Smurfs or Ancient Britons:Santa or Satan. Penultimate Post of 2015

Nearly New Year and new experiences are still coming thick and fast. I seem to meet new friends daily some two-legged, some four-legged. The staff take me walking most days though not as far as I’d like but I do meet interesting canines and sniff up some amazing new scents.

Independence Day comes to Studland

The beach is my undoubted favourite ‘cos we meet loads of new people there and I get to chase a myriad different species from birds to some weird alien species that seems to just lie there so they’re not much fun. The smells are amazing though and I'm sure there are foxes, badger and deer though, of course we rarely see them. 

I’ve met many other dogs most of them friendly and some a bit stand-offish but they’re largely tolerant of my poor social skills. Dogs are good fun and mostly play or just ignore me, bitches are not so tolerant and usually give me a right earful and sometimes even a token snap, aimed to miss obviously, I’m only little and young so allowances are made but I don’t quite know how long this will continue. No doubt it will be made crystal clear when the time comes.

Bit of a Mexican stand-off

Met some strange huge quadrupeds recently and, again, new niggles began itching at the back of my brain. Something tells me that however daunting they appear these monsters are easily intimidated by a superior intelligence - that would be me in case you’re wondering! Anyway we had a bit a stand off, an OK Corral scenario if you like, but they finally turned tail and rejoined their friends intimidated by the unstoppable force of my overweening if somewhat misplaced self-confidence. Once I’d got her on the move though my job was done and, discretion being the better part of valour, I returned triumphantly to the staff, honour duly satisfied.

If you share this I will find you and I will kill you

A couple of posts back I was bemoaning the fact that our humans love to dress us canines up in all sorts of ignominious get-ups and I was abjuring any kind soul to shoot me should anything so foul overtake me. Little did I know, gentle reader, what lay close around the corner. I can barely bring myself to post the photographic evidence and, in my defence, there was significant gustatory bribery involved but, as you can plainly see, I refused absolutely to go the whole nine yards - the hood was just a bridge too far! 

One day I'll look back at all this and laugh but it may be some time.

One canine, one molar - the last ones

My dentition seems to be causing some concern to the staff. My right upper canine steadfastly refused to make way for its younger sibling which was valiantly erupting underneath it. I and it got examined daily, sometimes several times, and there was much hushed discussion and talk of doom & gloom. I've even heard the V-E-T word mentioned. Quel horreur! Every time my teeth were motionless enough one or other of the domestics tried to grab the offending tooth to see if it was at all mobile - wobbly I think is the preferred term. This was a great game as it gave me an opportunity to try out the other new teeth on nice soft fingers and much hilarity ensued; at least I thought it was hilarious. Anyway, the butler was thumbing the offending canine one evening and, just as I was about to see how far into his digit I could sink it, there was a sharp crack and, low and behold, I  had a wobbly tooth. Great sighs of relief all round from the staff but me, I was not so keen. For a start there was a little blood which, on the whole I'm not averse to, unless it's mine which in this case it was. Secondly, I ended up with a kind of cross between and itch and a pain in my gum which I had to work on until it went away. 

Christmas Day started with a walk at Shell Bay beach which had practically disappeared because of the high tide. (There was a full moon that night, don’t ask me how I know, you wouldn’t like the answer and you probably wouldn’t sleep much during future full moons. 'Cue distant wolf howl.') Didn’t mean a thing to me,of course because I’ve never seen this beach before but the staff were gobsmacked. Met a 17 month old GSD called Floyd who was huge but good natured luckily and definitely up for a game. The rain was quite heavy by this time and Floyd’s games will just have to wait. I’m all for singing in the rain but the help seem to be made out of rice paper and were positively bursting to get back to the car. 

I’m rambling a bit now folks so I’ll sign off for now and let you get the life you so richly deserve.

PS - at the beach last week someone had buried a Smurf or a wode-infused ancient Briton face down. Now the question is what would Lassie do? Bite the bum or park the bike? Answers on a postcard please.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it....

Behold The Chimera

Just a short unexpected bulletin today. I just had to let you into the horror that just occurred. I seem to be growing tusks and turning into some kind of warthog. I was blithely checking myself out in the mirror of the double glazing to ascertain my most photogenic angle, and this is what I saw...

...imagine my horror. Oh.My.Days! I just thought I'd got a bit of twig caught in between my canines but no, they seem to have developed minds of their own and now seem to be pointing in the same direction as my ears and now 90 degrees in the opposite direction like some demented weather vane. The butler is very comforting and tries to persuade me that it's just me shedding my 'baby teeth'. What? Baby teeth, there's nothing juvenile about these gnashers they've made some significant holes in the staff and anything else I chew to while away the long hours of darkness. Anyway, just thought I'd keep you all up to speed not doubt time will tell if I'm to be canine, porcine or some peculiar new species of pig-dog. Que sera, sera and all that.

In With A Bang, Out Like Lion

Well November draws to a close with wind, rain and hail. Storms are battering the coast all over the UK. The staff think that this is really October weather but since I’ve been here less than a year it’s all I know so I’m assuming this is normal whatever normal is. The staff seem to be acquiring a lot of new wet weather gear using me as an excuse ‘cos they ‘need to be weatherproof’ when taking me for my daily exercise don’t they? No mention of getting me any wet weather togs I note. I just have to use my double layer of coat and lump it. Luckily I’m young, vibrant and life is so interesting I don’t notice any change in the external conditions. I’m just glad to be immersed in the new and exciting smells that I come across every time I’m abroad either on the heath or the beach.

Yours truly, channeling Narcissus at Little Sea, Studland

A recent trip over the heathland at Hartland Moor gave me the opportunity to meet some new animals that I hadn’t come across though I’ve attempted to sample their pooh up at Durleston a time or two much to the staff’s disgust. These dudes were big and white with black noses and were damned inquisitive, a bit intimidating if I’m brutally honest. They made a bee line for us from across the field even though we weren’t any kind of threat they headed for us en masse lickety split. Luckily the butler had been scared witless by similar intimidation as a pup and was more than able for them, keeping them at bay while the maid and I crossed a convenient gate and I could swear at them from a distance and with a gate between us so that was cool (more of gates later). Have to say there was something niggling at the back of my brain all the while a bit like the upright posts and trees thing. A strange impulse to get in among them and nip a few heels. I resisted of course and the niggle subsided but I have a feeling that these atavistic urges will surface again and probably get me into all sorts of bother. The urge to be close enough to legs and feet to administer some dental encouragement is strong and is already drawing some fairly choice language from the staff as they trip over me with monotonous regularity. The butler, in particular, has a pretty comprehensive lexicon of choice phrases that I’m sure would not go down well in mixed company. Luckily my language skills are pretty poor but the tone is sufficiently dire for me to give him as wide a berth as I can. My resolve to stay away from his feet lasts about 5 minutes max then the old atavistic urges kick in (an appropriate phrase that) and I’m threading my way between his feet again. It makes a dull walk quite entertaining. Strange, when I’m on the lead I pull like a sled dog but off the lead, have this irresistible magnetic attraction to feet that gets me into trouble every time. It’s been remarked more than once by the staff that I’m a contrary little mutt.

This morning we headed to Studland Bay for a brisk, and I mean brisk, trip along the sand. It was blowing about Force 6 offshore so the water was invitingly flat but I’ve caught that way before so gave it a wide berth. Thought I was home and hosed until I jumped on what I thought was a nice dry bed of seaweed only to find it was floating on about 6 inches of water. That was a surprise and I’ll have to be more careful in future but still, nobody died.

Met some nice dogs out for their morning constitutionals, a poodle an Australian cattle dog who seemed to have left his tail at home which I thought was pretty cool really given the weather, tails are a bloody menace when they get saturated, upset your balance not end. Got a weird feeling he was a bit of a kindred spirit more of an intuitive feeling really, non-verbal and he was very chilled even with me bouncing off him like some demented squash ball. Hope I meet him again. The poodle was a brick too and more than up for a chase across the sand. The third member of this troupe was an elderly black and white collie who walked funny with her head cocked on one side and gave me a right earful when I approached. Gave her plenty of room I can tell you these ears are just too vulnerable to take a chance. Her staff told mine that she was fifteen and had had a stroke which I would have thought was a good thing really, I quite like a stroke whenever I can get one but it obviously doesn’t agree with her. Still each to his or her own. the meet was all too brief and on we went into the teeth of the wind. As I was looking over my shoulder to make sure the staff were keeping up, I literally tripped over this…

…smelled a bit rum so I thought I’d sample it and see what it tasted like. In the event, not much is the answer, sort of salty, slightly chewy but not in a good way and with a slightly fishy aftertaste. Not very appealing and not a patch on cow pats which, in addition to having rich earthy texture, taste divine and are packed full of Vitamin D so a win all round. The floppy frisbee, on the other hand, was not that appetising but they do seem to be plentiful and I had to watch carefully where I was putting my feet I can tell you. If only a way could be found to flavour them with bovine crap the food shortage dilemma might be solved.

That’s all for November, roll on the end of the year.

Toodle pip.

November Gales & Problems Of Windage

You can see my problem...

It’s been very windy and I’m think of getting these ears cropped in case I’m whisked off to join the migrating flocks heading south from the cliffs beside Durlston Castle. That’d give the twitchers a start and something to write about in their little notebooks. The staff take me on what they call ‘walks’ (they even spell it sometimes - sad gits). I’d rather refer to them a scent trails because, although the view doesn’t change much the smells are magic and change daily. You never know what your nose is going to describe and everything from foxes, cats, badgers, deer, mice and a unique log aggressive scent I can’t quite place but which haunts the dry stone walling above the light house. This last I instinctively know to avoid but I don’t know why. no doubt all will be revealed in due course when I finally set eyes on the scent’s owner. Hope I’m not alone because it doesn’t smell good. Other than that I get to meet the loveliest canines and their respective staff. There’s one black & white pointer who good fun and very polite. It’s probably the English in him. His staff member is always in a hurry so its just a brisk handshake and he’s off. I try and keep up but his legs are four times as long as mine so there’s not much point in chasing but I try anyway. 

Even in the wet I'm made sit!
So unfair

It’s interesting to meet new guys and gals each with their own particular character. I wonder sometimes what they think of me. I think these southerners think I’m a bit too familiar really. It’s probably the mix of Welsh and Mancunian that instils few social graces in my nature, that and my extreme youth. Everything is a game I think. Why be serious when you can bounce off folks. Not everyone appreciates my joie de vivre but do I care? No way Jose, life is too short and so am I.

Other than the cliff walks, the irritating of the grouchy pooches, the dead-heading the hydrangeas and the general mayhem and destruction life is pretty dull. There’s a trip in the tin box with the wheels which seems to go on forever and would be pretty much unbearable if it wasn’t for the whole new scent panorama at the end of it. Lovely herbivore pooh to inhale like there’s no tomorrow, quite tasty too some of it much to the staff’s disgust. Wide open downs to race across, mould smelling fungi which seem to spring out of the ground like jacks in the box and catch my eye easily cos they’re at my level. Unfortunately they don’t taste as good as they look but you can’t have everything. The lovely smelling pooh is laid by some enormous herbivores that seem to carry their staff on their backs and sweat a lot after their daily walks. Not sure what that’s all about but the salty sweat make them smell very tasty. Might have to drag one down and sample it one of these days. Might have to get a team together though, not sure I’m up to it alone. Funny, I have no idea where these grandiose plans come from but they seem to begin as a nagging ache at the back of my head. It’s bit like the leg cocking thing which is becoming more insistent. My current bladder emptying routine seems pretty efficient all in all but this subliminal urge to try it three legs is getting almost irresistible and I have no idea why. No doubt all will be revealed in due course.

I guess that’s enough of my blether for now and if anybody’s still reading my thoughts after eleven post you really need to get a life:) Talk to me I’ve lots to spare though how long that’ll last is moot. Every day one of the staff threatens to kill me for some perceived transgression. Me, I’m blissfully ignorant of all chastisement and I’m just enjoying life to the full. So folks be well, be happy and don’t let the turkeys get you down. Au revoir people. Laters…

Ghoulies, Ghosties & Things That Go Bang In The Night

Well it’s All Hallows Eve Chez Sid and Tony, the butler, has a birthday today so that tells you all you need to know about his proclivities! He’s all pumpkins, funny teeth, bats, capes and white-face make up, bit of a div if I’m really honest. The long and short of it is that the staff are going out to fill their bellies with posh nosh and leaving me to my own devices at home. Still, at least it gives me a bit of peace and quiet and I don’t have to do any of these ‘sit, stand, lie down’ tricks which I find very boring and I can do standing in my sleep if I really want to - the treats are merely an incidental and welcome side effect of my perfect performance. So off they go but before they leave I have to go through this pathetic charade of the external ablutions  out in the garden. I mean, I ask you, am I likely to despoil my small pen with wee, or worse, unnecessarily. I have had the odd accident but my bladder was much smaller then but, hey, we still have go through this palaver as though I’m still a pup. For goodness sake I’m nearly four months old, that’s almost two in humans years. Anyway, I’m mid-squat on the grass (there’s a strange compulsion to ‘raise a hind leg’ whispering in the back of my brain which is slightly disturbing, feels like I’m having a stroke, but I’m ignoring it for the time being) but I digress, I’m mid-squat when there’s a whooshing sound followed by a loud bang and before I know it the old survival mechanism has kicked in and I’m heading back to the sanctuary of the kitchen. Didn’t half give me a start but Lynda had a handy treat and those seem to have the capacity to induce rapid amnesia. The staff had a hurried conversation about The Event and it transpires that humans have a rather touching if somewhat childish affinity for sparkly things and things that go bang, a bit like the Native Americans had for shiny trinkets when the first settlers landed in America. (I know, it’s amazing what you can pick up from the TV while relaxing on the butler’s lap in the evenings. I’m soaking stuff up like a sponge. Sponges there’s another interesting subject and oh’ look - a squirrel.) It’s all very childish but the staff are worried lest I develop an over-sensitive reaction to ‘fireworks’ I believe they’re called. Not worried enough to stay home and cuddle me senseless though so they turn on the radio and bugger off for their posh blow-out. So now I’ve got two noises to be concerned about, inane Radio 2 drivel from some hyper-active babbler in between ‘music’ and potential aerial explosions which go off without warning. Honestly these humans, what do they use for brains? In the event there were a couple more pathetic pops but I seem to be able to cope with them through two layers of glass. The ‘music’ was far worse. Perhaps I can get them to leave Classic FM on in future though I despair for their sensitivity. They are a bit thick. Still it could be worse I was perusing the web and came across this...

... I trust someone will shoot me before I sink to this level. Oh the indignity.

Other than that life proceeds apace and I meet loads of new people on my daily exercise some quite pleased to see me others not so much. I keep meeting new dogs most of them considerably bigger than I am. I say bigger but, of course, I’m referring to height only. In terms of character and ego I’m difficult to match and most of these much taller dogs are a bit slow. I expect the nerve impulses have that much further to travel so everything just slows down. Mostly these guys are pretty civilised and either ignore me completely or give me a couple of cursory wags which is a bit patronising but, I suppose, only to be expected for the new kid on the block. I’m guessing they’re a bit threatened at so much charisma in so neat a package. We’ll see how it goes.

Back later with more news from the undergrowth - that folks is a description of my hunting ground not my diminutive self. Laters...

The Devil Strikes Out

Ain’t that just typical no post for ages then two come along almost simultaneously. Apologies dear reader but just had to let you all know about the latest adventure - The Agglestone. The what? I hear you cry and well you might. 

High above Studland Bay looking out towards the Isle of Wight, Christchurch, Bournemouth and Poole Harbour is a big lump of rock around which much folklore is woven and I’ve been there. How about that.

The majestic Agglestone overlooking Studland Bay

The story goes that the Devil, aiming for Corfe Castle, threw a big rock from the Isle of Wight towards the aforementioned fortification. However what with the fires of eternal damnation distorting his perspective, not allowing for the headwind, not having the chance to do any bracketing there being only one rock and his right arm being weak, either from casting sinners into the pit or from having someone sitting on it (in an ‘if it’s good enough for the Big Guy it’s good enough for me’ sort of mood) he missed by, it has to be said, more than a mile. The stone, for that it was, dropped short and landed on Godlingston Heath about a quarter of a mile short of the golf course. Personally I think he was playing golf and should’ve listened to his caddy and used a nine iron but you know these fallen angels, they just think they know it all. Anyway, the long and the short of it (or the short of it really) was that his ball/rock landed on Godlingston Heath and now stands there for all to see, a testament to Old Nick’s failure at projectile theory. At some point it became called the Agglestone and to this day stands overlooking Poole Harbour and Studland in silent testament to Old Nick’s impotence.

The majestic Sid parking his arse on the majestic stone

Now I suspect this is all baloney but it’s a good tale and it has prompted myriad folks to trudge across this rather unprepossessing bit of scrub to see a lump of rock in the middle of nowhere or almost in the middle of nowhere (he couldn’t even get that right ). Lynda & Tony, being no exception to the lure of tales of Devil hurling, loaded me into the charabanc, drove to Studland and let me loose on the Heath which was Huge Fun. The smells were outstanding, all heather, peat and undergrowth mixed with indeterminate scents which I had never before encountered. Much chat was batted back and forth between the staff about the stunning views but, as you may have noticed from my pictures I am somewhat vertically challenged so my horizon is only about ten feet in front of me and much of this breathtaking vista was completely lost on moi. I was picked up once but I was so busy swearing at the mongrel I was being ‘saved’ from that I completely forgot to register the view and my breath remained firmly where it was supposed to be. Asthma inducing visions or not I had a ball. Laid siege to the stone, tried to dig my way under it in the soft sand, pursued tantalising scents into impenetrable gorse and heather and generally wore myself out in some style. At one point a strange slithery scent wafted its way in the direction of my nostrils but Tony distracted me before I could pin it down and, by the time I got to its source, there was nothing on the path but bare sand. Some words were bandied around by the staff and ‘smooth snake’ was in there somewhere but since I have no idea what is ‘smooth snake’ all I’m left with in another uncategorised scent. More questions than answers. But hey, I’m very zen and I’m not letting it worry me over much. No doubt all will become clear eventually. 

That’s about all folks. Thanks for reading and stay tuned.

Chin chin.

The Scent Also Rises

Just realised that it’s ages since I've posted and my apologies for that but life is busy, busy, busy. Meeting people, new places, new dogs and most of all expanding my scent palate is so exhausting that by the time I'm back home just the thought of picking up a pen is more than I can face. Everything is just soooo exciting.  

Days begin generally with a quick tour of the garden to check that all the night visitors have left. Some of them like to outstay their welcome and worse leave me little scent presents as if this was their territory instead of mine! Bloody cheek. The cats are the worst, at least that what I think they are - definite feline pong off 'em anyway. Sometimes there's one still lurking in the undergrowth and I see them off PDQ. They make a satisfying sort of thud as they hit the fence panels and the sound of frantic scrabbling up the woodwork is just the icing on the cake. It's quite an art staying just far enough away to not actually catch them while ramping up their panic. But I think I've got it down just right. I just don't know where I get my talent. There's a much bigger smell that haunts the garden in the early hours but from the size of it I'm sure I don't want to meet its owner. I’ve come across a similar one while taking the staff for their daily exercise over Durlston Country Park and, although I investigate, I don't stick around long enough to meet its perpetrator. I have a feeling that mother passed the 'caution in the face of Badgers' gene down in her milk. I just seem to know instinctively to avoid close contact. They're a pretty uncouth lot badgers, their latrines are all over the place on the Country Park and they're enormous!( the latrines that is) Looks like someone has emptied a whole carrier bag full of pooh all in one place and they're best avoided really unless one was hunting badgers of course. Then a swift roll in the latrine might be in order. The things one does for one's hunting vocation! Luckily I can leave that sort of thing up to the German cousins, the Dachshunds, they seem to like that kind of hunting.

These guys are best given a wide berth

Talking of the Country Park, that's my usual stomping ground and its tremendous fun even if I have to drag the staff around with me. There are so many different dogs up there that there's a new experience every time we go. So far I've met Viszlas (strange accents and no vowels), Terriers(fancy themselves a bit if you ask me), Labradors (lugubrious characters and a bit thick), Retrievers ( not much ambition, bit of a one trick pony if I'm honest), more Shih Tzus ( worse accents than the Hungarians and humourless owners. Also looks like he’s been punched in the schnoz and I can’t say I’m surprise about that!). All canine life is here really. Most are great and well up for a game of chase and if they’re not I can usually provoke them enough to start the ball rolling.

The smells are outrageous, Durlston must be a proper Sodom & Gomorrah at night and I have no real idea of what goes on after dark but the smell landscape is mind boggling and canine, vulpine, feline, mellivore, rodentine and avian pongs abound. Make me quite dizzy and my brain is fizzing by the time we get home. Tires me out for all of five minutes. I think I’m a bit ADHD.

Anybody for ritalin cocktail?

The servants, Lynda & Tony as they like to be called, are coming into line nicely. As I think I've mentioned previously they're not the sharpest knives in the drawer but they get there eventually and I can rely on a steady supply of nourishment some of it even quite palatable. They don't seem to understand the necessity for me to sink my teeth into their digits whenever I get excited but they'll just have to get used to it. There's only so many concessions I can make for them. On the plus side they're kinda warm and have some well moulded slot into which I fit nicely.

That’s all for now peeps but stay tuned to the inter webs for more of the profound prognostications of El Sid. Adios.