Saturday, 13 February 2010

My bloody Valentine

So, there is this flower, (Pictured), and it is called a rose. The name, it would seem, doesn't really matter because it is said that no matter what it was called it would smell just as sweet, at least according to some Arab bloke called Sheik Spear. It signifies love, and is one of the most beautiful blooms in all of nature. I saw one today for the first time in the mumbly man's garden and it was indeed a lovely looking thing, and yes, it was rather fragrant. I just had to go and examine it more closely, with a view to seeing if it tastes just as good as it looks. It has these pointy, sharp things all over it called thorns. Now here is a little tip for you, puppy fans - if, whilst having a good sniff of a rose, you get one of your big, soft, floppy ears snagged on one of the thorns do not panic, and more importantly do not, under any circumstances, back off and try to pull it free as I did. That is why I am even now, several hours later, still licking the blood off my coat and sporting a three inch gash on the inside of my ear! So much blood. How much blood do you think a baby puppy has? Well judging by the state of the mumbly man's patio it must be quite a substantial amount. It looked like a scene from C.S.I. by the time I'd finished spurting and dripping all over the place. The-man-who's-name-I-refuse-to-utter was there, fixing the mumbly man's scooter, and called me over saying he would "bathe" my ear. That sounded quite pleasant and so over to him I went. He said he would bathe it in something called "Sir Jiggle spirit" which itself sounded very nice. It bloody well isn't though! By gum it burns! That man is fast taking his place as my number one target come the revolution.

He, you know, that man, he went out last night and left me stuck in with the clicky ankled lady. She's not a great conversationalist, she just sits there staring at the telly thingy and burping. I was bored to bloody tears by nine. I do try to connect with her but for all the good it does I might as well be barking at the wall. That said, she does tend to give me a lot of biscuits, and I do love being given a lot of biscuits.

When "he" went out he was smelling all posh and fruity, but when he came back he smelled of food and was all smiley. It must've been wind though because at the moment I'm sure a smile would crack his miserable face. He has been very secretive about this particular nocturnal wandering but I'll get to the bottom of it, you just mark my words. I don't like being left in the dark.

The clicky ankled lady and the shouty woman went out together today. The clicky ankled lady brought me back a gift! It's about bloody time I started receiving gifts, I was beginning to feel left out. It's called a "Kong" and that man I no longer mention stuffed it full of corned beef. It's VERY nice. It's chewy, it's meaty, it's big and it's bouncy. It's got it all, everything the discerning puppy could want. I urge all you dogs out there to pester the pants off your people and get them to provide you with one. If they refuse, start chewing the furniture, they'll soon change their attitude. Now I'm not a great fan of product placement BUT... if anyone from the manufaturers of my new most favourite toy happen to be reading then a few boxes of biscuits wouldn't go amiss. Let's call it sponsorship. Or a bribe. Whatever. I don't care, a bribe of biscuits by any other name would taste as lovely.

Wednesday, 10 February 2010

Flower arranging and lifes a-changing

I have reluctantly come to a very painful decision today. Henceforth there is to be no more mention of the long man in my blog entries until he decides to buck his ideas up, give his head a wobble and grow a bloody pair. He is seriously beginning to get right on my nerves now. He still smells empty, he still doesn't tickle me like he used to and he still isn't smiling so balls to him, he's on his own. Misery may love company but he can keep it to himself. As I always say, well, as I'm saying now for the first ever time but will probably say again and might do many times, a problem shared is a problem DOUBLED! And that, dear reader, is my final word on the subject.
As it so happens there are plenty of other people around here who are all more than happy to shower me with all the attention a puppy of my calibre so richly deserves. Besides Audrey there are the clicky ankled lady, the shouty woman and the mumbly man from next door. The clicky ankled lady doesn't give me as many treats whilst she is making sandwiches as the clippy cloppy woman does at home, but the work top here is lower and the bin is much easier to open so I can pretty much fend for myself, titbit wise. My life seems to be changing in so many ways at the moment.
Last night I spent the evening at Audrey and the shouty woman's house whilst he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned was at the City match. Shouty woman's settee is very comfortable and is more than big enough to stretch out on without sliding off and banging my chin on the floor. The only downside to being there was that, because Audrey has "sharing issues" (Just one of many "issues" she seems to have.), I wasn't allowed any pig bits to munch on. She can be somewhat vicious where food is concerned. Or toys. Or drinks. Or space on the settee. The other day, in an attempt to bring out her caring side, I gave her my most favourite toy to chew on. I then went and got my second most favourite toy and thought I'd settle down with her for a bit of bonding. I sat down beside her and guess what? Little bitch, she bit my face and took that toy too!
The furry thing on the floor in the clicky ankled lady's house is the same colour as the grass in the park. It's nice, but to my mind was lacking a bit of colour. I thought I would do something nice for the clicky ankled lady and went and dug up some of the flowers from her back garden, then placed them strategically around the back room. Brightened the place up a treat I thought. Admittedly there was still a little bit of soil on them, and on my paws, which was also deposited, unintentionally, on the furry thing, but you can't make an omelette without spilling milk can you? Goodness me, the way she reacted anyone would have thought I'd curled a poo out on her pillow! Such language. That's gratitude for you.

Monday, 8 February 2010

Why does it always rain on me?

The long, and still bloody miserable, man took me to Rivington on Sunday for the first time in ages. Audrey came with us and brought her shouty woman along. We had a great old time dashing through the undergrowth, and Audrey taught me to swim. Afterwards, while we were getting dried off, I told her about the clippy cloppy woman and the long man falling out. She said she had noticed he was a little bit less playful lately. I asked her advice, but she wasn't very helpful really. She said I should either run away or get over it, and in either case I should shut up bothering her. Audrey isn't, it would appear, the most sensitive or caring dog in the world.

This house is very warm, and the clicky ankle lady is forever cooking meaty things which makes the whole place smell absolutely delicious, meaning I'm constantly hungry. An unfortunate coincidence however is that the long man, in his mopey, miserable mood, hasn't stocked up on pigs ears, snouts or genitalia since we left Leyland. As a result I've had to sit munching on the same rotten, stinking chunk of knotted bone for the last two days. There's no hint of flavour left in it and it's all covered in hairs. I'm seriously considering reporting him to the R.S.P.C.A.

On the plus side I'm getting a lot more exercise since we moved here. We go out in the morning before the sun comes up when all the feathery flappy things are whistling, then in the afternoon when all the little people are in the street and then again after the sun goes down, when all the metal box thingies with the blue flashy lights are zooming around the estate. There is an awful lot of dog poo on some of the streets, the dogs around these parts obviously don't seem to take a great deal of pride in training their people. The long man doesn't mind cleaning up after me, he says it keeps his hands warm and stops him from biting his nails so it's all good.

We went out earlier with Audrey and her shouty woman, and Audrey introduced me to a dog called Travis. He's a shitzhu, which isn't, as I used to think, a zoo without any lions, but an exotic breed of dog. I generally prefer my men a little taller, but he is rather good looking. I batted my eyelashes at him and offered my back end for his nasal perusal but he only seemed to have eyes for Audrey. Well, if he prefers the chav type then she's welcome to him, he'll be sorry.