Monday 29 June 2009

The weather was excessively hot yesterday. And it seems that it was just as warm today - possibly the hottest ever day since records began. This is no time to be a Staffie. I want my partner to shave me bodily but she refuses, saying that my fur will "grow back funny". Hmmm... I believe that is a chance I am willing to take... oh dear.

With all this heat, I am unable to tend to my garden as I would wish. A pity, as I have been pleased with the progress of my tomatoes. As mentioned previously, they came from Lincolnshire, which is hundreds of miles from my estates down here in the South. I will explain, before you surmise that I have taken leave of my senses and am gadding about the country in search of seedling vegetables. Some weeks ago, my partner ventured up North for a family wedding. During some free time, she took Delightful Nephew Ewan to visit a working windmill (he's very keen on those) in North Leverton (here's a link to the windmill's website: http://www.north-leverton-windmill.co.uk/index.htm - very interesting and a friendly and knowledgeable miller will show you around if you ask! The milled flour makes nice bread, too). Here are some pictures:

The Mill

Sweet Ewan helps the Miller fill his flour-sack

Anyway, at the windmill, small tomato plants were on sale at 50p each, so my partner purchased two for our garden. Here I am with the fledgling re-potted plants on my estate:

Aren't they wee? Bless 'em. More of the tomato plants later...

I have just returned from a delightful walk in the woods, in the cool of the evening air. Alas, the occasion was a scene of distress for my luckless partner. Soon after entering the woods, she was caught short - as the best of us sometimes are - and had to pop behind a handy bush to download an urgent weemail.

Now, I concede that, when enveloped in the shady shelter of a coppiced beech in the early evening, the diminished light would make it difficult to distinguish between different types of plants and their leaves. However, I think that even my partner would agree that inadvertently grasping several stinging nettles (along with more harmless specimens) and wiping one's most intimate parts with them, post-wee, is a step best avoided in future.

I watched carefully as my partner's facial expressions on regaining the path progressed through "a slight tingling sensation", via "an increasing warmth", to "exceptional pain and swelling". At that point, I beat a hasty retreat, lest my convulsed guffaws be mistaken for - - - well, actually, no. They could not have been mistaken for anything other than helpless laughter. I felt guilty laughing, but still the tears of mirth ran down my cheeks. You will not be surprised to learn that we only took the short circuit of the woods this evening.

And now, as I type this entry, my partner is seeking relief in a hastily-improvised remedy. This involved a wet towel being placed into the freezer until thoroughly cooled. The chilled towel has now been placed 'twixt her rosy rear cheeks, with the added occasional and careful application of an ice-cube to the lips she doesn't kiss with.

I do not trust myself to watch without laughing, so I return to the subject of the tomatoes.

One of the plants is thriving and bodes well for a healthy crop of love-apples. The other (the one that my snout points towards in the picture above) has died completely. Upon examination, my partner expressed her suspicions as to its killer.
"Someone," she said, glaring at me - most injudiciously, in my opinion - "has been regularly urinating into the plant pot. Do YOU have anything to say about this, Jasper?"
Well, of course I didn't. I had never seen my partner (or myself, for that matter) pee-ing into the pot - and I had OFTEN been standing right beside it, while lifting my leg and trying to aim my- oh. Suddenly, the full force of my partner's argument struck me and I developed an urgent need to be somewhere else. I slunk away, my partner's glare burning into my retreating back.

Hmmm.... well, at least I didn't use a stinging nettle to wipe all the way from my intimate Box of Delights to my Little Chocolate Starfish...

Good night.

Sunday 22 June 2009

Blimey. What a tumultuous few weeks we have had.

Firstly, my partner's lump returned and she was very, very ill (now thankfully on the mend). In addition, we have been experiencing financial difficulties of apocalyptic proportions. It was the bank's fault. My partner missed ONE direct debit payment of £3.82 last month - for this, the bank charged her £58. £58!! The heartless b*st*rds. Were it not for the kindness of friends, we would have nothing at all to eat. My partner kindly made feeding me her priority and has been existing on just one meal per day. These have not been happy times. But still, we will not complain. We have our home and we have each other. That is sufficient for life.

I have seen the rat once since our misadventure. He spotted me in my garden and came sidling over. "Bit of a close shave, the other day, eh?" he grinned through his horrid yellow teeth, referring to our narrow escape from the rightly-enraged mother-cat. I wasted no time in telling him to clear off, gruffly informing him that I had no time in my busy schedule for liars, child-murderers or fools. "What?" he asked, in a poor imitation of innocence. I turned to him with gritted fangs.
"Thanks to you," I muttered, "I have been liberally p*ssed up every wall, streetlight and gatepost in the town. It's only thanks to that fellow next door" (Starsky) "that my name wasn't made public. I nearly died of dehydration trying to cover up all the weemails on the subject. AND you tried to stitch me up with the kittens' mother. Don't think I didn't hear you trying to shift all the blame on me. Now," marching right up close to him, "Be gone from my presence and never return. And if I catch you anywhere near those kittens again, I will PERSONALLY bite your kn*b off and make you watch me eat it. And then I will deliver up what is left of you to the kittens' mother, complete with a ribbon around your scrawny worthless neck."

There was a long silence.

"Well." sneered the rat. "You think you know a chap. I had high hopes of you, my friend. Together, with my stealthy brain and your strength and might, we could have lived like kings. You're nothing but a worthless coward."
"It's my pleasure to disappoint you." I barked, "Now b*gg*r off."

And - thankfully - I haven't seen him since.

My partner's gardening schemes continue apace. Yesterday, I helped her with some weeding. Alongside roses and other flowers, we are growing some potatoes and tomatoes. The spuds came from some shop-bought ones that sprouted and we planted on the off-chance. The tomatoes came all the way from Lincolnshire. More of them to follow.

For now,

Good night.

Thursday 28 May 2009

I had intended to use my latest blog entry to delight you with tales of my Welsh holiday. But instead, I climb to my keyboard to share with you a piece of tawdry gossip which I picked up today.

To the park with Maisie this afternoon I bent my steps, there to meet my friends, Candy and Harvey. Candy and I were chatting amicably, waiting for Harvey to turn up, when the little tan Staffie suddenly came bounding up to us, almost bursting with excitement.
"You will never GUESS what happened just 'round the corner from me!" he yipped, breathlessly, "You won't BELIEVE it!!"
Candy and I exchanged a glance.
"Go on, then." I said.
"I got it off Starsky - it's DEFINITELY true!"

Yes, dear reader, that Starsky. By way of a brief explanation, I discovered (some three weeks after I moved into my new home) that Harvey lives only a short distance away. Around the corner and down the road a bit, to be precise. Apparently, he and Starsky are fast friends. I have NOT told Harvey that I am his near neighbour and I do not intend to. Before you castigate me for being callous, let me remind you that Harvey has the brain of an intellectually subnormal Jammie Dodger. I have absolutely no doubt of what would ensue if he discovered my proximity to him, and the appearance every evening on my doorstep of Harvey and his football would be more than I could bear. However, I digress.

"Who's Starsky?" asked Candy.
"You know, that little white chap." yipped Harvey, impatiently.
"Oh yes." said Candy, "I don't really know him. But he always stops to sniff hello if we pass each other. He seems quite nice."
"He's a prat." I muttered.
"Shut up! Shut up!" squealed Harvey, almost beside himself, "I'm trying to tell you something."
Candy and I were silenced, and we waited for Harvey to bark his news.

"Well," he began, puffing out his chest for dramatic effect, "it happened a week or two ago, but I've only just heard. APPARENTLY, right, this dog and this rat broke into a cat's garden. Together. And the cat, well, she caught them and beat them up really badly, hehehe,"

I began to feel uneasy.

"Oh?" I said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"That's not all." said Harvey. Oh, dear G-d, what next? He continued: "THEN, right, some other cats came, and they all beat the dog and the rat some more. And then, right, they beat the rat so much he DIED. And THEN, right, they picked up the body of the rat, right, and used the body of the rat to beat the dog to death with! And THEN the rat's head fell off, so the cats cut the dog's head off too and they put both the heads on spikes and went dancing around the street waving the heads on the spikes and laughing and that."

Candy gave a little yelp.

"But that's not it." said Harvey. He leaned in closer to us and whispered confidentially. "Then, the cats cut the dog's willie off and made it into a flute, and they played music on it and sang and laughed and danced around the heads on spikes." Harvey sat back on his haunches, proud of his revelations, and nodded with a self-important smile. I didn't quite know what to bark.

"That can't be true." decided Candy. Harvey looked aggrieved for a moment and then he leaned in towards us again.
"Well, between ourselves," he whispered, "I don't think it was a flute they made from his willie. I think it was a piccolo."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Harvey." I sighed. "And you got this from Starsky?"
"Oh yes. But it's on all the news posts around the town. I sniffed it as well, on a bush outside my house."
"Actually, he's right." put in Candy, "I sniffed something about heads on poles on the park gates, come to think of it."
"Oh no!" I groaned.
"What?" asked Harvey.
"Oh! Er - ahem - well," I hastily replied, "Bit hard on the poor dog, er, whoever he was."
"Yeah, but what a chump!" said Harvey, snorting with laughter.
"Er, hehe, er yes..." I made a mental note to sniff out ALL of the news posts around the town that I could lift my leg on that afternoon, and download a fresh, unrelated, story over any repetitions of this bit of "news" that I could find. "Did, er, hehe, did Starsky say who the dog was?"
"Nope. He said he'd tried to warn him about the rat, but he didn't say who he was." I gave an internal sigh of relief.

"Harvey," barked Candy, who had largely been silent up to this point, "Are you sure about this? It does sound a bit far-fetched."
"Oh yes." replied Harvey, "Starsky was completely positive. For sure."
"It just, well," continued Candy, "I know I don't really know him and that, but he's really quite quiet. I just can't imagine him saying stuff like that."
"Well, he didn't exactly say all of it." replied Harvey, "Not all of it , exactly."
"Which bits DID he say?"
"Um..."
"Come on, Harvey." I put in, sensing some respite for my tormented mind, "Heads on spikes? Dancing and singing cats? Musical instruments made from willies?! Which bit of that is true?"
Harvey began to look somewhat crestfallen.
"Er... er..."
"HARVEY!" barked Candy sternly, suddenly losing her patience, "What did Starsky ACTUALLY tell you?!"
"Um..." mumbled Harvey, sullenly, "A rat and a dog went into a garden and a cat chased them out. But I think my version was better." And, with that, he slunk off to his partner to fetch his football. I turned to Candy.
"Candice, the boy gets worse by the day." I said, solemnly shaking my head, privately relieved that, at least, my name had not actually been associated with the sordid tale.

While Candy cheered Harvey up by playing football with him, I went down to the river and had a good, long, drink. I sensed that I would be covering up a great many spurious wee-mail posts that afternoon. I wasn't wrong.

A difficult lesson learned, I feel.

Good night.

Sunday 24 May 2009

Here I am again! before I begin, I would like to thank all who sent good wishes for my partner's operation and recovery - in particular, Angie, Lance, and Bailey. We send our heartfelt thanks. My partner is making an excellent recovery and we are awaiting the results of tests on the stuff the doctor removed. Happy days.


Now then: I have just returned from a lovely holiday in Wales, which I did not deserve. I had lovely food, which I did not deserve and had lots of lovely walks and games on beaches, none of which I deserved. I suffered a terrible accident necessitating emergency veterinary treatment and got beaten up by three horses - these I deserved. For I have been a very, very naughty boy.

Even my most devoted friends and followers will be rightly ashamed of me. I did a bad thing. I shudder when I think how despicably I behaved. It involved the new friend - "the eyes from behind the hedge" - if only someone had warned me about keeping company with him; but, alas, I was not guided into a smoother path.

To set the scene: whilst my partner was in hospital, a friend of the family came to stay in order to care for me. His name was Sandy and he is a very nice Scottish gentleman - in his early 80s, but still sprightly and full of fun. One fateful evening, the French windows were open (despite it being dark outside) and Sandy was engaged in watching a DVD about steam trains. Glancing outside, I spotted my small rodent friend gesturing to me from the end of the garden. I tiptoed out to join him.
"Tonight's the night, my friend." he said, his eyes glittering.
"For what?" I asked.
"Some fun with kittens." Ah yes, the kittens. My chum had often alluded to them, but I hadn't fully grasped his meaning - now it would all become clear. "Come on!" squeaked my friend, nudging aside the broken fence post. I cast a look back into the living room; Sandy was engrossed in his DVD and had noticed nothing. I squeezed myself through the gap with an excited shiver as the thrill of being naughty dashed throughout my body. I followed my friend across the road and into the little alley alongside the garden of the house opposite my own. We stopped by a gate. "Push it open," whispered my friend, "It's not fastened." I gave the gate a shove with my shoulder and the gate swung open.

"How did you know it wasn't locked?" I asked, incredulously. My little chum snickered.
"I've been keeping an eye on this house." he replied, "They've got kids - and they never shut the gate behind them. In we go." I followed him into the garden and up to the side wall of the house. "Get up there." he muttered, gesturing to a window, beneath which was a garden-tool storage-box alongside the dustbins. I climbed carefully up the box/bin ladder and stood looking down at the ground. I couldn't see my friend anywhere. I looked around, straining my eyes, but he'd completely disappeared.

"Right then." said a voice beside me, startling me so much that I almost fell off the bins. I managed to stifle a yelp. "Look in there." hissed the water-rat, who had somehow appeared at my side. Goodness only knows how he got up beside me. I tried to ask, but he shushed me. I looked with him through the window into the kitchen of the house. In the far corner of the room, in a cardboard box lined with blankets, lay a tortoiseshell cat (with collar + bell), nursing three tiny kittens. They hadn't yet opened their infant eyes, so they must have been fairly newborn. Two of the kittens, one black and white, the other pure white, lay in the box suckling milk from their mother and the third kitten, a tortoiseshell, was struggling furiously as his mother tried to wash his head. We watched in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my rodent chum licking his lips. His eyes were glinting and a broad smile displayed his horrid yellow teeth. The struggling kitten nipped his mother and we watched as she disciplined him. My friend laughed. "Woah - he's a feisty one!"
"Um, why are we here?" I ventured to ask.
"Look at 'em, mate." he replied, "Look at that tender young flesh. Have you ever wondered how meat like that tastes?"
"What?!"
"Come on, son. Don't pretend you haven't thought of it. Fresh... pure... unspoilt... mmmn..." I knew it was wrong, but as my friend continued to whisper in my ear his scent changed. He smelled more wild, like a hunter. From somewhere deep within me, primal, feral urges welled. Urges and instincts long buried - a primitive bloodlust, beyond my control, gripped me, and everything that was Jasper was cast aside.

"What are we going to do?" I growled, saliva drooling from my fangs. My veins coursed with anticipation of the hunt and desire for the fresh, pulsing meat.
"You're going to hop about on the lawn, making a racket to distract the parent. While she's dealing with you, I'll get in and out of the catflap, grabbing the kids. We'll finish 'em off in the hedge together."
"Yes! Yes!" I snarled, eager to get my prize bellyful. I jumped silently down onto the lawn and prepared for action.

"Oh, hello." muttered my friend, looking through the window again. "Where's mother gone?" Before I could answer, there was a blinding explosion as something came pummelling into my flank with the full force of a speeding locomotive and I was sent crashing to the ground, rolling over and over until I hit the fence .

Groaning, I opened my eyes to find the female cat standing over me. My whole body felt bruised and, as I looked up at her, she slapped me across the face, her claws slashing my cheek. I yelped.
"WHAT do you think you're DOING?" she yowled at me. I whimpered at the pain in my cheek. "How COULD you?" she screamed, "How could you?! They're just babies! I saw you at the window!" She proceeded to call me a selection of obscene names while I struggled to get free. Every time I wriggled she slapped me again. I began to howl pitifully and she relaxed her grip a bit. "Get out." she hissed into my face, little bits of spittle flying at me with each word. "And if I ever, EVER, catch you in my garden again I'll tear off your fat ar*e and make you wear it as a hat. Understand?"
"Y-yes. Thank you, madam." I squeaked, "I'm sorry madam, I truly am." She spat at me again and was about to say something else, when she gave a roar and, in a flash of fur so fast that I could barely see her, she flew from me to the edge of the garden. My rodent companion had been quietly slinking away to safety.

The enraged cat landed immediately behind him and stabbed a claw through his tail, pinning him to the ground. He squealed and began thrashing about frantically. "YOU!" shouted the cat, "I might have known you'd be back! I warned you. Thought you'd succeed by bringing along a bit of meat-headed muscle, did you?!" She flicked her eyes in my direction. I turned and looked behind me, but there was no-one there. Whoever she was referring to had obviously run away.
"Noooo!" squeaked my friend, pathetically, "It was all his fault! He made me do it! I tried to stop him!" He started to cry. I was disgusted and utterly ashamed of him. "Boohoohoo - I didn't want to take them! He said-"
"SHUT IT!" screeched the cat, smacking him across the back of the head. "You've had your chance, rat."

Rat? Rat?! Oh no, no, NO!!! The fog of obfuscation at last cleared from my mind. My so-called friend wasn't a water-rat or vole at all! He was a RAT! No wonder he was so big. I gulped, and tried to remember if my vaccinations were up to date. A rat! How could I have been so blind???

"He's had his marching orders," hissed the angry feline, her eyes flashing in my direction again. "And you. What shall I do with you? Yes. YOU are coming with me. You will be the star part in my children's first lesson in hunting." The rat screamed again and renewed his writhing. Somehow (don't ask me how), he managed to struggle free and was off towards the river without a second glance. The cat howled in rage, but let him go. I stood watching her, as my paws seemed glued to the ground. Eventually she turned to me. "I trust I do not have to repeat myself?" she snarled.
"Er, n-no," I stammered, blood from my cut cheek trickling into my mouth. "Madam, I apologise sincerely and unreservedly. I don't know what came over me. I would never have pr-"
"OUT!" she screeched.

I bolted through the gate, back across the street, into my own garden and through the French windows. By a fortunate chance, Sandy (who is somewhat hard of hearing) was still occupied with his steam train DVD and hadn't heard the melée outside.
"Ah, there you are!" he said as I pushed my way through the curtains. I shamefully slunk to the other side of the settee, in order to conceal my injured cheek, and lay down to lick my wounds. My psychological wounds would not mend so easily. I had been duped by a rat and very nearly committed the most heinous crime in my moral code. Oh, Jasper - how came you to this?! I despised my self. But only for about half an hour. It wasn't completely my fault, after all.

The following day, I alerted Sandy to the broken fence-post. I held his tool bag for him while he nailed the post closed.

Next time: windmills, Wales - and WS...

Good night.

Wednesday 29 April 2009

Another wonderful day of being Jasper is almost complete.

Yesterday's achievements were crowned with another visit from my new little friend from the hedge. He only seems to come a-calling in the dead of night, when I am making my final tour of my estate before retiring for the night. No matter - I am always glad to see him.
"Alright?" he hailed me.
"Very well, thank you." I replied. My new friend sidled up close to me, giving me the opportunity to fully realise for the first time just how rancid he smelt. He leaned towards my ear, and muttered confidentially:
"Listen. Whisper is: a deer was snuffed on the main road last night. Up by the roundabout apparently. Me and a few of the lads are going to check it out. Want to come with?"
"I can't get out of my garden by myself."
"'Course you can. Look." And my chum moved one of the fence posts aside with nothing but his bare snout!
"When did that happen?!" I barked, incredulously.
"'S always been like that." he replied. "Bit tight for you, but one good shove and you'll be through..."
"I'm not supposed to go out by myself." I muttered. My friend laughed his strange, wheezy laugh and sneered at me.
"You're the man of the house, ain't 'cha?"
"Er... yes." I replied, doubtfully, hoping that my partner was out of earshot.
"Well then," he rasped, "Tell the choppy tart indoors to get stuffed and come out for some fun with the lads."

Dear blog, I have to admit that I was tempted. I looked over the dark fields and up the hill, to the lights of the roundabout twinkling far off in the distance and imagined the taste of fresh venison... Even the thought of being naughty sent a little thrill through me...

But I could not let down my partner. I declined my friend's offer - explaining that I always got too greedy and I didn't want to take all the meat away from him and his friends. The little chap shrugged and turned to go. As I watched his long pink tail disappear into the hedge, he suddenly spoke once more: "Must 'ave a word with you sometime about them kittens."
"What? Oh, yes, the kittens." I replied.
"Don't want the little b****rs getting any older, do we?"
"Er, ha ha ha, no." I responded, wondering what in the name of Cerberus he was on about. But before I could request clarification, my friend (and his tail) had disappeared into the night.

I did not regret my decision not to go looking for the deer. As much fun as it would have been, I must not distress my partner - particularly at present. For tomorrow, she is to attend the local hospital for a rather unsavoury procedure. She has a lump in her left breast and must undergo an operation to have it removed (local surgeons are concerned, as my partner's mother has suffered not one, but two episodes of breast cancer). We have known about this for some short while, but I did not bark of it previously as the subject distresses me. But tomorrow is the big day, and I can deny its reality no longer. My blog may fall silent for a few days owing to these events. But I WILL return and, dear reader, my heart shall remain true to you whilst my computer slumbers.

Until next time - good night.

Monday 27 April 2009

I really am inexpressibly cross.

I had another wonderful walk this evening. I have, of late, been trying to catch a hippopotamus in the woods. I believe I am close to success. My partner tells me that I am highly unlikely to find a hippopotamus in the English countryside woodlands, but this just goes to show that she is of the "glass-half-empty" personality type. I am confident of victory.

Anyway - I was hot on the scent, but managed to lose my quarry. I cooled myself down post-chase by going puddle-diving (my second-favourite hobby) in the deepest, muckiest path-pool I could find. It was terrific fun, but did not garner quite the response I was hoping for in my partner. I was deliriously happy - right up to the point where I was taken to the river and forced into cleanliness. Grrrowl. And I slipped on some river-weed and twisted my leg. My only comfort was that my partner dropped her car keys into the water, so I had the satisfaction of seeing her run, panic-stricken, back to the river and grovel about in the weir until she retrieved them. Happily, I was able to control my wry laughter as she returned, dripping, to the car.

So that was my walk ruined. I was able to cheer myself with the continuing friendship of my new chum, the water-rat. Some people (you know who you are) have seen fit to warn me off this new ally, citing past false friends such as the Buzzard. I am grateful for their concern - but I also pity them for their thinly-veiled jealousy. Why can't people just be happy when two kindred souls find succour in each others' company?

My new little mate stopped by last night - AND he brought me a gift! I smelt him coming as I did my last rounds of the garden for the night. I hailed him: "Is that you?"
"Mmmnf." came the reply. He appeared, and tossed down a couple of items at my paws. "Those are for you." he said, grinning his yellow-toothed grin at me. "It's rabbit." Before me lay a small cube of meat and a little kidney. I hastened to enjoy the meat - it was fresh and delicious. I offered my hearty thanks. "'s alright." replied my friend, "Perhaps you can do me a favour some time. What you been up to today?" I explained about my hippopotamus hunting. "Any joy?" he asked. I shook my head.
"My partner says they're very big, anyway." I said, as my friend expressed his sympathy for my lack of success.
"Humpf. I just go for small game, me." he grunted, "Rabbits, mice, whatever. Never chase after stuff that can stomp on you when you catch it." We shared a philosophical silence. "Good luck with the hippypottawotsit, anyway."
"Thanks."

"A little bird tells me there's a young puppy three doors down from here." said the water-rat, abruptly changing the subject.
"Yep." I replied. "A Jack Russell. Eleven weeks old."
"Big lad, is he?"
"Well..." I hesitated, wondering where this was leading. "Smaller than me. But bigger than you."
"Ah. Best leave it then."
"Yes."

My friend then said that it was getting late, and he had to be going back to his friends and the rest of their rabbit supper. I thanked him again for his generous gift of the meat and watched him slink back through the hedge towards the river.

Returning into my house, I thought that my chum was probably right: the little Jack Russell pup IS a bit too young to hang around with us at present.

Good night.

Saturday 25 April 2009

I have returned this evening from a delightful walk, on a delightful day, and now I feel it is time to introduce you to my delightful new friend.

As mentioned previously, I had been somewhat concerned about a silent watcher in the bushes of my garden fence. More than once, I saw a pair of eyes blinking at me, but any closer investigations turned up nothing. All most mysterious. And then, a few evenings ago, I was sniffing around the garden late at night, looking for the most suitable spot to download my last weemail of the day when:

"Alright?" A little raspy voice sounded from the usual spot of the eyes. I wasn't too startled as, being a perceptive chap, I had already suspected I was being watched.
"Ummm, yes, thank you." I replied. "You alright?"
"Always."
"Where are you?" There was a brief silence.
"Right here." And out of the bushes came a rather rugged but not unattractive fellow. He had the appearance of a large, fat mouse, with a longish snout and whiskers which were constantly on the move. "Just moved in, eh?" he continued, "Welcome. I'm, er, head of the welcoming committee." I nodded my thanks. The stranger and I regarded each other. Try as I might, I couldn't place his species. I could only think of one chap from my past encounters who even vaguely resembled him - the water rat who was dropped into my old garden by a buzzard and took up residence with my blessing.
"Are you a water rat?" I asked, hesitantly. The chap laughed a husky, rasping laugh, revealing a mouth full of the yellowest teeth I had ever seen.
"Yeah, that's me. Water rat. Yeah."
"You're quite a big one."
"Well, I'm like you - plenty of muscle." I liked him immediately. He went on: "I'll bet you're pretty handy when it comes to a scrap, eh?"
"Well, I don't like to boast..." I replied, blushing under my fur.
"Ah, come on now." grinned my new chum, "I'll bet you're the best there is." Well, reader, what else could I do but agree with him?

We passed a most agreeable time whilst I regaled him with tales of my past glories in battle with squirrels, swans, hedgehogs, buzzards (bah!), rabbits and, of course, the stag. All the while, my new friend listened attentively, nodding and chuckling in all the right places.
"Well," he said appreciatively, after I had concluded my tales, "Quite impressive, old son. There aren't many dogs that can bring down a stag by themselves." (Do not judge me too harshly, dear reader. I fully intend to tell him the truth when I know him a bit better).
"No," I replied proudly, "But then, I have been especially trained in elite, unarmed paw-to-hoof combat."
"Hmmm..." continued the newcomer, "And there was me just thinking that I could do with a handy chap around here..."
"Do you actually live here, then?" I asked.
"Here...abouts. It's a good spot. Plenty of kiddies - lots of food gets chucked out, hehehe. Then there's the river. Almost perfect, apart from all them f***ing cats."
I didn't appreciate his foul language, but I did agree with the sentiment.
"Are there more like you around here?" I asked politely.
"One or two." he grunted, "They ain't as nice as me though. Now, look, son - how's about me and you chum up?" I grinned excitedly and wagged my tail - my first new friend in my new house!! He went on: "There's these kittens-". He was suddenly silent, as a little bell could be heard close at paw. "F***ing cats." he spat, and hastily withdrew back into the hedge from whence he came. "See you around, son." he muttered as he disappeared.

I listened to the tinkling of the little collar bell. But its feline wearer was heading the other way. The ringing grew fainter and soon was heard no more. I waited in the silent darkness for my new friend to return, but he didn't come back.

Feeling pleased with the way the encounter had gone, despite my friend's foul potty-mouth and the slight twinge of guilt that I had for telling porkies about the stag-fight, I turned and padded softly along my flower border, when suddenly:

"You want to watch yourself with that one."

"Aaiiieeee!" I yelped, jumping about three foot into the air and, to my annoyance, leaking a little bit of wee into my fur.

It was Starsky, next door, standing in the dark shadows. His voice had come out of nowhere and frightened the bejeezus out of me. I yipped at him, a little more harshly than I intended, implying that he was jealous of my new friendship. To be honest, I still hadn't got over the terrifying suddenness of his comment. Starsky listened patiently to all I had to bark.

"Well, I'm just saying. Be careful. That's all." And, with that, he turned and trotted back into his house through his little dog-flap in the front door. I stood in the dark garden, waiting until my heart-rate had calmed down and then I downloaded the remainder of my weemail and went back into my own house.

"Blimey Jasper, what were you up to out there?" asked my partner. But she was sleepy, and probed no further than that, for which I was much relieved. We retired to our bedchamber and I drifted off to sleep as my partner wiped my pee-tainted fur with a moist towelette.

I can't wait to have lots of fun with my new friend!

Good night.