The second coming

Well, major changes once again in the world of this particular puppy, but before I get to that just give me a moment or two to bring you up to speed on the events of the last few months.

Biggest event was the long man, clippy cloppy woman, little people and I going on our first family holiday together. When I heard we were going away I took a look at the holiday pictures from the pre-puppy days and so was looking forward to sun, sea, sand, sangria and sniffing. Dreams of far flung, exotic locations filled my nights in the run up to our departure. Imagine my disappointment when, early in the morning on the day we were to leave, I was bundled into the back of the metal box thingy, crammed between a suitcase, a rucksack and a fishing rod, and driven hundreds of miles across the most inhospitable terrain this side of Kandahar to spend a week in a bloody tent at the foot of an enormous mountain. I thought we'd joined the Mudjahadin until I saw the launderette and playground.

The little people and I had a fantastic time climbing up the aforementioned mountain, known as Snowdon and apparently the highest mountain in the country. It was very exciting, with gun men and helicopters and explosions and white knuckle near misses, but we survived to tell the tale. Honestly. Check it out here.

Another major event of the summer was the arrival of another of those bloody horrible, smelly Vespa things. This one intended for the clippy cloppy woman so she could join the long man on his noisy, smelly rides. I don't know if it's a coincidence but the long man, soon after this purchase, decided he didn't want his Vespa any more and has put it ip for sale. He's since bought an enormous beast of a motorcycle, a Triumph, saying he needs it to get to work quicker. I doubt "need" comes into it. It's bigger, faster, heavier and scarier than the scooter it replaces. That man seems determined to take the most ridiculous chances with his personal safety. That's all well and good, but does he take into consideration what might happen to me after he's crashed through the pearly gates backwards and in a fireball? Does he balls.

And now for the BIG news. Okay, I'm being a bit sarcastic here, and you've probably guessed already, but the long man and I have, once again, been exiled to the dirty old town of Salford. The long man and the clippy cloppy woman had spent much of the previous several months arguing about really important matters. It got to the point where you'd have been forgiven for believing that they were only happy when they were shouting. Not great for the nerves I must admit but the house was just about big enough for me to avoid them pretty much all of the time. Then one Sunday evening they had a massive bust up about a pizza and the long man being "stupid". In all honesty I can't see as how the long man had a leg to stand on arguing against that particular point but argue he did. The result... Salford. Not just for him, for me too. I don't even LIKE pizza and I wholly agree that he's as bright as a bag of spanners, but did that save me. Harrumph.

So here we are, shivering our hairy arses off and eating a lot of toast. I must say, he's taking it really rather well. He doesn't smell half as empty as he did last time, and he's not moping around the place feeling sorry for himself this time which is a blessed relief. I swear if I'd had to put up with that crap again I'd have torn the chip out of my own neck and turned myself into the rescue centre.

The long man and I spend a lot of time walking around since our return. One of my favourite walks is to Swinton precinct where there is a very nice chap who sells, amongst other things, all manner of dried pork products passed fit for canine consumption. Earlier today we took a little trot down to see him and the long man bought me a big bag of pigs ears. I do love pigs ears, almost as much as I like biscuits, but I got to thinking whilst munching on my luncheon, who is it that has taken it upon his, or her, self to start amputating ears from swine? Grateful as I am for my pork based treats it does seem odd to me that someone would be so cruel as to mutilate animals in such a way. Can you imagine the conversation in the sty after the ear harvest?

"Hey, Porky." Says Applesauce.

Silence.

"OI, PORKY!" she repeats.

Silence.

"POOOOORRRRRRRKKKKKKKYYYYYYYYYY". Applesauce yells.

"What?" Replies Porky.

"POOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKYYYYYYYYY!"

Still, all this aside, they are very tasty indeed. And I suppose it would be silly to eat the whole pig all at once.

It's snowing in Salford today. I do love the snow. I love the crispy crunch as I bounce through it. I love the cool crystals of ice between my toes. I love the clean, fresh streets after a new flurry. And most of all, I love turning the snow in the garden from virginal white to dirty yellow. Enjoy the little things, it's very important.

Flails from the riverbank

This week went as the two previous weeks have gone, bloody boring! Goodness gracious me, how I long for a little excitement, a bit of adventure, anything just to break up all of this hardcore monotony that has gotten to be a little bit out of control. It's nice to relax, to chill, to "chillax" as I hear those crazy little people saying but come on, there is a limit to how much tedium a baby puppy can abide. My philosophy is that if you're not living life on the edge then you are taking up too much room. These days I feel a very long way from the edge indeed.

And so, in a nutcase, that was my week. The weekend however, well, that was a very different matter. On Friday evening that man loaded me into the svan for the first time in two weeks, and we set off driving. A ride in the svan always heralds a fun and interesting destination. Or the vets, which is neither fun nor interesting, but generally it's somewhere enjoyable. So off we went, driving through the dark and rain slick streets. He never tells me where we're heading, so I usually make a game of the journey by trying to work it out. It was pitch black outside the svan though, which hampered my ability to ascertain our ultimate objective. At one point we passed a sign for Rivington, but carried on past at break neck speed. Then a little later I saw signs for Leyland. So that was it, I thought, Leyland. Worden park. My most favourite park in the whole wide world. Oh I was so excited. I curled up on the seat, licking my private parts happy with myself for working out our journeys end. I felt the svan bump up onto a kerb and come to a stop. I yawned, I stretched, I glanced out of the window and, to my great surprise, saw that we were at HOME! Real, proper home. Leyland. My home town. Sweet home Leyland, where the skies are so blue! Oh I was in my element, trickling wee as I leapt from the svan and bounded up to the front door where the clippy cloppy woman was waiting.

The old homestead has changed a good deal since that man and I's departure. For one thing the smells are all different now. And the indentation I had spent so many evenings making in the cushion on the settee in the back room has been totally eradicated, no doubt by that nefarious noisy, sucky thing the clippy cloppy woman is totally obsessed with. In fact all vestiges of my time there are gone, and the back yard stinks to high heaven of dirty, filty cats.

The clippy cloppy woman and the long man were all smiley and laughing so I left them too it and took up my favourite snoozing perch on the back of the settee, whereupon I farted and fell asleep, just like I'd never been away. I was awoken some time later when I heard the front door slam and found myself alone in the house - and with the back room door left open giving me an all too rare access all areas evening. All areas except, that is, for the most interesting area, the little people's room. Still, I had plenty to do, rubbing myself against every available surface, sniffing the pillows and chewing the furry thing outside my bedroom.

The clippy cloppy woman and the long man came back quite late and, unusually for them, they were still smiley. The three of us settled down on the settee in front of the telly thingy for some quality time before retiring.

I awoke the following morning and immediately my tail began to wag. Oh I had missed home, I hadn't realised how much until that morning. However, as with so much else in my crappy life, my joy was short lived. As soon as I'd finished my breakfast, just as I was about to go and scratch at the back door, I was bundled into the svan again and taken back to the clicky ankled ladies house. My brief moment of contentment so cruelly snatched from me. Again.

To cheer me up the long man took me to Rivington on the way to Salford, and I must admit it did work for a time. He had brought my favourite ball with him and kept throwing it away then expecting me to fetch it back. I try not to indulge him in that game too much, he loves it but it tires me out. Problem is, once I see that ball flying majestically through the air I just HAVE to chase it. At one point I set off, careering through the undergrowth, the ball in my sights, at full pelt. The ball bounced, I closed in, it bounced again and I was within a hairs breadth of it when, much to my surprise, it disappeared over the edge of a sheer drop! Being as I was totally commited to the chase I followed it and found myself ten feet above the reservoir, legs frantically scrambling for purchase in the air and plummeting, somewhat ungragefully, toward the icy waters below. The impact fair took my breath away. If I didn't know better I'd swear the long man did it on purpose. That said, he did look mortified when I saw him peer over the edge of the precipice from which I'd plunged. Mortified for all of a fifth of a second before bursting into laughter. The git. And I lost my bloody ball. Life on the edge is great, but plummeting from the edge sucks.

Parklife

My life seems to be turning into a soap opera, and I'm getting stuck with all the crappy storylines. Get this for luck. Not only did I never know my father, not only was I taken away from my mothers teat way too young, before I could even walk properly, not only was I dumped in a cold, damp, windy rescue centre before being whisked away from my siblings to live in an insane asylum with a dysfunctional pack of people but now, just as I was getting used to life in the circus that is Leyland, the long man and the clippy cloppy woman have decided they don't want to be together anymore and have parted company! And guess what? Do I get to stay in the only real home I've ever known? Do I balls. Did I even get consulted on what I would like, where I would like to go, who I would like to be with? Did I BALLS. Oh no, apparently my opinion doesn't matter. I've had to come with the long man to sunny Salford where we are staying with the clicky ankled lady. At least if I was back at home I'd have the little people to play with, what have I got here? I'll tell you what I've got, I've got the long man. Normally that would be fine but, by Jove, he's absolutely no fun whatsoever at the moment. Moping around like a big girls blouse, he doesn't even smell the same now. He smells all sort of empty. I've tried everything I can think of to cheer him up. I've licked him, nibbled him, sat on him, lay on him, barked at him, even tried my old failsafe of jumping on his back and biting his ears while he sits on the bed putting his boots on. That has always previously got him laughing. Success rate at the moment - nothing. Zero. Nada. Nil. Not a bloody thing. Okay, so he tickles my ears and tummy, but he doesn't seem interested like before. It's not the same at all. No wonder the clippy cloppy woman binned him if this is what he's like, moody sod. In my opinion the miserable beggar needs a bloody good kick up the backside. He's off out in a little while to go and collect his scooter from Leyland. Maybe that'll put a smile on his face. I swear, if he doesn't buck up soon I am out of here.

In the absence of any meaningful attention from the long man I have had to entertain myself in the back garden, digging up the biscuits that Audrey has buried out there. I think the silly girl was expecting she could grow a biscuit tree. Why bother? Just eat your biscuits, then the long man gets you some more biscuits. It's a win win situation, you can have your biscuit and eat your biscuit. And then have another biscuit. Ad infinitum. And I do like a nice biscuit. The clicky ankled woman says that Audrey will have a pink fit when she finds out what I've done, but no one saw me do anything, she can't prove a thing.

There is a park near here. This park is not nearly as much fun as the park in Leyland though. For one thing there are no fluffy tails to chase. I chase the pigeons. I sometimes chase the sparrows. It gives me a sense of enormous wellbeing. And then I'm happy for the rest of the day, safe in the knowledge that there will always be a bit of my heart devoted to park life.

Grudge match

Another busy day with the long man. My goodness he does require a lot of attention. Still, it stops him chewing the furniture, so it's worth it on that score since the clippy cloppy woman always blames me. Today he had an appointment, something to do with a "horse pickle" and having to see the peoples version of a vet, they call it a doctor. I do hope he's had to suffer the indignity of having a needle shoved into his backside like I had to a few weeks back. People say you shouldn't bear a grudge, but I don't see why not. A grudge is not, after all, a paricularly cumbersome object to keep about one's person. I intend to keep this grudge with me at all times. I'll prove the long man is no match for me.

And so, the day started with us jumping into the svan and heading off to Salford where the long man dropped me off to keep the lady with the clicky ankle company for a few hours. I spent most of my time in the back garden, which was today an Audrey free zone, and had some quite considerable success searching out the biscuits that were buried all over the place. Delicious. I do enjoy a nice biscuit.

The clicky ankled woman's house has carpet on every floor, which makes for a much more pleasant sitting, lying or rolling around experience, but I find the fluff gets stuck in my teeth when I'm munching on a pigs ear. Still, swings and roundabouts I suppose. And anyway, when the clicky ankled woman went in the kitchen I just jumped up on the settee and ate it there.

I am currently lay full stretch on the settee back at my house penning this entry. The clippy cloppy woman is still out, which means I have the long man at my beck and call. To entertain myself I have been occasionally wandering over to the kitchen door and barking so he has to come and open it for me, at which point I go back to the settee and have a little giggle to myself. Apparently I'm "fast becoming a pain in the backside"! Ha! I've no sympathy for him on that score, if he wants to know what a pain in the backside is really like he should try being inoculated. (Hmmm, maybe I AM becoming a little over fixated on that particular episode.)

Reservoir dog

I think I may have to reassess my opinion of the long man, maybe I was a little harsh initially. That which I had previously believed to be weakness I now see to be kindness. I have certainly had a great time with him over the last twenty four hours or so. So much fun in fact that I have decided, once I seize power and become the Alpha of this dysfunctional pack in which I find myself stuck, I might make him second in command.

Yesterday morning didn't seem to be getting off to a great start. I had a spot of breakfast and was looking forward to our regular little amble around the block when I was surreptitiously bundled into one of the smelly, metal box things, he calls it his "work svan", and taken, against my will, on a road trip. The journey seemed to take forever. I tried, at one point, to dial the dogs trust on his phone that he had left on the seat next to me, but the little buttons weren't designed for paws and I just kept getting some woman, apparently called Emma Gincey, asking me which service I required. Eventually though we arrived at our destination, and I must say it was well worth it! It's called a "reserve wire". What a place. Trees, grass, mud, poo, leaves, water and a multitude of other dogs, all with fragrant butts to sniff. So many butts, so little time. There was even a castle, the little people would have loved it. Oh and the fussing I was getting off the people the dogs had brought with them, so nice. I only usually get that much fuss when the long man and the clippy cloppy woman have been to the big building at the end of the road where all the people that can't walk properly congregate. I believe it's called the "low cal". I don't quite see the point of people visiting a low calorie establishment when they all stagger out of there and straight into the kebab shop next door.

All too soon our fun was over and it was back into the svan for another little road trip, this time to the long mans home town of Salford, a quaint little fishing village on the banks of the Irwell. There I was introduced to Audrey, a chunky little Earth mother of a dog, and her people, the shouty woman and the lady with the clicky ankle. Audrey was very excitable and not in the least bit lady like, but friendly enough. I think Audrey was an only child because I noticed she does NOT like to share her biscuits. Mind you, I'd begrudge doing that too. I love biscuits you see. She also has half an ear missing. I didn't like to ask what had happened in case she took offence, but I hear Salford is a bit rough. (I hear better than Audrey anyway, hehe!)

The clicky ankle lady has a lovely garden, with grass and water and leaves and flowers and lots of poo, and I think a few biscuits buried out there also. I'll try and get the long man to take me there again, hopefully when the shouty woman and Audrey aren't around, so I can investigate further.