Thursday 6 February 2014

I have wrestled long and hard with my judgement concerning this entry.  Several times I have composed this blog-post only to re-think it, decide against it, only to change my mind and ponder anew.  Am I justified in posting this?  Was it a bark too far?  No; I concluded.  I have a duty.  The young males of the world have a right to be forewarned that such a wanton creature is in existence - and, based on available evidence, that she will be actively hunting them out and that they ought to prepare themselves for the persistent tap-tapping upon their doors...


I suppose such scenes were inevitable, given the untamed passions of young Gisèle.  But they still rendered me barkless.  Boris was the hapless "victim", though not an entirely unwilling one.  He had come to stay for the weekend and, initially, all proceeded in a well-mannered fashion.  The morning after his arrival, however, ushered in a new scene.

As my partner gradually wakened from her slumbers, she was aware of the sounds of rather frantic activity accompanied by heavy breathing.  Had I been physically able to, at that point I would have leapt in front of her face, to spare her the scene at the opposite end of her bed.  She shouldn't have had to see that...  Two dogs; one large, with black curly fur - the other tiny, with wispy white fur, were united in an act of frenzied passion.

"Turn away, oh, turn away..." I whimpered to my partner, but she was staring in shock at the spectacle before her.  Had she not been certain that Boris had been "attended to", she may have resorted to actual screaming.

With a certain amount of haste, she left the two lust-crazed creatures to get on with their foul, depraved business.

Returning to the room some time later, having not-unreasonably decided that it was high time the bed-linens went into the washing machine, we were a little disturbed to find the two furry fornicators still committed about their business.  My partner turned hurriedly away, shaking her head and muttering darkly to herself.

Now then. I confess that I had, during my lifetime, failed to be sufficiently sympathetic to my late, dear, friend Ewan's plight each time he bewailed the events which took place every time his basket-mate Fizzy was in season.  Fizzy, like Gisèle, had not been "seen to".

Cometh the seasonal onslaught; cometh the torment...

Ewan genuinely believed that hiding beneath the dining-table would sufficiently shield him.  He thought that no-one would possibly be able to find him amidst the myriad legs of table and chairs.  He was wrong each and every time.  In every season - without exception - Fizzy found him, hauled him out and smacked him about the face and neck until he capitulated and fulfilled her sordid whims.  The only difference betwixt Ewan's and Boris's plights was that Gisèle was not, at present, in heat.  Oh no.  Gisèle was beyond EVEN Fizzy's justification.

I realise, now, that Gisèle is basically a torrid whirlpool of salacious hormones and passions, bound with wispy tan and white fur and an endearing smile.  She knows the powers she possesses in her beauty, her lithe young figure and the deep liquid pools in her pretty brown eyes, in which an unprepared young man could easily drown... And she knows how to best employ that exquisite witchcraft in order to get what she wants...

All weekend, this went on.  ALL WEEKEND.  Sickened.  Sickened is what I am by these immoral developments.

Some images exist.  Obviously no pictures of the most base acts.  If you are looking for those I suggest you leave here IMMEDIATELY.  And take your perversions with you; they are not welcome here.

And so:-

1. Mata-Hari ponders her victim

2. Battle commences

3. Boris claims that he is "too tired"...

4. ...Gisèle informs him that he is not.

5. He begins to weaken...

6. Weakness scented, powerful
feminine wiles are unleashed...

7. A tender kiss is bestowed

8. And our reluctant suitor capitulates; totally
hoodwinked by the tiny doggy-Delilah.  Wimp.

Let us leave the scene.  Admittedly, there was a certain charm and sweetness at the outset.  Boris is genuinely enchanted with Gisèle, and he has always been a fond friend.  But the fact that this carried on ALL weekend - added with the fact that my partner has been single for a VERY long time (and I accept my share of the blame for that; my efforts whilst alive in attempting to kill all her prospective suitors whether by fang or by bottom-gas - borne out of jealousy - cannot have helped her situation) - and topped-off by the incident when Boris's nice owner came to collect him and the two dogs fled upstairs giggling to have "one last go" before he went home - all combined to make a most trying and tiresome weekend for my partner and I, no matter how much Boris and 'Sèle enjoyed themselves.

When Boris has finally been bribed into leaving his lady and returning home with his owner my partner wasted no time.  The bed-linens were in the washing-machine and Gisèle was in the bath, both in less than ten minutes.  Giz did not go quietly into the soap-water; she protested volubly but was too tired to resist my partner's determination.  Justice and cleanliness were thus served, I feel.

One more photo remains from that first day to share with you.  Immediately post-fun, that first time, he fell instantly into a deep, snoring sleep:-

You may judge 'Sèle's view of this by her expression.
Poor Boris...

It was NOT a blunder he committed a second time.


I reiterate - Gisèle was, and is, NOT in season.  So I warn you gentlemen.  She's out there - and she will find you.

I urge you to persuade your human partners/owners to purchase a double-lock for your door at their earliest convenience.  Don't bark that I didn't warn you...

Stay vigilant, my friends.

Monday 20 January 2014

Gisèle has got a new hobby.

Thankfully she has now got over her violent stomach bug (let us not go there; it wasn't pleasant).  Therefore she is once again bursting with enthusiasm and vitality and is consequently seeking out new and imaginative ways to accidentally injure herself.  Having learned an early lesson in the witless folly of getting one's self trapped underground (see here for that sorry débacle), the young Gizzles has been seeking out ever more inventive sources of entertainment.

I am sure that I have alluded in the past to Gisèle's passion for chasing squirrels - into which she was indoctrinated by Betty (not that much in the way of encouragement was needed in this case).  This pursuit has led directly to Gisèle's new-found obsession.  Before I proceed any further, let me assure you that I have counselled the young Parson Jack Russell Terrier against her new favourite activity.  I may as well not have bothered, for all the notice she took of me.  In her paws be it then.  I have done my best.  Witness this folly:-

Betty (wearing her muzzle) sits sentinel

Spot the Gisèle... special prize for anyone who
finds her in the first two seconds of looking at this photo...

See?  Unwise at best.

GISÈLE'S HOLIDAY DIARY - PART 3

I couldn't WAIT to jump out of my cosy sleeping bag for my third day of holiday. Eis and Devon from next door had already gone out for the day and I couldn't see Marnie anywhere - and I was even MORE disappointed to see that it was raining. I barked at the sky to make it stop, but it didn't work. I will get Betty to tell it off later. Luckily (for the sky) the sun soon came out, all fresh and new! Hurray!

After we had put our packed lunches together my Mistress and me hopped into the Gizmobile and we were away!

We decided to go and visit Fox Tor, near Princetown, as there are lots of old huts and things to see, a pretty river, Fox Tor itself, Childe's Tomb (an old stone cross) and - of course - Fox Tor Mire, which was the inspiration for the Great Grimpen Mire in the Sherlock Holmes story "The Hound of the Baskervilles". Jasper really liked Sherlock Holmes stories, but they are a bit difficult for me to understand. I'm not a Basket-ville dog (I don't think Jasper was one either - you can make up your OWN mind about Betty, hihihiiii...).

These two are of the big area of Fox Tor Mires, from the West

This is me deciding not to investigate the mire more closely

The crossing place for the river, above the mire, just below Fox Tor itself

Now, there is an interesting story about this exact site of the river crossing place - my Mistress and Jasper had a bit of a mishap here a few years ago. I thought it was funny. Mistress said that she smiles about it NOW, but she and Jasper weren't laughing at the time when it happened. I think it was in 2007, probably. That is the last time that Jasper and Mistress had a BIG Dartmoor holiday together.

The river place above is a few miles South of the little town of Princetown (where the nice Plume of Feathers pub is, and the less-nice prison). When Mistress was there with Jasper they parked their Little Green Corsa (like the Gizmobile, but less Giztastic) in Princetown and began walking towards the open moorland. They hadn't gone too far when Mistress realised that she had left her compass back at the B&B where she and Jasper were staying. Only a VERY stupid person goes off into the middle of nowhere without a compass - especially into an area that is famous for being scary and dangerous. So she and Jasper walked back into Princetown and went to the High Moorland Visitor Centre and purchased a new one.  

Off they set again for the long walk towards Fox Tor, Mistress wearing the shiny new compass on its cord around her neck, Jasper capering happily and loving the fresh air and glorious scenery. After a lovely walk of a good few hours Jasper and Mistress arrived at the very spot that is in my photograph here. I have to say that I wasn't as pleased to be here as Jasper was - I am still frightened of water and it is quite deep here. Jasper liked doing swimming and paddling, but Mistress either has to carry me over or I have to find a narrow bit and jump over... Anyway, back to 2007, and Jasper's holiday. Jasper crossed the river first and Mistress went next. As she stepped from the big rock on the left of the picture to the smaller rocks above it, the knot in the cord around her neck slipped undone - before she could catch it, the new compass fell into the water and the flowing water began to carry it away. Jasper went swimming after it as quickly as he could - but as the water flows directly into the mire, my Mistress wouldn't let him go too far in case he got stuck and died. She had to call him back and the water was too fast further downstream for him to catch up with the compass. Mistress and Jasper watched the brand-new compass disappear off towards the mire. It's probably still there. Then Mistress used some bad toilet-words (the sort that I'd get a spanked bottom for if I barked them). And then they went home.

No such horrors for me! Apart from the scary bit of getting across the river, I had a LOVELY day, brilliant running and laughs. Mistress liked it too.

Me with Mistress's rucksack, on the path back to the Gizmobile.  I was very tired
and looking forward to my dinner, my bedtime story and my cosy sleeping bag

Eis and Devon still hadn't returned from their day out when we got back to our cottage and I was SO tired I didn't go out to see if Marnie wanted to play after supper. I LOVE HOLIDAYS!

Bye-bye love from Gisèle. x

Wednesday 1 January 2014

Good day - and a very happy new year to you, dear reader.  'Twas an early bedtime for my partner and the two girls, Betty and Gisèle, although they did stay awake long enough to hear the chimes of good old Big Ben ringing in the new year.  Let us hope that it brings much happiness to all.

To judge, however, from the scenes outside my partner's windows it would seem that the weather is not terribly happy.  A fearsome gale is (literally) howling around the small cul-de-sac and large drops of rain are hurling themselves against the window-panes.  Having witnessed well over 20 storm-felled trees in the woods yesterday, my partner is not minded to expose the two furry blossoms to these wild elements (and not just for fear that they might all get gusted away to the magical land of Oz and squash a witch. Though, having barked that, I'm sure Gisèle would love some pretty ruby slippers; Betty, on the other paw, would merely chew them).  The girls aren't terribly happy about this - but, as I can read in my partner's eyes every time the wind howls with renewed force, it only takes one windblown branch to fall upon a furry head...  It simply isn't worth the risk; especially so when one has a garden that the girls can use for "necessities".

Betty and Giz very much enjoyed their walk in the woods yesterday.  The weather was not unpleasant, despite the débris from the previous storm and good fun was had by all (except, possibly, the squirrels who attracted the girls' attentions).  Regular readers of my humble musings may recall that Betty has a muzzle, purchased after an unfortunate episode last year (and of which there is no need to bark).  My partner -  recognising that said muzzle was not required at home with Gisèle, yet not inattentive to Elizabeth's temper directed towards others when out and about - decreed that Betty must (despite protests from BOTH girls) wear her muzzle on walks.  Betty did not go quietly.  At length, however, she accepted my partner's argument and was content (it was a very soft and comfortable muzzle, after all).  Giz, however, detected a rich seam of p*ss-taking to be enthusiastically mined...

Oh dear...

Tuesday 31 December 2013

I confess that I was beginning to despair of Gisèle ever knuckling-down to write another blog entry.  I know that, during my own lifetime, I could often be somewhat dilatory with regard to this blog - but trying to pin Gisèle down and get her to concentrate on any one thing at a time was proving nigh-on impossible.  Betty arrived on Saturday to stay for a week which, I suppose, was a legitimate excuse but whilst Betty slept this morning I made one more attempt to remonstrate with Giz.

"It's been almost a month, Gizzy, and you're building up a backlog of things to write about.  It's the last day of the year and you've STILL only done three parts of your holiday diary!"

"Yes." concurred the tiny Parson Jack Russell, at least having the grace to look humble.

"AND you've had a lovely Christmas, a very special time in Herefordshire, and I know you want to write about that."

"Oh yes, I want to write about that very much."

"Well, no-one is going to write it down for you.  You've still got some nice stories to tell and photographs to share from your holiday - and that funny misunderstanding with Marnie about the old mines in the hills that you wanted to bark about. Remember?"

"Yes, hihihihiiiii, that was funny!  Can I promise to write it tomorrow, Jasper, as a New Year beginning?"

"I don't know, can you?"

The little sweetheart giggled again.

"I write it tomorrow, I promise I will.  But Mistress promised that me and Betty could go to play in the woods today, so I will be busy doing that for a bit, then we will be having our dinners, and then a bit of sleep and then Betty has promised to curl my Giz-tuft for me in the evening..."

"I know you won't let me down Giz."  I smiled.  Despite the potential misgivings of the more cynical reader; I know a great secret.  There has been a VERY significant development involving Gisèle and my partner - possibly one of the most important since little Gisèle-Stephanie first took up residence here half-way through 2012.

But before I turn to that I must confess that it has brought me much joy over the past couple of days to see the renewed and continuing friendship between Elizabeth and Gisèle.  Despite all that has occurred in the past which could have turned either one permanently against the other, they continue to delight in each others' company - and, I have to bark, that each is much the better dog for their friendship.  As a direct result of their acquaintance Betty has learned that not all small dogs are irritants, to be abused and squashed as harshly as possible.  She has also learned the great blessing of being freely forgiven for her trespasses and loved for herself; not because the other party has been bribed, persuaded or coerced into enduring her company - but because she is genuinely liked; loved, even.  Betty continues, almost daily, to delight in the reality of having a true friend, a friend by choice.  Gisèle, in turn, has learned from her relationship with Betty to be more assertive - that she has things to bark which are worth barking and, moreover, worth listening to. Despite the disparity in their sizes, Gisèle has most definitely emerged as the more dominant of the two girls.  This has given her confidence in every aspect of her life - from encountering other friends whilst out and about to the knowledge that she is loved and secure in her own home.  The development of the friendship between these two unlikely associates has been (and continues to be) both humbling and heart-warming - even for one such as I, whose heart ceased to beat almost two years ago.

And the secret, significant, development?  Well - it is not much, I confess.  Merely - to some, perhaps, - a throwaway comment at the end of a hard day... Something for which I had been waiting.  I confess I thought it would come sooner than it did.  I wretchedly underestimated the force of my partner's love for me and her grief at my death.  But one night, with no anniversary to make it significant - no pre-determinism nor any mawkishness - it was just a very ordinary mid-week night.  No Betty to distract; no pre-conceptions, no burdensome history... Just my partner falling to sleep, Gizzles already snoring alongside her.

And then a murmured goodnight - the words I had waited for since they were last uttered in MY favour...

"Goodnight Gizzy - you're a good girl and I love you."

Happy New Year, my friends, HAPPY New Year.

Monday 2 December 2013

Well... what a hiatus it has been for my creaky old blog... not entirely my fault, but times have been particularly tough here of late and so we have been conserving as much electricity and heat as possible...

But onwards; ever onwards we lumber. My partner recently (well, on 15 November) did her voluntary stint for Children in Need at the BBC, helping the good folk of Radio 2 to raise as much as possible for disadvantaged human pups. But what of Gisèle while my partner was away? I am sorry to bark that a rarely-seen but still existent less-palatable side to her nature reared itself. I confess myself less-than-impressed with her current romantic entanglements. Boris remains present and popular - but now a new and handsome young buck has arrived to turn pretty Giz's head. His "kennel name" is Riverside Maurauder, but he's commonly known by the less-formal (and less-explicable) 'Dylan'. He is an extremely attractive spaniel and an ex-stud dog to boot. He is, in fact, the father of Bug, Giz's younger friend. Gisèle is really quite taken with him.

Poor Boris arrived for a weekend visit, fully expecting a resumption of the frolics he had enjoyed on his previous sojourn, only to find Gizzy's frolic-tap well and truly closed off.  She held him at bay with mentions of Dylan.  Cometh the Monday, however, and the reunion with Dylan, Giz flirted openly with him but then, when he had had sufficient encouragement to believe that he would be welcome if he "clambered aboard", Giz snapped at him and started holding him off with barks about Boris...  Not the sort of behaviour that I would be encouraging... silly girl - but she is old enough to know what she is doing and highly unlikely to pay heed to any advice of mine.  I may have a discreet bark with Betty, when she returns after Christmas, to see if she can bark seriously to Gisèle about being a little less openly wanton in her flirtations.  But this is not the side of Gisèle to which I referred above...

...No, this is something else altogether.  This is what rose to the forepaw whilst my partner was away at the BBC and Gisèle was left in the fond care of my partner's parents.  I was foolish enough to ask how Giz had enjoyed herself during her little holiday.  Giz herself has asked that I now place this before continuing:-

For goodness' sake.

"It was okay," began the pretty little terrier, when first questioned, "But it was very hard.  Very hard indeed."

I frowned, trying to think of a situation in which my partner's parents might be deliberately unkind.  But Gisèle was already prattling on over my thoughts... "And then I wanted to go to the woods, but I had to go to play in the PARK instead!  AND I had to sleep downstairs on the sofa, ALL BY MYSELF!!  Can you imagine that, Jasper, can you?!"

I just looked at her.

"And then - this is the worst bit, so prepare yourself Jasper.  I got a Rich Tea biscuit when I SPECIFICALLY asked for a shortbread finger!  Oh! The horror!"

Gisèle stopped barking, clearly anticipating an outpouring of sympathy.  This was a response that I would never give.  If you have read my "Evolution of Jasper" series, you will know that my life began as a desperately abused and wretched puppy; in fact, my life very nearly ended as an abused and tormented puppy - it was only thanks to a lucky chance, a skilled vet and a salt-and-vinegar-flavoured potato crisp that I survived.  I had also lived for at least a year in a rescue home (in Stokenchurch) for dogs, some of whom had histories so dreadful as to make my former life merely trivial by comparison.  Animal abuse is therefore not a subject I consider lightly.  It took all my patience to listen to Giz's descriptions of the bed, exercise and numerous treats with which she had been provided and hear her calling them "abuse".  She was STILL wittering on as I left the house and wandered away.  I knew she meant well, but I just needed to be temporarily somewhere where she was not.

I drifted up the road and along the avenue in which my partner's parents lived.  To my immense pleasure, who should I see ambling along genially beside his master but... Harvey!  My former protegée, fellow Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and playtime companion, along with my former girlfriend Candy the Labrador, in my trips to the park!  The years had been kind to Harvey.  He was visibly older and had lost some of the thick muscling around his legs, but his rich bronze coat still shone and happiness sparkled in his aged eyes.  Beside him, his owner carried Harvey's most precious treasure; his football.  I stayed with them all the way to the park, wondering if Harvey might sense my presence close to him.  He did look around once or twice... but did not seem aware that his old chum Jasper was with him once more.

Once he'd arrived at the park, he capered happily over to a couple of young spaniels he obviously knew well, and began a lively game of football with them.  At one point I heard him telling the spaniels (both female) of how a friend of his, a fellow-Staffie, had once run all the way down the length of the park and onto the ice covering the frozen river beyond, only for Harvey to have to bravely haul the "other Staffie" out of the perishing water when the ice broke beneath him.  The two young spaniels giggled and Harvey beamed.  Well, you MAY recall dear reader, that it was in fact Harvey himself who visited upon himself an unpleasant dunking in the deep and icy river and that it was I who had to throw caution (and Little Jasper's sensitivities) to the winds and haul him out.  But I was glad to see him alive and well, and making use of the tale to make others smile.  Good luck to him.

It was getting dark by the time I returned to Gisèle.  She had completely forgotten her spurious complaints and was happily watching a DVD with my partner.  Lucky little thing.  And with no further ado:-

GISÈLE'S HOLIDAY DIARY - PART 3

... is to follow....!

Friday 15 November2013

Written from BBC TV Centre - working for Chindren in Need, taking donations! More to follow...!

Wednesday 30 October 2013

A somewhat disturbed night.  Both girls slept well - a little too well, as it happened.  Come the wee small pre-dawn hours, some odd noises could be heard emanating from Betty's bedroom.  As Betty seems to be enduring a return of her recurring ear infection, my partner and Gisèle decided that they'd better investigate...

They tip-toed (and -clawed) to Betty's room (aka the bathroom with Betty's bed in it) and peeped in.  Betty was sound asleep, but growling, wuffing and muttering in her sleep.  She was burbling something incoherent about "the potatoes".  Giz looked instantly amused.  I was just quietly warning her that she ought to consider the fact that she, too, mutters in her sleep before she laughs too heartily at Betty - when Betty herself suddenly sat bolt upright with her eyes open (though clearly still in the deepest of sleeps) and barked clearly and loudly "The potatoes!  There aren't enough potatoes!  Nellie -" [Betty's Springer Spaniel house-mate] "- we HAVE to plant more potatoes or no carrots will grow!  Quick!  The potatoes!!  This is important..." and, with that, she collapsed back onto her blanket and fell into deep muffled snores again.  Giz could barely suppress her giggles as she and my partner crept back to their own bed.

I sternly forbade Gisèle from teasing Betty about this during the following day.  With her usual faux-sincérité, Giz nodded and promised not to mock her friend, all the while her twinkling eyes signalling mischievous plots being created...  I shook my head as, some time later, I spotted Giz grasping 'twixt her tiny fangs the little potato bag from my partner's vegetable-rack.  She crept back to where Betty lay sleeping and dropped the bag, arranging the small spuds around Betty's head and then lay down to wait.  I didn't linger to view the outcome, such japes were only occasionally amusing to me.  I did, however, catch Betty following Giz with a look of rapt wonder on her face pleading "But how did you know, Gizzy, how did you KNOW?" Gisèle merely giggled and replied "I saw it in my crystal bowl..."

I despair of those two, I genuinely do.

GISÈLE'S HOLIDAY DIARY - PART 2

I had a very good nights' sleep in my sleeping bag and jumped out of bed. I couldn't WAIT to get out and about and on with the business of being on holiday. I heard Devon and Eis, the big (German) Belgian Shepherd Dogs, and their owners from the next-door cottage going out for the day while I was eating my breakfast, but Marnie came bounding up with her trademark rubber-ball when I put my first paw outdoors for a wee-wee. "Good morning!" she grinned. I liked Marnie, she was really friendly. "Come and meet the chickens!" she wuffed (I hadn't quite worked out how she could wuff clearly, despite holding her ball in her mouth, it was like magic). "Oh... I don't know..." I replied, doubtfully. Mistress had not let me forget what happened with the chicken on my last holiday, nor the level of spanked bottom I would receive if I repeated my wicked deed.

"They're locked in!" persisted Marnie, "Only mum and dad can go in to feed and look after them and collect the eggs. Besides, chickens are boring! I mean, they're useful and everything, and I always remember to say thank you for the fresh egg I get every day - but they're RUBBISH at playing ball! They just scratch and cluck and peck about. Come and see though! Dad built them a nice, proper big chicken house what foxes can't get in! Come on Giz!"

"The thing is," I muttered, in the subdued tones of a guilty confessor, "I've got a bit of history with chickens... I was a bit naughty with one last year. I mean, I didn't kill it or anything!" I added quickly, as Marnie's eyes widened, "I just, erm, 'redesigned' the chicken's outfit..."

"What did you do?!" asked Marnie, with a giggle.

"I pulled out all its bottom-feathers..." I admitted reluctantly. "The owner was all right, the chicken should not have been where it was. And she said the feathers would grow back. But I think the chicken had to walk around with a cold bum for a while...!"

Marnie couldn't reply; she was laughing at me. The ball fell out of her mouth and rolled away. "Hang on," I muttered and then I turned and went back into the cottage. Mistress was eating some toast. "Please may I go with Marnie to visit the chickens?" I asked, putting on my prettiest smile.

"I'm surprised you're even asking that, Giz..." sighed Mistress. "No. You may not."

After her parents had assured her that the chickens were safely guarded apart from the best efforts of the most devious, Mistress said that I could go, but only if I stayed with Marnie and didn't misbehave or wander off by myself. I capered out to rejoin Marnie and we trotted up the hill side-by-side.

The chickens were in a well-fenced hillside enclosure. They were close by, but I had somehow missed them when I had gone out for my stroll the previous evening. These were certainly plump, lucky fowls. Not only did they have a nice hen-house the side of a small garden shed, but a shade stand in their yard, a small drinking-pond, secure fencing all the way around, and a notice on the gate with a picture of each resident chicken alongside their name and breed of chicken. There was a little plastic tub by the gate, where you could buy six eggs for £1 (a bargain, especially as they turned out to be the tastiest, freshest eggs I had ever tasted in the whole of my life). "But I get one every day for free, because I live here." explained Marnie. I have a little one, boiled and chopped up for my breakfast every day."

I thought Marnie was the luckiest dog in the world, and told her so. But then I became distracted.

"Where is that voice coming from?" I asked. "I could hear a voice close by, but couldn't smell a person near to us." Marnie giggled again.

"The chickens have got a radio in their chicken-shed." my friend explained. "Dad puts it on in the morning and turns it down quiet at night. They like listening to Radio 4, and it makes the foxes and weasels think that there is a person there with the chickens, and it stops them trying to get at them."

I thought this was a very clever idea.

"I didn't hear the radio last night though." I said.

"No," replied Marnie, when the chickens have been locked in the shed for the night you can't hear the radio outside. It might be annoying for our guests. Sometimes I go up and sit by the chickens to listen to The Archers."

I didn't have the first clue what 'The Archers' might be, so I kept quiet and nodded in a way that I hoped made me look like I understood.

At that point I was called back to the cottage as my Mistress and her parents were ready to go out for the day. Marnie walked back with me to retrieve her ball and we barked goodbye, with half a promise to meet up for a game in the evening.

Mistress's mother was quite keen to visit the town where she was born and grew up close to, Bovey Tracey, so Mistress and I hopped into The Gizmobile and followed her parents' car along the three miles of tiny winding lanes into the little market town. It was very pretty. We passed an agreeable hour visiting the shops, some old and fondly recalled by Mistress's mother, and some brand new. We also bought some flowers for the little churchyard where my Mistress's great-grandparents and great-aunt had been laid to rest and made a pretty arrangement on the gravestone. It was a very nice place to lie down after life has worn you out.

After that we went up onto Dartmoor proper and Mistress and I had our first REAL walk of the holiday. I remembered my lessons from last holiday (for a few weeks before we left Mistress took me on walks next to fields with animals living in them, so that I could practise behaving myself properly) and behaved myself very nicely with the crowd of ponies near the car park (THEY didn't behave themselves. They leaned against, and tried to fiddle with, The Gizmobile while we were on our walk and Mistress's father had to chase them away. They still left dirty nose-juice all over the car bonnet though. Rude beasties).

Because I had been a good girl, Mistress bought an ice-cream each for her and her parents from the ever-present Molly-Mac's van in Haytor car park (equally welcome hot cups of tea on offer in cold weather)

and I was allowed to share some. Yum-yum!

We were quite saddened though. Mistress and I like to do Dartmoor Letterboxing (Jasper liked it loads. I do too but I'm not yet as good as he was, but this was only my second time) and she owns TWO letterboxes. One was not too far from Haytor, above (well, a couple of miles away, but close enough), overlooking Bovey Tracey in the valley below and the house in which Mistress's late great-aunt lived (and she really WAS, from what I have heard, great in every noble sense of the term), in her memory - called "Auntie Win" (her name was Win Snow) - and another on a different part of the moor commemorating Jasper's late predecessors Jaki (a Jack Russell, but not a Parson one like me) and Tess (Tickle) called "The Gold of Friendship" (the stamp featured the profiles of both girls and the legend "The Gold of Friendship is a Wonderful Thing - The More We Spend it on Each Other, the Richer We Become"). Alas, BOTH have been stolen. A sadness.

Better fun shall follow....

Byeeeee! Love from Gisèle x