the day’s events
and my phone calls with key man while he was in the hotel bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He very kindly put details of my lost pack
and its precious contents on the local Facebook pages (the wonderful taxi lady
also put it on the Okehampton Facebook page for me, bless her). He also let me use
his phone to put it on some other Dartmoor pages that I frequent and I also
notified the National Park Authority in case a ranger came across it (the
Police didn’t want to know).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whilst
doing this, the lovely hotel chaps had been closing up the kitchen for the
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bless them both, they then brought
me a bowl of chicken curry that they had made themselves (proper, authentic
chicken curry with everything including all the bits and bobs and bones of the
chicken).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As with the Snickers bar from
Luke earlier, the gods of gastronomy were laughing at me once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a vegetarian.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">These dear
young men gave me the lovely curry that they’d made, after I’d had such a horrendous
time (and with no food).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so very,
very kind of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t bear to
turn it away or seem rude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What could I
do?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I pretended to
eat it. That’s what I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put it all
in my mouth and chewed, professing delight at every lovely mouthful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, to be fair, it was absolutely delicious.
I swallowed the tasty veg and mushrooms and the outstanding home-made sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as soon as I was unobserved or a back was
turned, I took out the bits of unswallowed chicken and carefully concealed them
about my person, unobserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was somewhat limited
as to places of concealment, as you may imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So each piece of chicken was quietly transferred
from my mouth to my hand and from thence to the only hiding place available: my
pants.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I take no pride
in the fact that I did this for the entirety of the meal undetected, in the
presence of the other guest in the bar (a more grateful and infinitely more honest
recipient of some curry) and my kind, generous and thoughtful friends from the
hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt unbearably guilty the
whole time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wracked full of
guilt, and my pants full of curried chicken, I then had to walk past everyone,
all of whom were cheerfully bidding me goodnight, expressing again their sorry for
the day’s misfortunes, trying to get across the lobby and up the stairs without
chicken-leakage or betraying the lumpen shapes about my lower regions which
would announce my heinous, traitorous, disrespectful secretions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once I was
safely back in the room, putting the chicken pieces of shame into Rory’s
gratefully-receptive maw, I believed that I had never felt quite so wretched in
my life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So that was <u>that</u>
day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The following
morning, at breakfast (with extra scrambled egg, mushroom and a little hash
brown on my plate, <i>guilt, guilt guilt</i>) I phoned key man and paid him the
£390 for the emergency replacement (computer-reprogrammed) key.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very happily for me, angel taxi lady kindly
said she will come all the way down to the hotel with the key, collect me and Rory,
and drive us back out to the moor where the car was and all for another £55,
which I felt was more than reasonable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I cannot thank my
helpers highly enough. I can tell you that it was a sweet, sweet sound when got
out of the taxi, pressed the key button and the car went “peep peep” and
opened. Utter relief.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before she
left, taxi lady asked if I was going to stay up in the location and look for
the waist pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I seriously thought
about it – but on just looking at the hillside I knew it would do me no
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided that I was not going to
torment myself by even trying to look for the pack.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the hotel
receptionists’ suggestion that morning I had tried ringing the phone from the
hotel, so that I could leave a voicemail message, in case someone was able to
find and unlock it. It was still ringing but had not gone to voicemail – and I
suspected that the battery would soon run down as the phone also served as my
alarm clock and would, by now, have been going off without me there to silence
it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt that the
sheep had probably got it by now - they are probably ringing Domino’s as we
speak – “<i>Meeh -eeh-eeeh</i>… can I have extra pepperoni on mine, please… <i>meeh-eeeeh</i>….
Garlic bread… <i>meeh-eeeh-eeehhh</i>….” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another walker
preparing himself for his day on the moor overheard the conversation and asked
me about it once the taxi lady had left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He expressed sincere sympathy and offered to help to look for the
pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was very grateful, but I knew
that we could look for days and never find it – if the army and all their
combined efforts yesterday could not locate it, the chances of us finding it were
extremely remote.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Blessing again
the assistance of taxi lady and key man, I started the car and drove back down
to the military camp guard house, just to say thank you again to the soldiers for
their help. I was so grateful to them, more than I could ever express.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luke sadly was not there, and the officer on
guard duty did not know who he was (I think they address each other chiefly by
surnames, and I didn’t know Luke’s).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
did leave a written note of thanks, along with my details for the lost property
in case anyone handed in the pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
civilian guard on duty remembered us from the previous day and said that he
would keep an eye on the various Facebook pages.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And, with that,
I was all set to head off elsewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then I thought to myself “No! I’m bloody
well going to do this walk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s cost me
an absolute fortune to get everything out here in terms of new keys, GPS and
taxi fares. I have just spent another £55 just to get back here, so I am bloody
well going to do it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate to be
defeated by anything and I was determined that this was not going to get the
better of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going to stick two
fingers up to the events of yesterday and not let it have the satisfaction of
defeating me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going to show fate
what I thought of it by succeeding in doing the whole walk that I had planned
and set out to do, and claw back a little bit of victory for myself from the
whole sorry episode.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So we did it.
The whole walk and every single letterbox (waypoint) (it was the “Animal Tors”
charity letterbox walk in aid of Pancreatic Cancer UK; a lovely route and very
nice stamps, as it turned out). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rory was
slightly hobbling his way around at times, but my sympathy for him was limited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt that he was the architect of his own
misery and you’re going to finish this walk and like it (he actually did enjoy
himself in the end, though not the fact that he was now wearing two leads, one
clipped to his harness and literally tied to me and the other being an old lead
of Jasper’s that I clipped to his collar. I wasn’t going to be complacent again).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was very
satisfying to complete the walk, feeling that I had secured victory over defeat,
and return to the car happy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Less happily,
though still thankful for a better outcome than had at first seemed likely –
and VERY thankful that Rory and I were together again – for the rest of the
holiday I had to restrict where we went, in case I got myself in a tricky situation
because I now had no phone with which to summon help if I was in a predicament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus the fact that the phone was also my Sat
Nav (though I was still able to navigate using paper maps, never a wasted
skill).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We were,
however, still blessed with the new GPS device, and that promoted our enjoyment
of several other walks in more easily-accessible and less troublesome areas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had some lovely times and walks in the
days remaining to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly I had no
means of photographing them, but they are committed to memory now and that will
have to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My conscience still pricked
me about the unwitting litter I had left somewhere on the North moor, and I
grieved for the loss of all those photographs of sweet Gisele.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was incredibly mindful of how very much
worse the situation could have been, and thankful for the outcome I had
received.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rory Gamin de
Pycome returned to my side unharmed and innocent of malevolent wrongdoing or
carnage was a blessing for which I will always be thankful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It does beg the question of what on earth he
WAS doing all the time that he was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m probably better-off not knowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was gone for hours, with no trace of him
or his doings; what was he up to?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually,
I suspect that he found himself a nice secluded shady spot and had himself a good
sleep for a few hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a fit young
dog in his prime, he can be really quite remarkably idle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On our last day
we went out on a lovely, gentle walk with beautiful letterbox stamps to find in
the popular Pew Tor area, where there is generally a highly worthy local
ice-cream van in the car park to reward ourselves on our return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our final walk duly and happily completed; we
met some Australian tourists also enjoying the rich bounty on offer from Willy’s
Ices on the Moor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They stopped to admire
Rory (everyone does; as with Jasper and Gisele.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were adored wherever we went, as now is Rory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just incidental – Rory is Sooty and I am
very much the Matthew Corbett of the piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But no matter – he deserves to be loved, I would much rather they looked
at him than me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told them what Rory
had done; they were laughing so much that one of them almost hurt himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They ended up taking photographs of the dog so
that they could show their friends back in Australia - saying “this is what
this dog did! Look at him!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a
small piece of quiet revenge; they told me that they had just come from touring
Ireland and one of them had been kissing the Blarney Stone. I asked them if
they knew that the locals went down and pee-ed on it at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they laughed very heartily at that
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In truth, they were lovely people,
and it was nice to talk with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
glad that our tales of mishap had made them laugh. It’s nice if we can make
someone smile or make their day just that little bit better.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was not
exactly the uneventful and battery-recharging holiday that I had hoped for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it has at least been a tale (with a
thankfully better-than-expected outcome) which can make people smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have committed the whole thing to record
here, in case I forget any of the finer details.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And also to remind me that, however, awful a
day I might be having – this one was worse, and we came through it. It was OK
in the end.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, I
had to listen to Sh*t FM in the car all the way home, as my carefully curated play-list
of tracks was on my phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we had to
get back in time to go to the phone store to get a replacement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They, also, were kind sympathetic and
helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a most happy <i>coda</i> to
the whole came when it transpired that all my phone data – including all the
photographs of Gisele-Stephanie – had been backed up to the Cloud all the way
up to the morning of the fateful incident and were easily restored to my new
phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still getting to grips with
the new device and its many and varied settings, but I am so, so thankful for
the backups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will never be tardy about
employing them again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas, the photos
from the morning of “the incident” are non-recoverable (unless the old phone is
located, but I doubt that will ever happen), but I’m not sure I really want
those.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last photo I took was of Rory
at his first letterbox, gurning at the camera with the box in the background.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was taken approximately 45 seconds
before that day turned to merry hell and I am not sure I want a pictorial memento
of that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">None of this
has deterred us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have already booked
our return to Dartmoor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although old
Rory “Two Leads” Gamin de Pycombe will not be offered another opportunity for
solo adventuring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We keep smiling, and
very thankfully and gratefully so.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I suppose I
should offer the last word to Rory himself:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSooqyOPNEdCL-AAuMOXzmOvK-7TTDNg27Mm2-se8T2JileQVoaKa2zjh1Y9lzMxmwz52nu4BN-DjuZJjffNRiwvQS9jEdngpAsVbN28LBYZMz60c0fSx0CJo-G9NqogLRuU8hlWSNJz93LmEseuE0hfv9Hu1TGXCWgwNU03oi5e8xL6IJjavbRMb8Ky2R/s470/Tired%20Rory.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="290" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSooqyOPNEdCL-AAuMOXzmOvK-7TTDNg27Mm2-se8T2JileQVoaKa2zjh1Y9lzMxmwz52nu4BN-DjuZJjffNRiwvQS9jEdngpAsVbN28LBYZMz60c0fSx0CJo-G9NqogLRuU8hlWSNJz93LmEseuE0hfv9Hu1TGXCWgwNU03oi5e8xL6IJjavbRMb8Ky2R/w123-h200/Tired%20Rory.jpg" width="123" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mamma refused
to rub cream onto my sore and calloused paws. Unacceptable.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Happy days!</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><p></p>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-14596724794818532322023-05-11T17:27:00.000+01:002023-05-11T17:27:00.659+01:00Thursday 11 May 2023<p>This is Rory Gamin de Pyecombe, who came to live with me on 19 February. He's helping to mend the broken hearts that sweet Gisele left behind her.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3L2OGU45-5xuoB3aTqfsd9I_sfKj4bWqHo6wI5OLqWz3skJOH4ibCxZ8xjlqlbquGynZ_APMzt4JRa2w7bN87c4QD7vBox6FUDf5sCWsxAhhmU3xV_585itLCM0ULEm0xrT2zyg4EZY6BGTN7PM-zyWAsOW6ZRGKckQp22UMwBWAsM6NH2ndyReojdQ/s760/Rory%20GdeP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="557" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3L2OGU45-5xuoB3aTqfsd9I_sfKj4bWqHo6wI5OLqWz3skJOH4ibCxZ8xjlqlbquGynZ_APMzt4JRa2w7bN87c4QD7vBox6FUDf5sCWsxAhhmU3xV_585itLCM0ULEm0xrT2zyg4EZY6BGTN7PM-zyWAsOW6ZRGKckQp22UMwBWAsM6NH2ndyReojdQ/s320/Rory%20GdeP.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><br /><p>His literary skills are still in progress, but he looks forward to sharing his adventures, of which I am sure there will be many.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOLDM7OYMigJRzqmPPbepkTEbYxIAdvKcnR_1UUA_MoI7gOdebxEVQMciJgoAhT0UpCqQWMCip6UGk8Z9IWfCJ7JMAI2siHDQ2nZepZY5pFCb_cSyI3yyV5qXgwwuZCQ_Cb-wTf-rprxDJHX_3H8GQ6p5YWAh_to924xZ6QH-hXU6Jxp2Yq5tG30-qg/s1964/King%20Rory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1964" data-original-width="1058" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOLDM7OYMigJRzqmPPbepkTEbYxIAdvKcnR_1UUA_MoI7gOdebxEVQMciJgoAhT0UpCqQWMCip6UGk8Z9IWfCJ7JMAI2siHDQ2nZepZY5pFCb_cSyI3yyV5qXgwwuZCQ_Cb-wTf-rprxDJHX_3H8GQ6p5YWAh_to924xZ6QH-hXU6Jxp2Yq5tG30-qg/s320/King%20Rory.jpg" width="172" /></a></div><br /><p>Keep smiling, always. x</p>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-68113552305139385152022-09-09T10:04:00.001+01:002022-09-09T10:28:12.656+01:00Friday 9 September 2022<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I write this on 9 September 2022. Last evening, 8th September 2022 at 18:30, it was announced that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second had died peacefully at Balmoral that afternoon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy539-4C1BIpzS2tiWTSikzN2q3TBYV0-_Pfg0qzgvvctYRAgTUMlNpKtKR871JR2LBSYgZeJUFocha0zEQ_9a3rIRQwLl0bY1HPo0E0-n_W5R7mgw3U8EKqJsQjNlci7FFa8SnGOWv2JFYToH3nwV-S5Xb42D3Tw2WfFtxB9cPre9bJ1FEXf-yOhC3w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="649" data-original-width="976" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy539-4C1BIpzS2tiWTSikzN2q3TBYV0-_Pfg0qzgvvctYRAgTUMlNpKtKR871JR2LBSYgZeJUFocha0zEQ_9a3rIRQwLl0bY1HPo0E0-n_W5R7mgw3U8EKqJsQjNlci7FFa8SnGOWv2JFYToH3nwV-S5Xb42D3Tw2WfFtxB9cPre9bJ1FEXf-yOhC3w=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is the end of an era. But what an amazing era it was. Following the September 11 2001 terrorist atrocities in the USA the Queen, in her message to Americans, said "Grief is the price we pay for love." (from the original quote by Colin Murray Parkes). And we grieve now for a monarch and lady who was very much loved.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thank you for your life of service and devotion.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Queen is dead. Long live the King.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">#TheQueen, #RoyalFamily, #RIPQueenElizabeth</div><p></p>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-37400693040443627322022-04-25T18:52:00.006+01:002022-04-25T18:54:31.349+01:00Monday 25 April 2022<p>Sweet Gisele-Stephanie died today at 16:10. Emergency treatment brought scant respite and exploratory surgery this afternoon revealed a massive inoperable tumour on her pancreas. I took the utterly wretched decision not to wake her from the surgery and was able to hold her as she went. Utterly heartbroken. No more smiles left to keep. </p><p>Sleep sound my Tiny Dancer.</p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0JShGVQcgtZMhhYOylNgae12VxeyttnP1C69U5Fh-rLKqXuKrzOoqHhLnL0y3Qs-f-L7B_Qn24-xE1OVJIumtODwOc11qjTh3WCgN0S6eIjgwEKUq0xEs1VplB1ciC_ugvqN55qBY-vIgzBL3OI1gFr3AEw9XmDaFdXFB4ZjH9Fm6ISn2D-iS-r5YA/s1472/GizRun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="843" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0JShGVQcgtZMhhYOylNgae12VxeyttnP1C69U5Fh-rLKqXuKrzOoqHhLnL0y3Qs-f-L7B_Qn24-xE1OVJIumtODwOc11qjTh3WCgN0S6eIjgwEKUq0xEs1VplB1ciC_ugvqN55qBY-vIgzBL3OI1gFr3AEw9XmDaFdXFB4ZjH9Fm6ISn2D-iS-r5YA/w229-h400/GizRun.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><br /></span></span></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-53077717157733113212022-01-26T18:05:00.000+00:002022-01-26T18:05:35.954+00:00Wednesday 26 January 2022<p>Here I am, still in a world of Covid - but still wagging my tail though, despite it all.</p><p>To all this I can add - this is not the time to be wandering around with a shaved belly.</p><p>I have been very poorly in the hospital. A liver infection. Quite serious apparently, which it is a bit ironic for something with the word "live" in it. So I had to have lots of injections and medicines and have my insides looked at on a screen, which is why they had to shave my little belly. It is very cold indeed.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFzJIAp9bJIp4SaLY0S0L-x5Uczy9z-xTwGvxDSnPZ270Uj4rKnQL_6n_yn3I15XnyZBQCUyZUU2M9UaRM1O7P_o6bvGLdhvgldzzrOnzeoq2dU7G8gdPc8oS_n6sdFtSEnnOphcLQUgw0SWDVuTWWfHqJZClhGS_LYaXweSXw1GGQalmUY9KrpVL67g=s1124" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFzJIAp9bJIp4SaLY0S0L-x5Uczy9z-xTwGvxDSnPZ270Uj4rKnQL_6n_yn3I15XnyZBQCUyZUU2M9UaRM1O7P_o6bvGLdhvgldzzrOnzeoq2dU7G8gdPc8oS_n6sdFtSEnnOphcLQUgw0SWDVuTWWfHqJZClhGS_LYaXweSXw1GGQalmUY9KrpVL67g=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The scissors are for a big tapestry cushion that Mistress is making, a picture of some apples. I keep trying to steal the wool for extra warmth, but she puts it where I can't reach it.<div><br /></div><div>I can't complain. I have had a very happy year. I went to see my cousin Doug for Christmas. I celebrated the summer by very suddenly going deaf, which was very strange. Mistress took me to the vets, but there is nothing wrong. I don't mind too much - I can tell by my nose and my eyes what's going on and I still enjoy my life very much. It's actually quite nice not to have the noise when I am trying to be asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>Especially because I get lots of extra meat with my tablets. I have to take them until next week, but I will see if I can squeak some more meat every day for as long as I can.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wasn't very happy with Mistress after I was allowed out of the vets.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbhl7xib684KkgFDzTBU7HK_TFmw4hZq5PczB7EYeiCTzRTPLtQtHCqpDhtdXP98Wku4ERqAOqdIHekxhGiIESaBZmXkFd4Bt3l0DObVxShvhA2jj1Y-3_uBcsvZg_R-VqhI_tcAuL4Q8Q8ixQAhjJjbVkkk5cLRAulg0LKcyQH8SZQIl1bpdeYX3e6g=s1124" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbhl7xib684KkgFDzTBU7HK_TFmw4hZq5PczB7EYeiCTzRTPLtQtHCqpDhtdXP98Wku4ERqAOqdIHekxhGiIESaBZmXkFd4Bt3l0DObVxShvhA2jj1Y-3_uBcsvZg_R-VqhI_tcAuL4Q8Q8ixQAhjJjbVkkk5cLRAulg0LKcyQH8SZQIl1bpdeYX3e6g=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div>That's my best "I hope you feel guilty" look. I think it works quite well.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a big new vets building and hospital. The old one where I (and Jasper and Tess) used to go has been knocked down (so I don't have to walk past it nearly every day, hurray!). By a strange coincidence the new place is built on the site of the building where Mistress's parents worked for 40 years. Mistress says it feels strange to go there now. I says she ought to try sitting there in a cage, hooked up to a drip with a little shaved belly. THAT feels strange.</div><div><br /></div><div>On 11 January - so, 15 days ago - it was exactly ten years ago that Jasper died. Mistress says it seems like yesterday and she can't believe it has been that long. I can only remember meeting him once, when I was very little ("You still ARE very little" says Mistress. Ha ha. I mean, when I was a puppy) and lived with someone else. He was very nice to me. I think, even though we still have a nice life together, Mistress still misses him sometimes.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi84HGRogRgTEL00VSxI6KR2YSwgNltLGcemQWxItGvnfUAQ_d5OZPWvMhUTgRs6FX1KzZk2YdIr2PAjeWGONb_32oZfoj7dXFdv9JZIf0EawB0aOcw-diIwmaTby6Q2pfwIKh_LuJY34Zgzl-IVT8K-byqSL2UBUzfk3otfwMVpov2zCpqhgWbE323hA=s260" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="243" data-original-width="260" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi84HGRogRgTEL00VSxI6KR2YSwgNltLGcemQWxItGvnfUAQ_d5OZPWvMhUTgRs6FX1KzZk2YdIr2PAjeWGONb_32oZfoj7dXFdv9JZIf0EawB0aOcw-diIwmaTby6Q2pfwIKh_LuJY34Zgzl-IVT8K-byqSL2UBUzfk3otfwMVpov2zCpqhgWbE323hA" width="260" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><p>He was a very fine dog. If you look back at earlier posts on this blog you will find lots of lovely stories about him and his adventures, going all the way back to Sunday 13 August 2006 (<a href="http://jasper-thedogsblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/sunday-13-august-2006.html" target="_blank">It all started here</a>). I think it might even be one of the first ever dog blogs. 2006 is a long time ago in the world of the internet, I think.</p><p>I am very much hopeful that this year - 2022 - is going to be a very good one for me and for Mistress and that I will have lots of adventures to share here. Mistress has not been able to drive a car since 2017, as she has been ill, but the doctor says she can now, hurray! We are just waiting to get a new one and then there will be no stopping us from exploring wherever we can.</p><p>I can't wait to see what the year is going to bring us.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtBwpbXu4YvWd6mShZHWj4IjN-y8WDhY84B7iZtfaZOqGOyFKF6R85HuYQQYZVVpf2hMmDH9h_raDBEaDA-wtPm-tDzhNXttvjj3aVLjsd_Z_LSdsn_4BTtdSSqsv5buN_Mr6s_JYbEeCDGO5twfcuvZqpZIduW9hGiTEIuahKoiVPDM3JuGu-vk4Cjg=s998" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="988" data-original-width="998" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtBwpbXu4YvWd6mShZHWj4IjN-y8WDhY84B7iZtfaZOqGOyFKF6R85HuYQQYZVVpf2hMmDH9h_raDBEaDA-wtPm-tDzhNXttvjj3aVLjsd_Z_LSdsn_4BTtdSSqsv5buN_Mr6s_JYbEeCDGO5twfcuvZqpZIduW9hGiTEIuahKoiVPDM3JuGu-vk4Cjg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCPkYPAmfS4wSGvJDKdGIsIwcoLdjkSCjEAWSazyyJElUVNUq0ujqdtyQWiexUMKA6FHDEvnv_SJ16ndCLgT7ZUUyWXMOrAsayuXoaxaM82SP4ZLzf-1-13JFjoZ6FqHDgsL4pBntBbuQdiUfAoLbLIwQd_2RGrKj-vwFa3zgiNRvTSZ3U0CZ5JSU_2g=s1322" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="827" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCPkYPAmfS4wSGvJDKdGIsIwcoLdjkSCjEAWSazyyJElUVNUq0ujqdtyQWiexUMKA6FHDEvnv_SJ16ndCLgT7ZUUyWXMOrAsayuXoaxaM82SP4ZLzf-1-13JFjoZ6FqHDgsL4pBntBbuQdiUfAoLbLIwQd_2RGrKj-vwFa3zgiNRvTSZ3U0CZ5JSU_2g=s320" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p>In the meantime, stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.</p><p>Lots of love from Gisèle x</p></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-35558040434593221462021-03-07T21:20:00.001+00:002021-03-07T21:25:06.044+00:00Sunday 7 March 2021<p>Mistress has made a cake. It has got chocolate on it so I am not allowed to have any. As if that, and the pictures posted in recent entries were not debasement and humiliation enough for a sweet young thing such as I, she is now making me put the recipe on here so her friends can have it. My way is clear. I will have my revenge - but she won't find it until she next puts on her boots, hehe...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNk_UEFzAK8NQYxo3HbWjrtPuC2zrHck5LTIARNpwV9AH7x3r-6epfLbnszGBN8RrmIgLSVL5pmna49Sj0sv3RigLSUpnWrSr7oFQjJGV14zlAoBNvIhaGJ_7LcDlGeCVZ76QJBZOBYU_M/s1440/CocaColaCake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1248" data-original-width="1440" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNk_UEFzAK8NQYxo3HbWjrtPuC2zrHck5LTIARNpwV9AH7x3r-6epfLbnszGBN8RrmIgLSVL5pmna49Sj0sv3RigLSUpnWrSr7oFQjJGV14zlAoBNvIhaGJ_7LcDlGeCVZ76QJBZOBYU_M/w200-h173/CocaColaCake.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Exhibit A"</div><br /><p>If you must...</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Coca-Cola Cake</u> </span>(by Nigella Lawson)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the cake<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">200 g (7 oz) (1 3/4 cups) plain flour<br />250 g (1/2 lb) (1 1/4 cups) golden caster sugar<br />1/2 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda<br />1/4 teaspoon salt<br />1 large egg<br />125 ml (1/2 cup) buttermilk<br />1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />125 g (4 oz) (1/2 cup) unsalted butter<br />2 tablespoons cocoa powder (Mistress accidentally added a bit too much cocoa powder once and it was actually quite nice, so you could add a little bit more if you want to)<br />175 ml (3/4 cup) Coca-Cola (Mistress says to use proper Coca-Cola, not Diet or Sugar-Free as they won't taste right)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>(22-23 cm Springform, lined with foil to prevent the batter
leaking, then greased)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the icing<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">225 g (7 oz) ( 2 1/4 cups) icing sugar<br />2 tablespoons (30g) butter<br />3 tablespoons (45ml) Coca-Cola<br />1 tablespoon (15 ml) cocoa powder<br />1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">1. Preheat the oven to 180C/gas mark 4/ 350 F and put in a
baking sheet at the same time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">2. In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, bicarb and
salt. In a measuring jug, beat the egg, buttermilk and vanilla.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">3. In a heavy-based saucepan, melt the butter, cocoa and
Coca-Cola, heating it gently. Pour into the dry ingredients, stir well with a
wooden spoon, and then add the liquid ingredients from the jug, beating until
it is well blended.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">4. Pour into the prepared tin and bake on the warm sheet for
40 minutes or until a tester comes out clean.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">5. Leave to stand for 15 minutes in the tin before
un-moulding. Then unclip, unwrap and turn out on a wire rack, making sure you’ve
got a sheet of newspaper or something underneath the rack to catch any icing
that drips through.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">6. Sieve the icing sugar and set aside for the moment. In a
heavy-based saucepan, combine the butter, Coca-Cola and cocoa and stir over a
low heat until the butter has melted. Remove from the heat, add the vanilla,
and spoon in the sieved icing sugar, beating as you do so, until you’ve got a
good, spreadable, but still runny, icing.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">7. Pour this icing over the cake, while the cake is still
warm, spread gently and leave till cool before transferring to the plate on
which you’re serving it. Decorate it however you want - in the picture Mistress used white chocolate buttons with rainbow sprinkles. We wanted to use those jelly Coca-Cola bottle shaped sweets but the shop didn't have any.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>8. Now grill 87 chops of various types for your loyal and long-suffering Parson Jack Russell and tell her she's a good and beautiful girl while she eats them. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwzLPgMBiRD7NtMDW-UGr5jWsesjpS14qe3OiAHPd41f3vzTsdIwKt58F6GvYyzUQomezeMBLMjqrlcHEt9iwh3gFqBJ_oEKj6lBK5asRcdy2oydR5i-OG07QZelTKbDXevdz_VAFZK-gI/s960/queengiz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="551" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwzLPgMBiRD7NtMDW-UGr5jWsesjpS14qe3OiAHPd41f3vzTsdIwKt58F6GvYyzUQomezeMBLMjqrlcHEt9iwh3gFqBJ_oEKj6lBK5asRcdy2oydR5i-OG07QZelTKbDXevdz_VAFZK-gI/w115-h200/queengiz.jpg" width="115" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All hail.</div><br /><p><br /></p>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-55454980977944489492021-02-13T23:22:00.004+00:002021-02-13T23:31:59.365+00:00Saturday 13 February 2021<p>Disrespectful laughter is not a sound that I like.</p><p>Don't mistake me, I do very much like to laugh. I just don't like being laughed <u><i>at</i></u> very much. My handsome predecessor, Jasper (who started this blog back in 2006) liked making people happy as much as he could and often performed particularly to gain laughter and general amusement. Here he is, nobly sacrificing dignity for the sake of laughter, posing at Pixieland on Dartmoor in Devon:</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3wVPwtgtHkaZNEY6YTh5POhr0H4LsqOzWhW4b9HsvgNA-t9E7d7tZRjldLE5wyWqSCbTGE_5UDRlj38fuJMtRKNhjYZXHgrBh-N2i3JjZlN2N9dCgjQ4STX1oFrvolkf72T9dE5S7z-C/s601/JasperPixie+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="601" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3wVPwtgtHkaZNEY6YTh5POhr0H4LsqOzWhW4b9HsvgNA-t9E7d7tZRjldLE5wyWqSCbTGE_5UDRlj38fuJMtRKNhjYZXHgrBh-N2i3JjZlN2N9dCgjQ4STX1oFrvolkf72T9dE5S7z-C/w400-h260/JasperPixie+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">No part of this picture was digitally edited or added-to. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He wore this hat and sat on this toadstool for REAL. And was happy about it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You can visit the scene of the crime here: <a href="https://pixieland.co.uk/" target="_blank">Pixieland</a></div><br /><p>Elsewhere on this blog you can spot him dressed as Sherwood Forest, some Watercress, Robin Hood and performing in character as 'Bullseye' in a production of <i>Oliver! </i>and these were by no means all his appearances.</p><p>I will admit that I have done a couple of shifts dressed as some watercress myself; you can find it here within the pages of this blog if you want to see that, I am not going to look it out and post it again. My own ability with photography is not high - just a few days ago I sat on Mistress's 'phone and accidentally posted a rather ordinary (as if there could be such a thing) photo of myself dozing on a sofa to her "My Story" section of something called Facebook. She only found out when she got notifications that people had seen it.</p><p>The general subject of this all came about back at our house earlier today. Mistress was sorting through a box and found lots of dog photographs. Right back to her first dog Jaki, through the tragically short-lived Tess Tickle and our hero Jasper-Horatio up to my own sweet self, Mistress showed me lots of pictures and I enjoyed them very much. We also found some pictures from six years ago. They were less to my taste.</p><p>These pictures were taken on the day that Mistress came out of hospital after recovering from kidney failure. She had brought some "souvenirs" from the nurses on her ward. Because I was so happy to have Mistress home alive and well I reluctantly agreed to pose briefly with these items. It was my belief that these pictures would never see the light of day. Silly me. I defy you, friend reader, to <u style="font-style: italic;">dare</u> to laugh at them...</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn_37X05JWyArO3XieOc3RiH5hymxyMkU1UG4e4re0ITvjczZCkpG9AUJH5JbUqFB9HdCWjqBHfDgWZUCLmUjKiUUqFhtArk0R_64mOcHqrIfVBWlTbKgRVg3VeAGUfYHpL_gBm9oJYwwU/s320/Giz+Bowl+2015+1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn_37X05JWyArO3XieOc3RiH5hymxyMkU1UG4e4re0ITvjczZCkpG9AUJH5JbUqFB9HdCWjqBHfDgWZUCLmUjKiUUqFhtArk0R_64mOcHqrIfVBWlTbKgRVg3VeAGUfYHpL_gBm9oJYwwU/w400-h300/Giz+Bowl+2015+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3e-7ff1mW6Z1_gASMO-APwkJyV8wh3XjhVsGvZXQEzhYq0XdERAJfheQsMNqHAMVI8ijSktf3TfF6DTrA49JjF4wkgFDrorN9cg19xn__pKNhZvsKTzWGmVwLKwoKtg0ecqpWAFxDNyt/s320/Giz+Bowl+2015+2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3e-7ff1mW6Z1_gASMO-APwkJyV8wh3XjhVsGvZXQEzhYq0XdERAJfheQsMNqHAMVI8ijSktf3TfF6DTrA49JjF4wkgFDrorN9cg19xn__pKNhZvsKTzWGmVwLKwoKtg0ecqpWAFxDNyt/w200-h150/Giz+Bowl+2015+2.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNx7O78abx_tUeKfWGgXo-x54r0-DU6K2plhyphenhyphenNcrgQeBXKWnzES6csYJG4l6Z4ocXVWL-c74hg3wfrb3oHXwZ5Y-VJnCEjEUiuvzTZ8U7MpEgel5r-2LVLeinQtp0R9w99XVm1b0jATUB/s320/Giz+Bowl+2015+3.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNx7O78abx_tUeKfWGgXo-x54r0-DU6K2plhyphenhyphenNcrgQeBXKWnzES6csYJG4l6Z4ocXVWL-c74hg3wfrb3oHXwZ5Y-VJnCEjEUiuvzTZ8U7MpEgel5r-2LVLeinQtp0R9w99XVm1b0jATUB/w200-h150/Giz+Bowl+2015+3.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Yes, that's what I thought. A shocking abuse of sanitary apparatus.<div><br /><p>After coming back to GrannaPea's house later in the afternoon, I was given a big tasty chew to enjoy. I decided to consume half and stash the remainder for another time. I duly took the first opportunity of sneaking outside when the back door was open, to bury my bounty in a carefully concealed secret location. I chose a specially-secluded site, prepared the ground, and placed the chew. Some time later, GrannaPea had cause to put some stuff into her compost bin and, inexplicably, found my place of concealment! The traitorous septuagenarian (big word for me, I know. I looked it up on Mr. Googles) came back into the house laughing in a VERY disrespectful way and summoned Mistress. She followed her mother back outside and both of them returned laughing heartily. I got very cross. The more cross I got, the more they laughed. Mistress called me "a total muppet" and said that my burying skills "were rubbish". I think not.</p><p>After all, I chose my spot most carefully. It was the site of where the old compost heap used to be (before the posh new compost bin arrived). I didn't go there hardly at all last year because birds were nesting in the clematis and I had to be good and leave them alone. They are gone now and the nest is empty.</p><p>Mistress has been using her new computer to play games (very unfair, it was only supposed to be for me to be writing this on). Some of them have been "hidden object" games, where you have to find particular things on a crowded screen. So here is my very own hidden object game. See if you can find (a) the nest (easy) and (b) my very carefully and professionally hidden chew (I bet you can't):<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglGNP-JKAvaJ4RnIKec_GX8HxjnLvHa2SCd0clvAnDcA2THA29A0dRwa2ZUyR4TRncsGd_HHFHR3tOchT2vSKMImr9n3I5X9uc_l5r57oHCysd2sxTPZneMPgmrryAu3TIoAGpK-0URo0q/s1168/Bury+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1168" data-original-width="1162" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglGNP-JKAvaJ4RnIKec_GX8HxjnLvHa2SCd0clvAnDcA2THA29A0dRwa2ZUyR4TRncsGd_HHFHR3tOchT2vSKMImr9n3I5X9uc_l5r57oHCysd2sxTPZneMPgmrryAu3TIoAGpK-0URo0q/w398-h400/Bury+%25282%2529.jpg" width="398" /></a></div><br /><p>I don't know why they were laughing.</p><p><br /></p><p>Stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.</p><p>Lots of love from Gisèle x</p></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-41333629760521214582021-02-03T23:02:00.000+00:002021-02-03T23:02:32.104+00:00Wednesday 3 February 2021<p> In this picture you find me sleepy in my basket. I have had a very busy few days.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GI9mbR6XbyW_HA-za1sHrmZpyfw-GETlnIqGYmh60sh5y_WEhsRm_u27xLm7Gfxpg5aMA6LqDvFW0ZWgctbTxZT_r0uFuwf9Fm1La5T38wsBdwC7aFnrGdWjGFnAUwegzj6ibWj0eT4u/s1150/Giz+bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="857" data-original-width="1150" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GI9mbR6XbyW_HA-za1sHrmZpyfw-GETlnIqGYmh60sh5y_WEhsRm_u27xLm7Gfxpg5aMA6LqDvFW0ZWgctbTxZT_r0uFuwf9Fm1La5T38wsBdwC7aFnrGdWjGFnAUwegzj6ibWj0eT4u/w200-h149/Giz+bed.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p>I have been helping Mistress and GrannaPea to make our house better. I have been enjoying lots of walks. Now, Mistress is watching a special programme about Captain Sir Tom Moore, who passed away yesterday. He always seemed like a very nice person.</p><p>I am happy to bark that GrannaPea has had her first Coronavirus vaccine jab, on Saturday. Obviously, I went along to supervise.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSAtFSdFM2hURv6regCN3BF4ewbtS4r_EV9a0o-r0HdqfNYTqE8LiUYY7eTAsas-6M6FR9V3alu7RGWwOukKOZJ7jjAML8x8NzSkRZ66ogNexEMGIBA3zwE-LGkllfzQB3ogxc2-yP7kO/s458/Giz+vax+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="272" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSAtFSdFM2hURv6regCN3BF4ewbtS4r_EV9a0o-r0HdqfNYTqE8LiUYY7eTAsas-6M6FR9V3alu7RGWwOukKOZJ7jjAML8x8NzSkRZ66ogNexEMGIBA3zwE-LGkllfzQB3ogxc2-yP7kO/s320/Giz+vax+1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here I am, standing sentinel...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtYQEj_n7Z7CWhhqzEg9JgW6qLMLKQZfqVh2wL5rBLBcdJ2z6iLRjYvGAvgyJO4Rqiuxh3oqPdxpLd4efznto1zQ_pCuy7Ch6C8CwwA_vfWNiOyBJv9Moa862BXnzzVmgBpvCrrt2icLP/s960/Giz+vax+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtYQEj_n7Z7CWhhqzEg9JgW6qLMLKQZfqVh2wL5rBLBcdJ2z6iLRjYvGAvgyJO4Rqiuxh3oqPdxpLd4efznto1zQ_pCuy7Ch6C8CwwA_vfWNiOyBJv9Moa862BXnzzVmgBpvCrrt2icLP/s320/Giz+vax+2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Custodian of the accompanying leaflet...</div><br /><p>I had a strategy, too, for ensuring my own dose of the jab (we dogs can't catch the virus, but one can never be too sure...). I was going to scuttle in, in place of GrannaPea, claim that I was a sufferer of restricted growth with body-hair issues and an unfortunate facial abnormality (they were Mistress's badly-chosen words), and proffer my supple little forearm just as the needle descended. But I was thwarted in the final moment. Mistress said that GrannaPea needed the injection and, in any case, she had to go into the building by herself.</p><p>I told Mistress that when I had finished having my picture taken (see above) I would break into the back of the hotel and steal all the rest of the vaccines for me and my friends. She said that I would not. I said I would. She said, in that case, if I was so excited about injections then she would take me straight to the vets doctor and I could have a proper dog one. Apparently when I was last in the vets doctor place they said I could have some cosmetic works done on some of my teeth. My right jaw isn't quite proper after some mischief when I was little and some of my teeth are not too straight. Well, I know what teeth are but I don't what cosmetic means. My teeth work fine and I haven't got any pain. And Mistress says it would be a lot of anaesthetic which might be a bit dangerous. It would cost nearly a thousand pounds, but Mistress said she would very gladly pay it if I really wanted it, and it would be a nice big needle too. Really big.</p><p>I changed my mind. I don't like injections any more. GrannaPea will have another one, in about 12 weeks. But she is welcome to it. I have gone off the idea. I am very glad that GrannaPea has had her injection and it makes it a bit safer for her.</p><p>And it's February already! Where did January go? I will look under the sofa tomorrow to see if it went down there.</p><p>Stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.</p><p>Lots of love from Gisèle x</p>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-80453034815236200502021-01-26T22:42:00.001+00:002021-01-26T22:42:23.792+00:00Tuesday 26 January 2021<p>I have been very busy these past few days. Supervising the restoration of my home after the toilet-traumas (mended, but we are still living with GrannaPea for the moment - it is warmer here). We have had some snow. I haven't seen very much snow in my life, but I do like it. Until I remember that it is cold and wet.</p><p>We went out early in the morning when it snowed (on Sunday). Mistress thinks that making a snowman is boring and I can't make a snowdog with my little paws. So we made a "snowrona virus" instead. At least it is topical. Mistress shared a picture of it and quite a lot of people liked it, which made me happy. Someone said they liked it as an example of typical British humour. I asked Mistress what that meant because I have never heard of a dog called that. She just looked at me, shaking her head. But she was smiling, so that's alright.</p><p>I like making people smile, even when and especially because times are horrible. Here is a picture of me after we had finished our building and taking pictures, showing exactly what I think of the REAL Coronavirus:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5PhlZ27EGWydVHysq3yEmygFeGSDGb436J1LG6s-wkZ0lRjxicaxhTe9C-Q0VQ4EqNyfC7pimEj_oAdGAnGoQIOIQIhIoBPDx82AFUduHjsYMhC6ZXUvZWi1V0KWtUCPnVUMfMgChIUtR/s628/Giz+destroy1+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="628" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5PhlZ27EGWydVHysq3yEmygFeGSDGb436J1LG6s-wkZ0lRjxicaxhTe9C-Q0VQ4EqNyfC7pimEj_oAdGAnGoQIOIQIhIoBPDx82AFUduHjsYMhC6ZXUvZWi1V0KWtUCPnVUMfMgChIUtR/w400-h281/Giz+destroy1+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>"Die, foul 'rona!"</i></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBx7tHznNcDTB8O_F1lMEalBMpYU095z6XdwlaL-YTOCSu9etKdrwli83dmwtFFiKnxjk7iP2sy7dWcIn0mh-xRQEYCg4AAGLvPcciuSh-jiUFCg5bXoa5itabVBeX8quOsY44XQl7ZNh/s601/Giz+destroy3+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="589" data-original-width="601" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBx7tHznNcDTB8O_F1lMEalBMpYU095z6XdwlaL-YTOCSu9etKdrwli83dmwtFFiKnxjk7iP2sy7dWcIn0mh-xRQEYCg4AAGLvPcciuSh-jiUFCg5bXoa5itabVBeX8quOsY44XQl7ZNh/w200-h196/Giz+destroy3+%25282%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSFSAp4cYjdHt8o46xQ-i181lZ_T-BBowIxXKWcYpDFs0u7zOq7VJRxxjo0kj4VvZ4bkgV4Rm7TJNlAFiUs49Pv4m9FKfFewta0PdZIf8UxKpwwvhNBPR6_u5PU_dY92YrdmaEu1hJDzS/s451/Giz+destroy2+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="372" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSFSAp4cYjdHt8o46xQ-i181lZ_T-BBowIxXKWcYpDFs0u7zOq7VJRxxjo0kj4VvZ4bkgV4Rm7TJNlAFiUs49Pv4m9FKfFewta0PdZIf8UxKpwwvhNBPR6_u5PU_dY92YrdmaEu1hJDzS/w165-h200/Giz+destroy2+%25282%2529.jpg" width="165" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I can be vicious when I want to be.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div>If only I knew how voodoo works, then I could destroy the virus for properly and for ever.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is a picture of the snowrona before I attacked it. This is the one that I said Mistress could share. She took quite a few pictures but in most of them I wasn't ready or I looked cross (so would you if you had to sit on the wet snow on your little furry bottom).<br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MnylGA1f7upetSz4O8eb_4O2s5IqTMrQ4_Fot67fzFeCD5zq7SljuN7kPLmvsJymA2h2ipQHi0jGgSN3PqXThpBmCnTqVnIJRc-BnGqaVGbFb0qvHBq7oBEREJE20BGnh_DOYrdjNUVU/s960/Giz+rona+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MnylGA1f7upetSz4O8eb_4O2s5IqTMrQ4_Fot67fzFeCD5zq7SljuN7kPLmvsJymA2h2ipQHi0jGgSN3PqXThpBmCnTqVnIJRc-BnGqaVGbFb0qvHBq7oBEREJE20BGnh_DOYrdjNUVU/s320/Giz+rona+2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I approved this one. I wasn't burping in this one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div>Later in the day we went out for a long walk and I had so much fun, I ran and played in the snow like a puppy. Afterwards I fell so fast asleep back in the warm that Mistress had to check that I was still breathing (I was). She told GrannaPea that I was so sound asleep that I was "basically just a chop with fur on it". But I had fun, so I don't mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>The snow is almost gone now. I am quite sad about this, but was cheered up this morning when GrannaPea got a 'phone call from the local human vet surgery today - she is going to have her Covid-19 vaccine injection on Saturday. That makes me happy.</div><div> </div><div>Mistress has got a new laptop computer for herself. Actually it is for me (I am typing this on it now) as long as I don't dribble on it. Mistress is using it too for writing some things but I don't know what she is writing. It isn't this, so it can't be very important, but I will let her have her turn and try not to be too cross about it. I don't like being cross, so I won't be.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress took some more pictures of me playing in the snow. I will try and find one or two where I don't look annoyed at having my photo taken or am engaged in activities which are apparently "not ladylike". I don't know what that means.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I was playing I saw some of my friends. Rolo the Labrador barked that he had a new joke for me. "What's the difference between roast beef and pea soup?" I didn't know. "I can roast beef but I can't pea soup..." He ran away laughing. I kept saying it over and over again in my head but I didn't understand it until later, when I was back home and Mistress was drying my paws. And then I got told off for slipping out of my towel because I was cackling like a misbehaving biddy-hen. Harsh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x</div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-33926585691355767462021-01-21T22:51:00.004+00:002021-01-21T22:53:12.267+00:00Thursday 21 January 2021<p>When I started typing this it was 21:21 on the 21st day of the 21st year of the 21st century. I don't suppose that means anything really, but it isn't something that happens every day.</p><p>Mistress has had further toilet-trauma. We are still staying at GrannaPea's but have been going to our house to do tidyings and things. There, we found that the toilet which we thought had been fixed was actually still not mended and water was once again pouring onto the floor when we pulled the handle. Mistress was very angry. She telephoned for a plumber and was told that no-one could come until February. Happily, yesterday, they had a cancellation and so Mistress received a text message to say that plumber "Jake" would soon be arriving.</p><p>We went to our house to await Jake's arrival. Only it wasn't Jake. It was our friend Ross, from before. He at least had the grace to look slightly ashamed of having to fix the problem that he failed to fix before (he forgot to include a key part and some sturdy screws in his previous effort). I made sure to supervise him extra-closely, with my special bug-eyed expression so he knew I meant business. I think the repairs have worked properly this time. I hope so, for his young sake, anyway. But why did they call him Jake, when he is Ross? Or maybe his real name isn't Jake. Is it even Ross? But whoever he is, I am grateful for his efforts.</p><p>And barking of annoying toilets being successfully flushed, my friends in America have a new leader and I am glad. I hope that he will bring better things to the world in general. More dignity and respect in any case, and that is always a good place to begin.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxu9Po4_l4aMBm68wzumY65XFRwx1I95Jw1cYBb_Aad8JP5jrX3qVelJm7wMlCoYIazde8ERZo4woOGAZa31oW1RsbjJB9QpDBJS2FmxnrlgdTjYVERE4RvxuW2fhghcmUUbrMwuESuTl/s1440/Giz+Biden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1410" data-original-width="1440" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxu9Po4_l4aMBm68wzumY65XFRwx1I95Jw1cYBb_Aad8JP5jrX3qVelJm7wMlCoYIazde8ERZo4woOGAZa31oW1RsbjJB9QpDBJS2FmxnrlgdTjYVERE4RvxuW2fhghcmUUbrMwuESuTl/w400-h391/Giz+Biden.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I look a bit dubious, but only because it was my dinner-time<br />and Mistress should have been getting my meal instead of</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i> making me pose for pictures...</i></div><br /><p>I have hope for happier times ahead. Even if it is still a bit difficult at the moment.</p><p>Stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.</p><p>Lots of love from Gisèle x</p>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-32903383573754454312021-01-08T20:17:00.006+00:002021-01-08T20:44:04.320+00:00Friday 8 January 2021<div>Mistress with her arm down the toilet. Can there be any more glorious, more edifying sight for a pretty young Parson Russell Terrier than that of her Mistress with her arm down the toilet? I don't think so.</div><div><br /></div><div>Much has happened since I last put claw to keyboard. The Coronavirus is growing worse, almost by the hour, and its shadow is falling ever nearer to my basket. The events in the USA the night before last, when their nation's Capitol was stormed and infiltrated by vile thugs, resulting in loss of life, incited and goaded by the very President of the country. It sickens me and I will not even mention him. He will not have the oxygen of publicity here. He might have a partly-orange face like me, but I think I wear mine better, inside and out.</div><div><br /></div><div>But enough of this. There are innumerable other places to read about such sorrow and I don't want it to be here. I am simply happy enough to be alive and well here on this Friday. This then: after the toilet maladies at the beginning of the week, Mistress had to prepare the... less than tidy... room for the arrival of the emergency plumber. This involved tidying away of one of my more advanced Giz-nests, a good one, with treats and at least two chews in (I wasn't happy, I had worked particularly hard on that one), then preparation of the offending wee-station itself (still leaking water). Having protested impotently at the dismantling of my bathroom stronghold, I sat down in the room doorway and enjoyed every single second of my Mistress scrubbing at, swabbing and scouring the wretched receptacle. I enjoyed each one. When Mistress saw me watching and grinning she said some very rude words. I laughed. But then, when she started advancing towards me in her rubber gloves, armed with her befouled scouring pad, I chose to run away squealing and wait out the rest of the time in the car. I think she has forgiven me for enjoying her misery. Mostly. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know why humans are so obsessed with toilets. I can understand the room, because the thing was broken and there was an outside-human coming to mend it. But no matter where I go, every time I lay a pretty dog-egg Mistress or GrannaPea picks it up in a little green bag. Why? I mean, I am grateful that they admire my work so much - and I do work hard to create eggs of especial beauty - but where do they put them? What happens to them? I don't know. Perhaps they are building a house out of them. It should be a good house, they are quite robust. And it would have a good bathroom.</div><div><br /></div><div>The plumber came. He was called Ross and was very nice. He repaired the problems very well under my supervision. I think that people only like doing things when I am watching them and so I took care to watch him very closely. He didn't mind though and talked to me while he was doing his mending and pipe works. I am sure he wishes that he could have stayed in that bathroom talking to me and playing with his pipes all day. But he couldn't. And now everything is mended and nice again. But I am not allowed to rebuild my nest.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress and me are still staying with GrannaPea at the moment, even though the pipes are mended. It is easier and these are not easy times.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Thursday (last night), they re-started the Clap for Carers which first happened in March last year. I wrote about it before (<a href="http://jasper-thedogsblog.blogspot.com/2020/03/friday-27-march-2020.html" target="_blank">First dose of The Clap</a>). It went on for a few weeks before they stopped it at the end of May. Now it has been re-started in this third English lockdown as Clap for Heroes, to include all the people who do important work, like bin-men, delivery drivers, vets (hmmm), supermarket workers, postmen, loads more, as well as NHS peoples. I like it. I approve of anything that is nice to people and makes people smile. I asked Mistress if I could join in and so, last night at 8.00pm, I was given a little pot and a wooden spoon to bang out my little barky thank-you.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvh9-VSL9QZubz8c8Z1UHVSQW5xU7dZ0PqR38fzGXpvRrO9qDHpkictOxmAQ_X2kaKwU9l3787r2ppheoZRW34R6e-RV0FyrmIAEZt0puoCJYS2xE8G9KK6JOt-sML9kycle8kSXrvcKvp/s594/drum1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvh9-VSL9QZubz8c8Z1UHVSQW5xU7dZ0PqR38fzGXpvRrO9qDHpkictOxmAQ_X2kaKwU9l3787r2ppheoZRW34R6e-RV0FyrmIAEZt0puoCJYS2xE8G9KK6JOt-sML9kycle8kSXrvcKvp/s320/drum1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>I approach my instrument.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><i></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8eqJkQy6OTOaB5cDzO0fuOSMHn4ZbdG1OUkpMUNOAiRYnM2the4XX4RZOlVQrqIOR1QLcm03FGiQiBWXxgu1Yj3vXLaahZgOIB5wWl_ue_6yKbE8HWIc9rum3-WvKQXMK45aMg-AmWAa/s611/drum2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="573" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8eqJkQy6OTOaB5cDzO0fuOSMHn4ZbdG1OUkpMUNOAiRYnM2the4XX4RZOlVQrqIOR1QLcm03FGiQiBWXxgu1Yj3vXLaahZgOIB5wWl_ue_6yKbE8HWIc9rum3-WvKQXMK45aMg-AmWAa/s320/drum2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Thank you!</i></div><i></i><br /><div><br /></div><div>I had a very nice time with my little drum-kit. Until Mistress took it away because "it was being abused". She said I would turn into Animal, off of The Muppets (I don't care, I like him), and my music was stolen from me. Until roughly 8.00pm, Thursday next week.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvykwLVF6iXQWZGNse2uT2mBWMiO8Vdn7pzgqkIqyzeEwJqIJhbpF9RsC-oHa5trmz_evY4r8dHmRI2Sx3Kk5IQrMve8YQB4l4AN48X10yiPDxcLHVh3Pfo252ZPgN7EopWUzrmHch7Vx/s310/Animal.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="158" data-original-width="310" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvykwLVF6iXQWZGNse2uT2mBWMiO8Vdn7pzgqkIqyzeEwJqIJhbpF9RsC-oHa5trmz_evY4r8dHmRI2Sx3Kk5IQrMve8YQB4l4AN48X10yiPDxcLHVh3Pfo252ZPgN7EopWUzrmHch7Vx/w200-h102/Animal.png" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Animal - Godfather of the sticks 'n' skins...</i></div><i></i><br /><div><br /></div><div>Who would even dare to try to foresee what might happen between now and then? Not me. But however else we are further tried - or cheered - until then, I can only do my best and...</div><div><br /></div><div>… Stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x</div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-10849538588248578502021-01-05T21:05:00.002+00:002021-01-05T21:19:04.267+00:00Tuesday 5 January 2021<div>A very happy new year to you. Such as it is. The Coronavirus news gets worse almost by the hour. At least 60,916 new cases here in the UK just today, over a million in total now, and a complete new countrywide lockdown for who knows how long. And our toilet exploded this morning.</div><div><br /></div><div>But Mistress says that we have to keep hopeful. Even though more people than ever are dying and the evil virus continues to spread unabated at least we have two vaccines that dwell among us now. Something of a miracle when you think about it. Mistress's brother has already had his first injection and we very much hope that her sister-in-law and GrannaPea have theirs very soon. I am very frightened now (I wasn't before) and I want Mistress to have it too. But Mistress isn't in a vulnerable group and says that it is more important that other peoples have it first, the peoples that need it more. Mistress was very ill last year and in hospital for a long time, but she says that she feels better now than she has done for a very long time and it will all be alright. I think she is very annoyed about the toilet today. I was tempted to laugh when I saw all the water pouring out but it really wasn't very funny. A plumber is coming on Thursday and Mistress and I are taking temporary refuge with GrannaPea (a good blessing that we are able to do that).</div><div><br /></div><div>Did you have a nice Christmas (even despite the circumstances)? I did. I went to church on Christmas Eve with Mistress and GrannaPea and got a blessing from the Bishop (the second time I have been blessed by a Bishop). Mistress laughs and says she never understands why I don't burst into flames whenever I set a paw upon sanctified ground... Heheeheee. I have always been a cheeky pickle, but Mistress says she wouldn't have it any other way. And I have never been vicious (unless you are of the squirrel or rat persuasion...).</div><div><br /></div><div>I got some very nice presents. A pretty new bouncy ball from my friend Luna, some new chews, some biscuits, different treats and a very tasty turkey dinner.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7Yuf30j-YheFFX9esyOarOa5botP-xd9GFHiWzfIGH5K3UR3bPkwuT3QrwoaG_P81BcmAFcBtmStUbfPy4820U5ZRkmfhm7erDloU4d9rfVuQbXjOJy2mNHCCixBU4IT2Qxc_LAdqmSu/s617/1jan2.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="617" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7Yuf30j-YheFFX9esyOarOa5botP-xd9GFHiWzfIGH5K3UR3bPkwuT3QrwoaG_P81BcmAFcBtmStUbfPy4820U5ZRkmfhm7erDloU4d9rfVuQbXjOJy2mNHCCixBU4IT2Qxc_LAdqmSu/s320/1jan2.1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>With my favourite new chew. Although I didn't want to have</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>my picture taken. I was tired and my Giz-tuft had gone all flat.</i></div><i></i><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigguw_RcqZCQJtxHGRIMyt3cUe3dW8ePvHTRDp1FFbj9sY331p_4a0hDuLNgbxKm3Qc6ChsDrieZgiSnZXsXX1T73UCTlqAt-60MnFxi8OLlT2dMx96r4S7nmZ_RZa7HntUK4MhF8GmjVu/s544/1jan1.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigguw_RcqZCQJtxHGRIMyt3cUe3dW8ePvHTRDp1FFbj9sY331p_4a0hDuLNgbxKm3Qc6ChsDrieZgiSnZXsXX1T73UCTlqAt-60MnFxi8OLlT2dMx96r4S7nmZ_RZa7HntUK4MhF8GmjVu/s320/1jan1.1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>My fangs get on with their toothy business.</i></div><i></i><br /><div><br /></div><div>Actually I had three turkey dinners (but not all on the same day). A very good haul for me this time, hehe. But I am grateful for whatever I have, especially at the moment.</div><div><br /></div><div>When, in June 2012, my tender little claws first fell upon this blog - and even looking back at August 2006, when Jasper-Horatio committed his first bark to the screen - who knew that I would be writing about such things as are happening today...? Madness. And an exploding toilet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-28746597611408174002020-12-23T20:25:00.002+00:002020-12-29T18:26:55.051+00:00Wednesday 23 December 2020<div><br /></div><div>Oh big, massive, annoying, HUGE, stinky CAT-WILLIES.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am sorry (not really, but I will pretend I am). There has just been on the news that my area is going to be in the new Coronavirus Tier 4. That means I can hardly do anything except wipe my own bottom.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress says that this isn't really true. She can still go to the shops and buy my food. I can still go and play in the park. So that will be alright, I suppose. I am very sad that I won't be able to go and see my cousin Doug this Christmas, but Mistress says it has to be. Maybe next year.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was happy this morning. See here:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKmF99IpUSWCMnW22gcXlu4meaGYQN-vgF2ABT6A1Q12-FL8Zh_L0l0atMq-JhBDhDTCV4nqwC42UspRQsAl5PHZPcmuD2Gjn-lJpL4JE21m6JXrR3ve6SKOJeCAYNg4cROPtn09SH4xF/s952/HappyGiz2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="763" data-original-width="952" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKmF99IpUSWCMnW22gcXlu4meaGYQN-vgF2ABT6A1Q12-FL8Zh_L0l0atMq-JhBDhDTCV4nqwC42UspRQsAl5PHZPcmuD2Gjn-lJpL4JE21m6JXrR3ve6SKOJeCAYNg4cROPtn09SH4xF/s320/HappyGiz2.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Before Tier 2 became Tears 4</i></div><i></i><br /><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday I helped Mistress to finish wrapping our Christmas presents. Well, not quite finished - Mistress forgot one of my instructions for GrannaPea so she has to do that tomorrow. Good. That will give me some time to stage a full assault on our Christmas tree. I know for a fact that there is at least one present wrapped up for me there. Mistress has put it where she thinks I won't be able to reach it. But that won't stop me from trying...</div><div><br /></div><div>I am good at climbing trees.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDAdBQWoybBXJRvwt3tvbs_wRX3Q9BHuJLKCx7fr1S2ZBROPwmtDznNSHNXa73G0lYtQNRzcAOyYMhfINQvb2aRGZagxoN4C4o1UKlg19a5m8cQeIPDIFyZThNVGOKmnd8R8y8jBiwPzd/s640/23121.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDAdBQWoybBXJRvwt3tvbs_wRX3Q9BHuJLKCx7fr1S2ZBROPwmtDznNSHNXa73G0lYtQNRzcAOyYMhfINQvb2aRGZagxoN4C4o1UKlg19a5m8cQeIPDIFyZThNVGOKmnd8R8y8jBiwPzd/s320/23121.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Me, being good at climbing trees.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Can you spot me?</i></div><i></i><br /><div>Today, with this virus news, I feel a bit like I am at the bottom of a big tree, looking up at high, difficult and spiky branches. The view from the top will be lovely, but climbing up will be hard. It might hurt. It will not be easy at all, and sometimes I might fall back down a bit. But it will be worth it in the end. However hard and high the tree is, however awkward the branches are, and however small and clumsy I might be, I will never give up trying to climb it. Please don't you give up either.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hopefully I will meet you there at the top.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-41112207794062598512020-12-19T18:55:00.003+00:002020-12-19T19:13:24.704+00:00Saturday 19 December 2020<div>I am doing my best to keep the candle of hope in my little "social bauble" Christingle alight. Here I am with it:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAL3ZJ5w7EH5m_lgTyEEpvTbRLZyCqfPSMVKWS51Y2hZ4FlNl1Xlwdss2WV8SDhjAdEINkEwfrulX_SqHEap5nKT-FPFK2S1zTE1CCBxkSOWU5mBdbc4HTgzBb3mvavKDkuVfnGgyJyi6/s822/19dec1.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAL3ZJ5w7EH5m_lgTyEEpvTbRLZyCqfPSMVKWS51Y2hZ4FlNl1Xlwdss2WV8SDhjAdEINkEwfrulX_SqHEap5nKT-FPFK2S1zTE1CCBxkSOWU5mBdbc4HTgzBb3mvavKDkuVfnGgyJyi6/s320/19dec1.1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I didn't eat the sweets.<br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWIN6maGHgs2rvwFZCneBT5hjjzOKPYngi-bIlwVJTLhkyeMx_MZlpBOz6n_aSqlEHfIXnmwVygNNr_5wuaCd7Xl0aaeo_d5mPz5npqYpMZsgcdIQzKR9Bo-LVXzH6VyPXSGE-V3G9xJg/s960/19dec2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWIN6maGHgs2rvwFZCneBT5hjjzOKPYngi-bIlwVJTLhkyeMx_MZlpBOz6n_aSqlEHfIXnmwVygNNr_5wuaCd7Xl0aaeo_d5mPz5npqYpMZsgcdIQzKR9Bo-LVXzH6VyPXSGE-V3G9xJg/s320/19dec2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here I am, busy making it</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(and not eating the sweets).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div>Mistress and I have just finished watching the Prime Minister's special broadcast to the nation about the new, even worse (if that was at all possible) type of Coronavirus strain and the cancellation of Christmas allowances. They have got a new tier, tier 4 (or perhaps it should be <i>tears</i>), for London and the surrounding counties. Not here yet, but I take no pleasure in this. It is all especially sad and very worrying. In an evening I usually sit in my own chair but for the special news broadcast I sat on Mistress's lap and she gave me a cuddle. I do very much hope that human people are sensible and do what they are supposed to do. After all, I have to behave myself even when I sometimes don't want to. It is difficult at times, especially when being naughty is usually so much fun. But I want people to be alright. And there is a vaccine out and about now (they said on the television that over 350,000 humans have already had the first of the two jabs). That is at least something to make a tail wag.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress has bought all of the presents I instructed her to buy and they are all wrapped up now. I did tell her that she must get some edible ones so that I could steal and eat them, but she didn't. She says that I have already got my big chew AND the meat she got for me to take my tablets with (my last one tomorrow). So I will have to be happy with that.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am going to do my very best to keep wagging my tail and keep hoping for very much happier days ahead. They will come, I know it. And I am Gisèle-Stephanie - I can't be wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-45328405362773627702020-12-15T21:36:00.001+00:002020-12-15T21:40:00.573+00:00Tuesday 15 December 2020<div>The festive lights continue to shine and sparkle on my little furry head as I continue padding towards Christmas. I am still getting a bit tired (extra walks at the moment, which I am not going to scupper by complaining about) but am feeling lots better. Mistress is doing something the vet said to do called "weaning me off the tablets". I don't mind this but I'm not pleased about the reduction in treats, which inexplicably seems to be going hand-in-paw with the weaning. Mad.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress didn't get arrested by the military police, which she is very pleased about. This all started when I was at my favourite exercise place a few days ago and a MASSIVE Chinook helicopter (the one with two sets of blades) descended and hovered really close to us. Mistress said it looked like they were doing something called a "training exercise". It really was very low indeed. It hovered a bit and then flew off. I made Mistress take some pictures to put on here, but she said they were a bit blurry (most of her pictures are anyway). But the very next day, almost at the same time, the Chinook came back again, very low and hovering the same way. "Pictures! Pictures!" I barked, jumping up and down, and Mistress did take some. Then the Chinook rose and flew away, only to come back again and do the same hovering close to the ground stuff about 15 minutes later. "Again! Again! Pictures again!" I yipped. And then the Chinook flew over us, very close, in a circle and departed the scene. Mistress put her camera away then. I got cross but she explained that perhaps it was not a good idea to be spotted in the same (rather remote, GrannaPea has to drive us there in her car) location two days running, taking photographs of what was obviously a training exercise. We went home then. We haven't seen the Chinook again since, so I think we might be OK. I would quite like a ride in a helicopter, I think. But not a ride that ends up in prison. I told Mistress that I wouldn't put the pictures on here and she said that was probably a good idea.</div><div><br /></div><div>Barking of rides, the local steam railway has been running a special train at night time, all especially lit up with thousands of lights. I have had a ride on the steam train and I liked it very much, but it was in the day time a few years ago and not a special Christmas train. I have got a ticket for a special train that Mistress bought me, but not for the lights train and I can't use it yet. Here it is:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxrBD19m-3xFcRw1820cNcejF7Hthn8MjIjO-pMopyMwGtFQcgchppYQilivOg6CBrUthOKNDLcml1Dk7QUqlwLKc_vFeWciLZrxPQcgbmYrqklleIv_3vwEKovn-OlnqQb_ddY7Lk901/s960/15dec1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxrBD19m-3xFcRw1820cNcejF7Hthn8MjIjO-pMopyMwGtFQcgchppYQilivOg6CBrUthOKNDLcml1Dk7QUqlwLKc_vFeWciLZrxPQcgbmYrqklleIv_3vwEKovn-OlnqQb_ddY7Lk901/w400-h300/15dec1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Accio</i> sweets trolley!</div><i></i><i></i><br /><div>I wanted to use it to get a ride on the lights train but Mistress said it wouldn't work. I was building up a fair head of steam myself for a tantrum, but then the train went past and it was so pretty that I forgot to be cross. Here are some more of Mistress's dodgy pictures:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKT-oB4XX6iQgCdCCEE33vT8ny6_Db6xDtodq0qP51bBpQFyzlvGODyStbbbcRKLtUHy8fVo9Th4P-HRPxtCJIFjj1XJ65bvQSjV827ypYBEiVSmOftZqSWls_MsH0x4IT8WvyMrrJQXK/s1280/15dec2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKT-oB4XX6iQgCdCCEE33vT8ny6_Db6xDtodq0qP51bBpQFyzlvGODyStbbbcRKLtUHy8fVo9Th4P-HRPxtCJIFjj1XJ65bvQSjV827ypYBEiVSmOftZqSWls_MsH0x4IT8WvyMrrJQXK/s320/15dec2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here it comes...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52uT3UhDD09M4fS94jGepnVWfxlwx8QWqrzhWgrPz8nGGUXfxNT18IVkCwPJc_y7H7tBrtmaFDHTYxtxjvxauGGpOrcocwYXBfK99g19Sv_XzUm-119Dv35lEy7lt295oL3kvLNSYQboB/s960/15dec3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52uT3UhDD09M4fS94jGepnVWfxlwx8QWqrzhWgrPz8nGGUXfxNT18IVkCwPJc_y7H7tBrtmaFDHTYxtxjvxauGGpOrcocwYXBfK99g19Sv_XzUm-119Dv35lEy7lt295oL3kvLNSYQboB/s320/15dec3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here it is!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeziOkNd167UuLY4JxGC1M2iGotXGnhszR7OEGXb7Rp22MUmXZUuMtg4Rn7PPOMfy08V6f4b1fnpEKYCgeGyCQ0q5wWvm-s-XBmU7tPTSknxgzLWx6cN2Kf-JfH3yB63pSuylVsZB7aIfS/s960/15dec4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeziOkNd167UuLY4JxGC1M2iGotXGnhszR7OEGXb7Rp22MUmXZUuMtg4Rn7PPOMfy08V6f4b1fnpEKYCgeGyCQ0q5wWvm-s-XBmU7tPTSknxgzLWx6cN2Kf-JfH3yB63pSuylVsZB7aIfS/s320/15dec4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There it goes...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBacpdBIiMv1-8DqTxiHG3AlJPL9SSOtK0-Oj3nrEjVySYmwJIfh7mGNxATyQMVZFg-u9g39of_QCimtkQ-qQkQKyfX62H9mX5cENvb1bYmss7m93P6yPzDDN5NXUcqMNToX6R0SRK6bXp/s960/15dec5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="633" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBacpdBIiMv1-8DqTxiHG3AlJPL9SSOtK0-Oj3nrEjVySYmwJIfh7mGNxATyQMVZFg-u9g39of_QCimtkQ-qQkQKyfX62H9mX5cENvb1bYmss7m93P6yPzDDN5NXUcqMNToX6R0SRK6bXp/s320/15dec5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Back at the station.</div><br /><div>We walked back to GrannaPea's car through the churchyard (where my Mr. Roger, Mistress's father, has to be now) and I stopped to look at the church Christmas display.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkks85e3HAl92wtExOYioo-45I4w0eaAkoq_subB-64inK4fumVbn7CHOurTP_xMsD5ftnxpO65c2C2G6REOZXL40R7DHMHV3D_bAoEo26fM1gpCBcxxETswasrAvsfP5rlbkh_j_0DQX/s960/15dec6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="851" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkks85e3HAl92wtExOYioo-45I4w0eaAkoq_subB-64inK4fumVbn7CHOurTP_xMsD5ftnxpO65c2C2G6REOZXL40R7DHMHV3D_bAoEo26fM1gpCBcxxETswasrAvsfP5rlbkh_j_0DQX/w178-h200/15dec6.jpg" width="178" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Very nice. But it was cold and <br />I didn't sit still for long...</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>It was very nice to see the train and the Christmas displays. I like to see that there is still light in all of these dark and miserable times. Mistress says that, next, I can help her make something called a "Christingle". My friend Luna (she only came to live in my road earlier this year and before that she was in a sad way in a foreign country. She is nice and friendly and I am glad she is my friend and that she lives nearby in a happy home) barks that she thinks a Christingle is an orange with a match stuck on it, but I don't think that she has ever seen a proper one, so I'm not sure. I hope it doesn't tingle too much. Tingles make me nervous.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-57005890418550802432020-12-12T17:50:00.002+00:002020-12-12T19:43:43.890+00:00Saturday 12 December 2020<div>A week can make a lot of difference to a Parson Jack Russell Terrier.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just last week I was on tablets twice daily, not altogether comfortable and my water intake was being measured day and night. Now, I have been to the vet, told that I am well, I am allowed to stop taking the tablets and I have a handsome new harness to wear from the pet shop (to make things better for my neck, which is where some pain was). The man in the pet shop ordered it especially for me and unpacked it and put it on me. AND I got a little sausage from the treat box. I think I will shop there again...</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't have to go back to the vet again. They did find something wrong with my jaw, which is a bit of a funny shape, but that is left over from when I was very young and was in a fight. It's OK. It doesn't stop me from being beautiful, hehehe... and I don't mind it. Mistress says that if it isn't painful or making me unhappy then she won't force me to have a big operation to fix it. I'm happy with that. I like my face, and so do all of my husbands - and that's quite a wide cross-section of the local canine population. The vet found the scar tissue from when I was impaled on a spike as well (that was my fault - I ran onto it when chasing a squirrel and was skewered from shoulder to groin. Awful. I had surgery for nearly six hours and only survived by a miracle. I pulled myself off the spike unaided though (Mistress was running to help me when I just did it on my own and we hastened straight to the emergency vet). That was years ago now and I STILL never even put a single paw in that bit of the woods again to this day). But I only bark about it now because the vet found the bump where the entry-wound was repaired and sealed - I thought that was very impressive and it made me feel happy that she was very careful in looking for lots of things. And so I think I will be alright.</div><div><br /></div><div>There has been lots more to be cheerful about in my little town this week as well. Sadly, because of the human Covid thing, Father Christmas couldn't visit the town centre and hand out presents to the local little children like he does every year. So he and his helpers visited the streets instead! With his sleigh on the back of a pickup-truck (he couldn't fly because the reindeer had to go back and isolate at the North Pole after Prancer developed a cough and couldn't taste his carrots), Santa and his helpers drove around nearly all the streets in the town. They didn't stop, but a map and times were published and shared in lots of places and people could line the route by their houses and see him go by. And all of the little children got a gift (a book and a little sack of chocolate coins - they even took care to make sure that children from the same house got a different book to their sibling). It was very lovely to see and made me feel very Christmassy.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0mRKfG-Sj04NgZfjhZZMMIUKhD5n7smkY8bpes-dXBtHG-q8_kV0DAR9zWyXnXnrOUaxFd-EWAaElrM2sL-YsPmonxDm2DGlLVkJC2CPSMyNlbMgNqpbKWXHOMbzWnjrSCfwW0KCycMW/s574/11dec3.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="444" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0mRKfG-Sj04NgZfjhZZMMIUKhD5n7smkY8bpes-dXBtHG-q8_kV0DAR9zWyXnXnrOUaxFd-EWAaElrM2sL-YsPmonxDm2DGlLVkJC2CPSMyNlbMgNqpbKWXHOMbzWnjrSCfwW0KCycMW/w155-h200/11dec3.1.jpg" width="155" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2jMbFNzjBfRDod7_Bt0kJUVQier5LrzvVDT-bZkd2tJX4ArUdiZIeeK7P1ViWPUOM0uaDLpBXrhGSZV3pJUowR-G2KIzxgs6BnFRlQpH_0lDOm9eXNFLuHjIOOHCIDFdml9dzYM4j18T/s618/11dec2.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="588" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2jMbFNzjBfRDod7_Bt0kJUVQier5LrzvVDT-bZkd2tJX4ArUdiZIeeK7P1ViWPUOM0uaDLpBXrhGSZV3pJUowR-G2KIzxgs6BnFRlQpH_0lDOm9eXNFLuHjIOOHCIDFdml9dzYM4j18T/w190-h200/11dec2.1.jpg" width="190" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Santa's helpers and the great man himself pass by a very GOOD little girl<br />(who, I repeat, has been VERY good this year and should get lots of presents).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sorry these pictures are blurry. GrannaPea was overexcited at seeing Santa.</div></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ahiwYyYQ9ZDedBzallcpB3U7DJjQJAhOvVJaSdqCbV5w7vTGg0AvSrlssDNZoe5UzaDQsjcp4_ZHmiMuzZ0qSI10FjKFl2p2Fds1DMj-xgyyeDG3dQLPNFDGBGGXAVFiFYDq341lHu09/s960/11dec1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ahiwYyYQ9ZDedBzallcpB3U7DJjQJAhOvVJaSdqCbV5w7vTGg0AvSrlssDNZoe5UzaDQsjcp4_ZHmiMuzZ0qSI10FjKFl2p2Fds1DMj-xgyyeDG3dQLPNFDGBGGXAVFiFYDq341lHu09/s320/11dec1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Not even Coronavirus can stop FC.<br />Thank you to the local PIGS Association for helping him.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>I didn't get a present (you have to be under 7 to get one and I am not). I thought my luck might be on the turn when Mistress chased after Santa's sleigh - but she only went to put some money in his charity bucket. Ah well. At least I have my lovely new harness to cheer me. It would have been better if it was pink, but it is very comfortable and helps my neck to be OK, so I am happy with that.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pnreBK9kD1QBfxw8tVNIR35M1bgUw1uRaF0pI0LUqyXOpJ3N4Xr4ThW-Ag1T4tIu4-1fbuS_umTewVRNkCqnfbpWU5K-8iPK83VXPdHyWR1W2uqRESHkn0_j2m_QFIbkhPY-8PfuyFjP/s960/11dec4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="960" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pnreBK9kD1QBfxw8tVNIR35M1bgUw1uRaF0pI0LUqyXOpJ3N4Xr4ThW-Ag1T4tIu4-1fbuS_umTewVRNkCqnfbpWU5K-8iPK83VXPdHyWR1W2uqRESHkn0_j2m_QFIbkhPY-8PfuyFjP/w200-h188/11dec4.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrBjoNrMX0EIA6rTqtCYnzZtC0YpAE-xfTrQ6lQ_YEGQlLLhfC8lHSinu3oqYPmbZV3oSVdQDvXKCt9z6p2jVpTHdFVFV0qjtGNDbzWUZDOuyGc7NeCtO6jeujQEKW7jtK0MVbTpF_SD1/s960/11dec5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="960" height="103" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrBjoNrMX0EIA6rTqtCYnzZtC0YpAE-xfTrQ6lQ_YEGQlLLhfC8lHSinu3oqYPmbZV3oSVdQDvXKCt9z6p2jVpTHdFVFV0qjtGNDbzWUZDOuyGc7NeCtO6jeujQEKW7jtK0MVbTpF_SD1/w200-h103/11dec5.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This season's essential accessory.</div></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>So, apart from not getting a present from Santa (which I don't REALLY mind, as they are for the children, and I do alright for presents in general anyway), it has been a very happy week.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have also recently had some near-misses with the local military (not to do with any ladies - I am a real, proper miss, not a near miss) but that will have to wait for another time. I am just about to eat my dinner and then I am going out in a minute to look at a steam train go by, all brightly lit up especially for Christmas. Happy days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-59804247250684706562020-12-07T19:17:00.003+00:002020-12-07T19:30:18.519+00:00Monday 7 December 2020<div>The day started early today for Mistress and me. We had got as far as GrannaPea's house when our mobile telephone rang. It was the vet.</div><div><br /></div><div>They have tested my pee-wee. I got a result of 38.8 (but I don't know what out of) and they said that normal was 34. So not scary but it might mean that I have to have some more tests. I have to go back and see another vet on Thursday and keep taking my tablets and Mistress has to measure how much water I drink every day. I am not scared and Mistress is buying me something nice from the pet shop tomorrow as a special treat. I might have to have another wee test in a bit but I think I will be good for the next one if it happens, because this one was OK. Although it was funny to have Mistress chasing me over the field with the little yellow cup.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today it has been very cold. Mistress said it was cold enough for snow, but the man who lives inside the television didn't say that we were going to have any. I like snow, but I would like it better if it wasn't so cold.</div><div><br /></div><div>GrannaPea has been decorating the inside of the house for Christmas. Not too many decorations, but some nice ones. Not ones for eating, which I think should be very much essential to make anything right for Christmas. And all of the other days in a year. Mistress says this isn't (a) true and (b) going to happen. She says I will steal and eat them all. Me...? Oh no. I am pure and good. Unless no-one can see what I am doing, of course...</div><div><br /></div><div>Here I am, modelling some of our festive items. Mistress says she will say that I have "got tinsellitis". I says she will not. I thinks it is bad enough that these pictures even exist.</div><div> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZsNMYgrDq1iWjB4feuWuiBNOBqFiQqMMpX5lmH9MsqfzckaZ3qPBeaIqzeol3Rwk8EZ9WnXXPhMgo5qHaBQacoX8HgI8Uro6SX_Eh8Q5zTh7wtlmwMJQC-IFHz5mh519nJXPwZn4bo1YN/s960/Tinsel2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="880" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZsNMYgrDq1iWjB4feuWuiBNOBqFiQqMMpX5lmH9MsqfzckaZ3qPBeaIqzeol3Rwk8EZ9WnXXPhMgo5qHaBQacoX8HgI8Uro6SX_Eh8Q5zTh7wtlmwMJQC-IFHz5mh519nJXPwZn4bo1YN/s320/Tinsel2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLiwvWNAeMeiKtvS-AAfHyjibIaTU5EW9zF6iB_ogm4ljCZHy3MjHRrO_iLTM4FNFx5ZhvnQPgS6EM75iyLlVAcxt5KittFPmTEqsFUHl_6klkRdubY08ziAh2IrYhhhTQhWZG3s8JdkK/s1511/Tinsel1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1511" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLiwvWNAeMeiKtvS-AAfHyjibIaTU5EW9zF6iB_ogm4ljCZHy3MjHRrO_iLTM4FNFx5ZhvnQPgS6EM75iyLlVAcxt5KittFPmTEqsFUHl_6klkRdubY08ziAh2IrYhhhTQhWZG3s8JdkK/s320/Tinsel1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Help me...</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress couldn't take me for a very long walk today. Yesterday she slipped on a wet leaf and fell down some steps. Now she walks funny and her knees are purple but I think she will be OK. The last time she slipped and fell over was in the snow ten years ago, when she was out on a walk with my predecessor, the noble Jasper, and he didn't help by trying to console Mistress with the thought that at least she had a fat bottom to cushion her fall - here: <a href="https://jasper-thedogsblog.blogspot.com/2010/01/friday-8-january-2010.html" target="_blank">Jasper lets himself down</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing like that this time - Mistress fell forwards, on to her knees, so not even her fat bottom could save her.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am going to try to work on making my wee a bit more normal and also to try to look forward to seeing the vet again on Thursday. It will all be alright.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-1488219062130061482020-12-05T17:51:00.003+00:002020-12-13T20:20:10.343+00:00Saturday 5 December 2020<div>My attempts to subvert the recent pee harvest were not successful. GrannaPea snaffled enough for the sample tube on my last pre-bedtime download.</div><div><br /></div><div>This led to a disagreement between me and Mistress. I made a simple polite request, not unreasonable. But it was met with a very firm "no!".</div><div>"No?"</div><div>"No!"</div><div>"Oh, but - "</div><div>"No! No, Gisèle. I will <u>NOT</u> post a photograph of a Perspex vial containing your urine on the internet!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress wouldn't argue with me any more. So I went and sat in my basket until I forgot why I was cross and got a headache. I was allowed to have an extra bedtime treat and a cuddle when I finally went upstairs. Mistress is trying to be smiling but I can see that she is still sad. We gave my tube of wee to the vet's yesterday and the vet wants Mistress to telephone her on Wednesday next week.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am happy with my tablets. They help me to feel better, but not TOO MUCH better like the last ones six months ago. They made me see funny shapes and colours and sway and fall over. Mistress told the vet about this and she wasn't very surprised. Apparently they were something called "strong opiates" and can be too strong for the smaller dog. But these ones are OK. I have got to take them for another week and then I will hopefully be alright, like Mistress says. I went out today, between the rain showers, said hello to the cattle and did a bit more on the hole I am working on by the trees. Other dogs go there too, to the exact same spot, but my digging is the best. Mistress says that I am wasting my time because there is no burrow there, it's just an old termite nest, but I know better. For the rest of my day before I started to write this I have been buying some of my Christmas presents (online) and barking to my family.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress's brother and sister-in-law made a videocall earlier today. It was nice to see them and I was able to bark not only to my cousin Doug but also, in a rare appearance, to my cousin-in-law Mocha. She lives with Mistress's sister-in-law's parents (they also used to look after the late Isolde, my predecessor Jasper's wife). Mocha is a Springer Spaniel, like Isolde, and a very nice dog but she is also very shy and I don't see her very often. Here is a picture of me and Doug and Mocha waiting for our Christmas supper two years ago.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqZdkoSiPBi3NhToE5pOI7pF7KlsI0c15J5sCCJlg0QJ9pSE8kTDJZzpcn1YWSOQyyBzK54uIG3w2BqQP7juJAHgBKmJ5j73Y83opLCQxrZgv9lEKsCdA_Gcqw643IoWd0MyCGYJhgpTw/s1511/3Dogs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1255" data-original-width="1511" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqZdkoSiPBi3NhToE5pOI7pF7KlsI0c15J5sCCJlg0QJ9pSE8kTDJZzpcn1YWSOQyyBzK54uIG3w2BqQP7juJAHgBKmJ5j73Y83opLCQxrZgv9lEKsCdA_Gcqw643IoWd0MyCGYJhgpTw/s320/3Dogs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Three wise dogs know that Christmas dinner leftovers are <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">LEGALLY the property of the dog. That's the ACTUAL LAW.<br /></div><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /><div>It was very nice to see them again, even if it was only on a screen and I could not sniff them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did ask but mean old Mistress refused to show them a picture of my pee-wee sample. She said that they wouldn't be interested (they were) and that I should go to my bed because it was time for a lie-down (I did).</div><div><br /></div><div>I did hear Mistress laughing about her efforts to capture my pee. She showed her sister-in-law the yellow cup and they both agreed that it looks like a human thing called a "she-wee" (no idea). See what you think.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGOrzA7_H1soyetVhWnN2AgqQJKYzvOx6hi_gJPQ8Rsi-Pje0AuyiGEzosDJR-8czYGbudNmi5vEnAiZqDHWAkU5Diq2kWZshnDS5tci8tEwrSjMklc63P-yYWEbF0OGtHGmbU7AkrTfo/s960/Uripet1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGOrzA7_H1soyetVhWnN2AgqQJKYzvOx6hi_gJPQ8Rsi-Pje0AuyiGEzosDJR-8czYGbudNmi5vEnAiZqDHWAkU5Diq2kWZshnDS5tci8tEwrSjMklc63P-yYWEbF0OGtHGmbU7AkrTfo/s320/Uripet1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The cup.</div><br /><div>If you look at the label on the packet you will see that it is called a "Rocket Uripet". I barked that this sounded like the name of a Russian Cosmonaut. I asked if I would have to go into space, like Laika (poor Laika). Mistress said I wouldn't. But when I asked a few more times if I could have a picture of the tube of my pee, she muttered darkly that "it could be arranged". I will not go on a rocket into space - but I AM going to work out how Mistress puts pictures on here for me and see if I can do it for myself. She says I will not. I will.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am still enjoying looking at the Christmas lights. The local steam railway is having special lit up trains for Christmas. I want Mistress to take me to see them. She says she might, IF I am good. I will be good. Probably.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sBejVTnlm9P0kiUvNCYgboRqg_EcNe9FuWrsQrNejyWe59TW_9Uccqkq8YVefnukDBC5EEzLg1AkOM6UDt_zEyRvV-mGvNmn3m7IcTZiHJGfkjgMZXs9KhNt0I1Yr402ROGN80o3deqJ/s179/Uripet2edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="103" height="68" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sBejVTnlm9P0kiUvNCYgboRqg_EcNe9FuWrsQrNejyWe59TW_9Uccqkq8YVefnukDBC5EEzLg1AkOM6UDt_zEyRvV-mGvNmn3m7IcTZiHJGfkjgMZXs9KhNt0I1Yr402ROGN80o3deqJ/w39-h68/Uripet2edit.jpg" width="39" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Shhh…!</i> <i>hehehe...</i></div><i></i><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-31966693033890477132020-12-03T20:00:00.002+00:002020-12-03T20:09:46.227+00:00Thursday 3 December 2020<div>Today was a day I did not want to have.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not once - but twice - to the vet's. I have got some pain in my back and my neck. I had some about six months ago but I got some medicine and it went away. Yesterday it was sore and I was a bit sick, so today - when I was even more sore and in pain - Mistress took me to see a nice lady vet. They took away some of my blood and did some tests on it (that was why we had to go back, to get the results). The tests said that I was very well. All except one. That said that there might be something wrong with me called Cushing's Syndrome. Well, it's probably either that or I have got something wrong with my spine. Oh poo.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress is very sad. She did cry. So I did what she does to make me feel better when I does cry - I gave her a cuddle and barked that it will all be alright soon. I don't think it helped very much, but it made me feel a bit better.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cheered up even more when I found out that Mistress had to collect some of my wee to put in a tube for the vet to test. The vet gave Mistress a special yellow cup to catch the wee. On my walk, I was careful to do my first big wee before Mistress was properly ready with the cup. She ran to try and catch some and almost tripped over her boots. Too late! Each time she thought I was about to do some more I skipped neatly out of reach as soon as the yellow cup came out. I managed to develop the knack of almost squatting down to pee and then dancing out of the way at the last moment. Mistress didn't look very pleased, though she did manage to capture a few millilitres of pee-wee when I couldn't avoid going any longer. She said it wasn't enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wondered how far she would go to succeed in her quest for my liquid gold. I decided to see what would happen. I led her into thorny bushes, by the principal site favoured by the cows for their prodigious and foul turds, into the area of the ant-hills but, to her credit, she stayed right behind holding outstretched the ever-present yellow cup. It was all to no victory, however (for her at least). I edged too far ahead too quickly for my final pee, Mistress running after me holding out the cup, and then I didn't need to go again. Mistress said that she will fill the chalice on my final pre-bedtime pee, when I will be on the lead and "can't escape". So I am to be thwarted anyway! Never mind. I hope the wee will tell that I am going to be alright. I don't want to have to stop being me just yet.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdd4OESuICWIBtdPUdVga_mjMa-Lwn_cRBAESPXHgalhxpLR3UwPmDVTIUEP6VT3yQ1jNufygk3wH6vfmZaKV1bsZx6ixKTxPEpTU6RCcvacem0wuNaTjXj5jUyihHZrENwmxXuRFD7ulZ/s998/Giz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="988" data-original-width="998" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdd4OESuICWIBtdPUdVga_mjMa-Lwn_cRBAESPXHgalhxpLR3UwPmDVTIUEP6VT3yQ1jNufygk3wH6vfmZaKV1bsZx6ixKTxPEpTU6RCcvacem0wuNaTjXj5jUyihHZrENwmxXuRFD7ulZ/s320/Giz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me, trying to be brave. And looking for cow poos.</div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I am trying to keep my head thinking about nice things. Like the Christmas lights in our little town. They really are remarkably pretty this year and very much help to gladden a sorry heart. Here is a picture of the main street in the town.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlHFqJOca_CS5aE4y3BxIS6ayTVyfN-XJA8zdrY7PHBgHsURR9Jq47tKKM1coNVrXaC0m_Bx6MbpHtXtFXIzgY1M1zpRzpXSnj4dH_PcfwGEo4bxOaMQM_zZEHo8RpdA028tp3-8UkFk5/s1600/PIGS.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlHFqJOca_CS5aE4y3BxIS6ayTVyfN-XJA8zdrY7PHBgHsURR9Jq47tKKM1coNVrXaC0m_Bx6MbpHtXtFXIzgY1M1zpRzpXSnj4dH_PcfwGEo4bxOaMQM_zZEHo8RpdA028tp3-8UkFk5/s320/PIGS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thank you to the A-------d Pigs</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(they put up the trees and this picture).</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>And, in our little town, they have asked people to put up light displays. After people had signed up to do this, they (not sure who but I suspect church involvement) have produced a trail sheet for people to fill in with where they find the lights and there are little prizes for the winners. Here are my lights.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi5e_oxsRvvQRVXd3KUtIyyT59I5nGIsAU-UFGBQ-SvIFoukeQvzZ2Xl2E_VjMJ7lZ23bjKwsxQYuWNALzw4lZXTYPjnmkkOvec3r0ci0dE8yXSgmw3ZqjTI2T6YQ-LsNZtdxJisW6FRl/s960/GizLights.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimi5e_oxsRvvQRVXd3KUtIyyT59I5nGIsAU-UFGBQ-SvIFoukeQvzZ2Xl2E_VjMJ7lZ23bjKwsxQYuWNALzw4lZXTYPjnmkkOvec3r0ci0dE8yXSgmw3ZqjTI2T6YQ-LsNZtdxJisW6FRl/s320/GizLights.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzgPnySQR8gKCZTapNGOjx3xQoH22kpnm2Xh3ZkM5xJfjnlNMs0Kqyg4jbR3ZMybnKmzgJQjZljxMLJ88QvhA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div>So I am trying very hard to keep my eyes to the light and think about nice, pretty, bright things. Even if I am a little bit scared. But I am doing mostly alright, I am happy, I have got some very good tablets (not weird ones which make me sing, see funny things and fall over like the last ones). It will all be alright soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x</div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-36542493173002534042020-11-29T19:54:00.007+00:002020-11-29T20:04:53.473+00:00Sunday 29 November 2020<div>I am very cross indeed. It is all Mistress's fault.</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>really bad</i> 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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! </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mistress says to be brave and that it will be alright soon. But she always says that.</div><div><br /></div><div>…..</div><div><br /></div><div>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 (<i>good girl</i> 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>And barking of photographs...</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-ogKTsduzNKWHYFiZBhohtTBJnqRT4LOlPJmPL6FaRZpATk0qxTSF5Edjh9t2KsCN-Ick6wjSQikwQtqJAFW2lxk0Q2rSv98z4Uym3tyUf8kd7I2Afbm_O367j9pig4JN-_cAWeKVnnL/s2015/ValueGiz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1863" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-ogKTsduzNKWHYFiZBhohtTBJnqRT4LOlPJmPL6FaRZpATk0qxTSF5Edjh9t2KsCN-Ick6wjSQikwQtqJAFW2lxk0Q2rSv98z4Uym3tyUf8kd7I2Afbm_O367j9pig4JN-_cAWeKVnnL/w296-h320/ValueGiz.jpg" width="296" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me, asleep after my walk and dinner.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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...</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-67288136055474397352020-11-26T19:09:00.001+00:002020-11-26T19:10:46.306+00:00Thursday 26 November 2020<div>"Nippie Bartram has got a willie like a turnip."</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>For dogs, "spray it, don't say it" is best.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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<i> meant</i> to bark a greeting - but it came out:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Nippie Bartram!" Oops. Well, it<i> was</i> rather remarkable...</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes?" he replied politely "Do I know you, my dear? I don't believe I have had the pleasure...?"</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, although I didn't feel inclined to add to the wee-mail posts, I couldn't deny it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nippie Bartram<i> has</i> got a willie like a turnip.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji456oJPNVHRVz1qhSy6QZ0M-6HHlEZyxQV9NjdLCscRBBw3jXA-6vbcGtrv70bQQt9jPwRS0pe5S98eoMMhXJgo59B9A-UDLDFyDf5vU7sgKow1rfr4BRARUOpAewuZvnV4_WhuxR_ftF/s315/Giztach1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji456oJPNVHRVz1qhSy6QZ0M-6HHlEZyxQV9NjdLCscRBBw3jXA-6vbcGtrv70bQQt9jPwRS0pe5S98eoMMhXJgo59B9A-UDLDFyDf5vU7sgKow1rfr4BRARUOpAewuZvnV4_WhuxR_ftF/s0/Giztach1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Have you met Salvador Dalí...?<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3ncswSrDjiS5o5PcOgxqEcW3vJ0nNlXHK2HDRbL0uSMTaCYfXEGsoqU2cIfg5mJZ8LsF4xiucPTeUgJdSr7bNWl9M9gYlbLnJtJx1EvQ3Tok3ABfktPLsPp_S7CCHpHlK8QraqYX5n2a/s315/Giztach2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3ncswSrDjiS5o5PcOgxqEcW3vJ0nNlXHK2HDRbL0uSMTaCYfXEGsoqU2cIfg5mJZ8LsF4xiucPTeUgJdSr7bNWl9M9gYlbLnJtJx1EvQ3Tok3ABfktPLsPp_S7CCHpHlK8QraqYX5n2a/s0/Giztach2.jpg" /></a></div><div><br />Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /> </div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-24813076480416239202020-11-24T18:50:00.003+00:002020-11-24T18:52:46.879+00:00Tuesday 24 November 2020<div>Not such a good day today, though the weather was remarkably fine.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxKH6UosQsPG0NN6Ih3mrTFpjwDVG9YSn74xL5ELmcPtN_P3jVX9tXLAJQC2XX9ii-XjCGJuODwRQFHX04iIMr3O_NMX1nhKdWCvpPsh66J9gMnk9dxxhYUTEoiFZvMXKDNpDlCT7R-em/s960/grave2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxKH6UosQsPG0NN6Ih3mrTFpjwDVG9YSn74xL5ELmcPtN_P3jVX9tXLAJQC2XX9ii-XjCGJuODwRQFHX04iIMr3O_NMX1nhKdWCvpPsh66J9gMnk9dxxhYUTEoiFZvMXKDNpDlCT7R-em/s320/grave2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>But I ignored his prancing. This was not the day to give him the satisfaction of a response.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSnK7VEKVvIU0LapyWlqnxEMHFArTGLA-A-aOySvWilZTbWJbX6ZNBNlh1g29FlnI_Pp4k8MOOuU455ZmaVJMGdyr0fEAez58P6W4LCK46CyP3PvBB9SRjr_nSajeWgKNpVrHAxD0WC86/s960/Grave1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSnK7VEKVvIU0LapyWlqnxEMHFArTGLA-A-aOySvWilZTbWJbX6ZNBNlh1g29FlnI_Pp4k8MOOuU455ZmaVJMGdyr0fEAez58P6W4LCK46CyP3PvBB9SRjr_nSajeWgKNpVrHAxD0WC86/s320/Grave1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"The last enemy that shall be defeated is death." 1 Corinthians 15 v26</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(and quoted in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling)</div><br /><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x<br /></div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-28350350728207840202020-11-22T18:30:00.002+00:002020-11-22T21:44:58.195+00:00Sunday 22 November 2020<div>Word recognition. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>certain</i> people to not let the treat-jar become empty...</div><div><br /></div><div>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...</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>I learned a few new words that day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, be nice to each other and keep smiling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFU_jiB2TyC2JuQ0K0vd3fUi1QGbguURvARoQNQLEvGtMcXlGSExrO6yePTILvc7kmg7oPWy3Ng22A7EhCZ0Yxa-ohH-MnspNK17jOlWtVjU5h04s64D3JWOPZqj5MVBZsGQKXX2_KNvm/s960/DougGiz2.png.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFU_jiB2TyC2JuQ0K0vd3fUi1QGbguURvARoQNQLEvGtMcXlGSExrO6yePTILvc7kmg7oPWy3Ng22A7EhCZ0Yxa-ohH-MnspNK17jOlWtVjU5h04s64D3JWOPZqj5MVBZsGQKXX2_KNvm/s320/DougGiz2.png.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These two look familiar.</div><br /><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-32402558057423236952020-11-21T15:58:00.005+00:002020-11-21T16:18:13.217+00:00Saturday 21 November 2020<div>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). </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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 - <a href="https://jasper-thedogsblog.blogspot.com/2012/06/monday-4-june-2012.html" target="_blank">my first EVER appearance on this blog</a> in 2012, five months after Jasper went to Heaven. Complete with embarrassing photograph. </div><div>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!</div><div><br /></div><div>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...</div><div><br /></div><div>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?!</div><div><br /></div><div>We sat in an uneasy silence as the Policeman got off his motorcycle and marched crossly towards us.<br />"Hello sir!" Mistress greeted him brightly, trying to smile and not look shifty, "Is everything all right?"</div><div>The scowling gent glared at her.<br />"Is that child wearing a seatbelt?!" he barked angrily at my Mistress. Her winning smile faltered in her confusion.<br />"Excuse me?"<br />"THAT CHILD!" he snapped, irritably. "In your front passenger seat! Is it WEARING a SEATBELT?!"<br />"Um...."</div><div>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.<br />"Aaaarrooohhh!" he yelped, mid-jump, almost tripping over his own feet in his shock. "It's a DOG!"</div><div>"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.<br />"A dog!" repeated the Policeman. "Not a child! But from the back it looked-"<br />"Yes." said my Mistress again. "She's got my eyes and her father's tail. We're <i>very</i> proud."</div><div>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. </div><div>"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..."<br />"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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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<i> Giant Schnauzer</i> 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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).</div><div><br /></div><div>Lots of love from Gisèle x</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNxwnqAlZejEOEIp0Ay9MBambIupqjomTZswLfZTobZ-9gMpmDSOMOqCoa7NubnNzCo7HTn_NnM2VJm4-j_TJ_4Y6GZEd_OYI88TVRABranaFpSPpiCMYZauly-LvFYTG8qQ_-GwfR1EP/s957/GizDoug.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="957" data-original-width="719" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNxwnqAlZejEOEIp0Ay9MBambIupqjomTZswLfZTobZ-9gMpmDSOMOqCoa7NubnNzCo7HTn_NnM2VJm4-j_TJ_4Y6GZEd_OYI88TVRABranaFpSPpiCMYZauly-LvFYTG8qQ_-GwfR1EP/s320/GizDoug.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me and my cousin Doug. Mistress says that</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">we look like King Charles II and Nell Gwynne.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hmmm... I don't like oranges. But I do like Doug.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5428148214352264900.post-24719462577581525252020-11-14T17:50:00.002+00:002020-11-14T17:56:23.518+00:00Saturday 14 November 2020<div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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: <a href="https://jasper-thedogsblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/sunday-13-august-2006.html" target="_blank">The very BEGINNING</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Keep smiling! Love from Gisèle x</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6jH20pxzgilP-udbUPIVp9OzG5ubwzumq7_FYMweLqBDYJmfl5fJaNr4xUPnP7wCBpE8u7oHHIQ_xLkPkgQohdAADHKKGocF73GqapecMPOdr6hBv2lhBBCAG0MF2taTbhrqE2WlZKES/s1006/HappyGiz.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="952" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6jH20pxzgilP-udbUPIVp9OzG5ubwzumq7_FYMweLqBDYJmfl5fJaNr4xUPnP7wCBpE8u7oHHIQ_xLkPkgQohdAADHKKGocF73GqapecMPOdr6hBv2lhBBCAG0MF2taTbhrqE2WlZKES/s320/HappyGiz.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>RuthnJasperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10854229975104169793noreply@blogger.com0