Who cares?

The long man has embarked on what I consider to be a futile attempt to better himself by changing career. He has thus far done what I can only decribe as a plethora of crappy jobs, and in my opinion that suits him down to the ground. I cannot for the life of me imagine him in any position of responsibility or any position that requires a degree of common sense. Sense of any description, where the long man is concerned, isn't very common at all. Bloody rare in his case. For instance, he loves playing with his tennis ball and always brings it with us when we go to the park. Then he'll proceed to throw the bloody thing away and immediately want it back again. And does he go and get it himself? Does he balls. Muggins here has to go and fetch it for him. So, off I plod, find the damned thing, take it back to him and drop it at his feet, and what does he do? He only goes and throws it away again. Moron. Anyway, as I was saying, he wants a change of career so guess what he's applied to be, a CARER. Him. Caring. Looking after others. Ha. How in the world is that going to work? I'll tell you this, he had better not be expecting me to go to work with him and spend all my time pulling him out of the sticky stuff. I like my mornings listening to the radio and my afternoons watching loose women on the telly thingy whilst licking my lady bits and snoozing. Following the long man around and reminding him to breathe is very low down on my list of priorities I can tell you.

In between his pointlessly completing application forms for jobs he has little or no chance of getting the long man has also been spending a lot of time piddling about with his Vespa. Taking bits off, swearing, putting new bits on, swearing when the new bits fall off, phoning his friends to find out where he's going wrong, putting the fallen off bits back on and then swearing before taking them off again because he forgot to do something else. I'm beginning to have something of an attention deficit where he is concerned. After finally getting the scooter looking and sounding exactly like it looked and sounded immediately before his meddling, at daft-o-clock on Sunday morning, he destroyed the peace and tranquility of another lovely Leyland Sabbath by popp-popp-popping away up the street in a cloud of thick, blue smoke. His mission, along with his friends, was to deliver a seventy nine pence Easter egg to the childrens hospital in Carlisle. I've checked, that is a round trip of one hundred and eighty four miles, and all to drop off a piece of cheap confectionary. Very noble I'm sure, but how much did the fuel for this mammoth journey cost, and more to the point how many poor little asthmatic kiddies were caused to suffer because of the scooterists selfishly pumping god knows how many cubic metres of noxious gasses into the atmosphere?

Meanwhile, free of the long man's sycophantic simpering, the clippy cloppy woman and I took the little people to visit the cat lady and the black furry coat woman. I do enjoy going out with them, and they get a big kick out of it for which I love them all the more, but the journey to the cat lady's house is not the most pleasant. Especially with Wing Commander clippy cloppy at the wheel. It's best described as a roller coaster ride of terror. She seems to use the accelerator like an on/off switch. At least in the new metal box thingy I am situated at the very rear, keeping me a far as is possible from the front which will be the point of impact when the inevitable catastrophic collision, for which we are long overdue, occurs.

The long man returned late in the evening and was walking rather gingerly, like a rider who'd had his horse stolen, and wincing whenever he sat down. Serves the damn fool right, riding all over the place at his age. He proceeded to regale us with the most mundane tales about, well, quite frankly I don't know what they were about. I tend to switch off whenever he starts banging on about most things. I really couldn't be bothered paying attention.

Tomorrow the long man has to go to Manchester for an interview with one of the companies he wants to work for. They must be mad to even consider him. Perhaps they're just toying with him, letting him down gently or are really, REALLY desperate. He's got more chance of seeing a rocking horse take a poo than getting a job with even the tiniest bit of responsibilty. Let us hope that, when the inevitable rejection letter lands on the mat, he will learn his lesson and apply for a more suitable position. Ideally part time and in a biscuit factory, giving him plenty of free time to shower me with gifts of heavily staff-discounted biscuits to which he would have access. Since I don't have fingers, puppy fans, I beg of you to cross yours on my, I mean his, behalf. Thank you, and ta-ta for now.

Peace in our time

The long man, now that he is back in the company of the clippy cloppy woman, seems to have gotten over his needy, clingy, pain in the backside phase. On Sunday the two of them took me to the clicky ankled lady's house and left me there while they went off riding their Vespa all around Manchester with a load of their friends. The clicky ankled lady didn't exactly seem enamoured by our arrival at what I heard described as "daft o'clock in the morning". Apparently Sundays are her special days when she stays in bed watching her soaps. Once they had left however I laid on a bit of my old charm and she soon seemed to warm toward me. She made me a nice cup of tea with a biscuit. I do like a nice cup of tea, especially when it comes with a biscuit. Two biscuits would've been nicer though.

The lady that lives with the mumbly man came visiting a little later whilst the clicky ankled lady and I were chillaxing in front of the fire. She has hair the same colour as mine and a funny voice that sounds a little like she's singing when she talks. Now I'm not the kind of puppy dog to turn down a nice walk along the canal so when the goldy singing lady offered to take me I jumped at the chance. Quite literally. We went and got Audrey and the shouty woman too, and off we went.

The canal is very interesting, full of things to sniff and chew, lots of bushes to run through and a multitude of quacky things paddling around to bark at. It really does have it all when it comes to walking venues. After a good while we arrived at one of those pub thingies where the people that can't walk straight go when they're thirsty. We had been there for about ten minutes when, far in the distance, both myself and Audrey heard the unmistakable sound of thirty Vespas approaching. I think the shouty woman and the goldy singing lady need to clean their ears out because they didn't hear it. They didn't even smell the blue smoke five minutes later and were only aware of the long man, clippy cloppy woman and all their ne'er do well associates arrival when they came popp-popp-popping into the car park. The long man was very excited when he saw me there, and bought me my very own packet of crisps.

Later on, when the three of us had arrived back home (Oh I do like the sound of that, "home".) the long man took me for a wander around the neighbourhood. Because of my period in exile there were so many Pmail messages to sniff, it took us ages to get back. Almost immediately upon our return both he and the clippy cloppy woman buggered off out, leaving me all on my little lonesome. Peace at last. About bloody time. Fantastic. The radio tuned to my favourite station, a bowl of food to munch on, a bone to pick at, a pigs ear to crunch away on, and my lovely new bed to lounge about on. They were gone for hours, and I was sound asleep when they returned, bringing the little people with them. The little people weren't in a particularly playful mood though, they could hardly keep their eyes open bless them.

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.

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.

Wolves v City, dog v kitty

The long man, clippy cloppy woman, little people, cat lady and myself went out yesterday for a lovely long walk. We travelled in the metal box thingy for miles and miles to a place called Southport where we walked along a moist, sandy thing full of shells and sticks and dead fish and poo. We encountered a number of other dogs during the walk, most friendly, although one bit me on the backside, and I noticed something. The vast majority of the dogs I met were wearing jackets, like the jackets the people wear to keep them warm. Now as you know I'm not one to complain, I don't ask for much, food, warmth, squeaky toys, the odd tickle, my own side of the bed and biscuits (I love biscuits) but I can't help but feel a little hard done by now. Is it really too much for a puppy to expect a few creature comforts? A coat, some shoes, maybe even a little purse wouldn't go amiss. I'd probably be peeing against the wind expecting such things off the clippy cloppy woman, but I reckon a few days staring lovingly into my long man's eyes might do the trick. For now I'll have to make do with the rather un-ladylike woolly hat I stole off one of the little people.

The long man gets particularly excited whenever his favourite program is on the telly thingy in the front room. It's called the City match, and I must say it does look like fun, loads of people chasing a ball around a field, but it's never really held much appeal for me. Last night, however, I heard him say that City were playing against WOLVES! Well, that really whetted my appetite. There was I, sat expectantly on the settee next to the long man waiting for kick off and looking forward to seeing my brethren make mincemeat, quite literally, of his beloved City when, imagine my disappointment, instead of actual wolves another bunch of ordinary people wearing orange shirts lined up against them. I left him to it and retired to the back room for a private session of back leg nibbling and toy chewing.

Today the long man was conspicuous by his absence. The clippy cloppy woman made up for it by taking the little people and I to the cat ladies house again. It was there I learned why the cat lady smells of cat. She's only got one of the bloody things living in the house, actually IN the house, with her! Disgusting. There was I, merrily sauntering my way across the kitchen floor when I saw it, all puffed up and hissy. I was mortified. Vile, horrid creature. You know, if cats actually looked like what they really are NO ONE would allow them in their houses. They act so whiter than white, holier than thou, all "look at me I'm cleaner than a dog", when really they are nothing more than killing machines. Filthy murderers. You can't trust a cat. There's a reason why they don't use cats to herd sheep you know. You'd have no bloody sheep left, they'd eat them all soon as look at them. No no no, you can't trust a cat, not like you can trust a dog. First chance they got they'd have your bloody eyes out, then they'd sit there all "oooh shame you can't see me, I'm licking my paw and cleaning your blood off my face with it, aren't I just purr-fect?". Well, cat lovers, (A practice which is illegal by the way!) answer me this... what kind of dirty, filthy creature washes it's face with it's own spit? Makes me shudder just to think about it. And don't get me started on the raspy tongue business, what's all that about?

Walkies suck

Well, what a day, where to start? Many's the time I've squatted in the back yard, squeezing a curly poo out, and wondered "what the hell is on the other side of that gate?" Well today I found out, and to tell you the truth it's not nearly as exciting as I thought it would be. For one thing, it's very smelly, and not in a good way. The neighbourhood cats seem to think the passage down the side of my house is their own personal lavatory, that has GOT to change. And what the hell are those big, noisy, smelly, metal boxes full of people that race around out there? Bloody dangerous if you ask me. And another thing, I'm quite capable of deciding where I want to walk and at what speed, so what's the big idea of the long man tying a rope to my collar and dragging me everywhere?
Finally we got back home, just in time for the long man to change into another shirt and bugger off out again to something called the "mans hit 'im arch". Goodness knows what that's all about, but he came home several hours later moaning about the "same old city, another bloody draw". I think there was something wrong with him because he was staggering all over and stinking of polo mints.

The clippy cloppy woman also went out, with the little people in tow, giving me a nice break. I note with interest that the little people don't have ropes around THEIR necks when they leave the house, and they're much more unruly than I am, so what's the story with that? I'm beginning to feel like a second class citizen in this dump. If anyone from the dogs trust happens to be reading this, your help would be greatly appreciated.

When the clippy cloppy woman and the little people returned they brought another little person with them. I tried to make him feel as welcome as I could, showered him with slobbery, nippy, jumpy attention but he was a little shy and hid behind the chair making "eeek eeek" noises until the clippy cloppy woman slung me out. See what I mean, bloody favouritism at best, some might call it rascism!