Bitch slapped

Yet another bloody birthday this week. Well, two birthdays technically. It was the little people's turn to get showered with gifts. They're both from the same litter it seems, so share the same birthday. As a result, with a number of exceptions, I had a relatively peaceful weekend. Both the little people and the clippy cloppy woman disappeared off out early on the Saturday morning and stayed out till the early evening. And then, when they did finally grace us with their prescence it was only for long enough to get changed and bugger off out again to go to their party at a place called Cheeky Monkeys. (Very fitting I thought.) They came home, hours later, all sweaty and shiny and running around like a pair of demented fluffy tails. I'd assumed that they would be tired out after all the excitement, I know I am after a visit to the woods, but no. Mad as a bag of frogs the pair of them. The long man said it was probably due to all the sugar they had eaten and that it had made their "bloody eye purr". Something to do with cats not doubt. Those filthy, rotten creatures are the bane of my life. (And the cats aren't much better!)

On the Sunday the long man, clippy cloppy woman and both the little people had tickets to go to the football match. The long man's beloved Man City were playing Portsmouth. I naturally assumed that would mean I would have a lovely, relaxing day, chewing the Sunday papers and licking my privates. But, alas, I was bundled into the car and driven to Audreys house to spend the day there, where I had to put up with the shouty woman, being shouty. I really don't know how Audrey puts up with it, it would drive me insane. My nerves were in tatters by the time my people came back for me.

Whilst at Audrey's house I tried a little bit of her food. I say a little bit, it was quite a lot actually. I intended to take a mouthful or two but my, it's moreish! Not like the dry, crunchy crap the long man gets for me. Oh no, Audreys food is moist, it's meaty, it's delicious! I think I have gotten the pooey end of the stick diet wise. That said, Audrey doesn't get a pigs ear, snout or willy for an evening treat so, as with many other things in life, it's just a case of swings and roundabouts I suppose.

One day late last week the long man decided he wasn't going to go to work. He said he was "pulling a sicky" and that his boss could go and do "four coughs", or something like that. Anyway, as a result we had an entire afternoon together in the woods. I say together, insofar as we were both in the same woods at the same time, but bless him, the long man isn't as young as he once was and tends to lag quite a long way behind and, just like time, this pup waits for no man. I saw many of the usual dogs, some of whom I am becoming very friendly with. And I seem to be getting really very popular with the people the dogs bring with them. Some of the people even give me a biscuit or two, and I do love a good biscuit. Or two. I prefer two actually. Who wouldn't?

While we were in the woods there was one nasty moment. A young springer spaniel by the name of Princess took an instant and quite disproportionatley violent dislike to my sniffing her bottom and attacked me. ME, Ronnie the Ronster, the most popular pup in the park! Well, initially, she got the upper paw, had me flat on my back and was biting my neck. I was just about to show her a few of my moves, you know, slap her around a bit and teach her a bit of a lesson when, out of nowhere, the long man appeared and smacked the bitch right in the head, then kicked her up the bottom. Obviously I don't want to sound ungrateful because he thought he was helping, but I had it under control. I was just about to open a can of whoop ass on her. I'd have had her crying for her mother. Still, fair play to the long man. We're a team I suppose, I provide the brains and the beauty and he provides the brawn. And the biscuits.

Well, I must sign off for now. I have an appointment at my Vets to get my nails clipped. Strangely, it seems the Vets have diversified and are now selling hardware and tools. I know this because the long man said he is going to get me a spade. I do hope he doesn't expect me to do any gardening after I've had my nails done, he will be bitterly disappointed.

Tata for now, puppy fans.

Hungry like the wolf

The long man and I went for yet another road trip today, we certainly seem to be clocking up the miles in the svan lately. He said we were going to a place called "Leeds", which got me rather excited. I'd imagined Leeds to be some kind of shop, purveyors of the finest quality pet accessories, and that I was in line for a nice new coat, but no, it's a town, a very cold, hilly, long long way away town where the scratchy chinned man and his special friend live. It was apparently the scratchy chinned mans birthday today and we were delivering a gift to him. Another gift. They don't know they're born these crazy kids. I don't get gifts. No coats, no shoes, no handbags, not a bloody thing. Unless you count biscuits. I get a lot of biscuits. Are biscuits gifts? I'm not so sure. I mean, they're nice, very welcome, a treat I suppose. But a gift? I think not. A coat, that would be a gift. Still, I do like a nice biscuit.

The journey there took absolutely ages and I was, I'm ashamed to say, very slightly sick all over myself. The svan was bouncing about a lot so maybe that was why. Or maybe it was because I ate the chocolate orange I found behind the settee this morning. Who knows? Anyway, as a result of my multi-coloured and very chocolaty yawn I was absolutely ravenous by the time we arrived at the scratchy chinned man's house. I bounded in and immediately started searching for food. It would appear that the scratchy chinned man and his special friend don't own any little people of their own because the floors were completely devoid of even the tiniest morsel of food. Not even under the beds. As I think has become obvious by now I am not a fan of little people, but they are a convenient source of left over and forgotten about food. They're so absent minded, I never forget a piece of food. Hey ho, their loss. The scratchy chinned mans special friend shared some cheese with me though, which was nice, and the scratchy chinned man fed me biscuits, lots of biscuits, and I do love being fed lots of biscuits. I wolfed them down.

The scratchy chinned man has an enormous garden and it was shoulder deep in crisp, fluffy snow. I had a great time bounding and tunnelling through it. Until, that is, my intimate feminine area began to turn blue and I had to go inside. Thankfully the scratchy chinned man's house has those carpet things on the floor like the clicky ankled lady's house, and that, combined with a good licking session, ensured that I was soon back "in the pink" so to speak.

The long man went out this evening and came back with an enormous great bucket of fried chicken from some bloke named Ken. Ken is certainly a very good fryer of chicken, and the long man is certainly a very good sneak-a-bit-of-fried-chicken-to-the-pup-without-the-clippy-cloppy-woman-noticing-er. All in all, vomit not withstanding, a pretty good day.