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.

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.

Cold calling

Whats the deal with all this white, flaky stuff falling from the sky and covering everything up? I believe it's called snow. It's pretty cool, in more ways than one. For one thing it makes it much easier to pick up my pee-mail, it's bright yellow and stands out like a sore claw. I heard the clippy cloppy woman say that I'm a Labrador, and that Labradors are bred for cold, snowy conditions. Well, all available evidence points to the fact that I am most certainly NOT a Labrador, because I am bloody freezing!

The long man, the clippy cloppy woman, the little people and I went to that place, the reserve wire, again today. Goodness me the little people were excited, they really should get out more bless them. They seemed to enjoy making balls out of the snow and throwing them at the long man, they're so easily amused, but I don't think the long man was as amused as the little people were.

After our walk we went to see Audrey, the shouty woman and the lady with the clicky ankle. When we were alone I plucked up the courage to ask Audrey what had happened to her ear. Apparently, her sister bit it off! I don't think I want to get too close to that particular branch of our family tree, not a very friendly bunch it would appear.

Finally, by George it was a busy day, we called on so many people, we went to see a lady that smells of cat. She looks very much like the clippy cloppy woman but is far more patient and friendly. We were there quite some time, and when we left we left the little people behind. I was shocked, I know they can be a bit of a handful and goodness knows I'm not their biggest fan but I must say I feel for them. I know the pain of being left in a rescue centre, people ooh-ing and ahh-ing at you but never stroking you or even giving you a little biscuit. (I love biscuits.) I do hope they find a good home soon, and in the meantime the cat lady seems quite nice so hopefully they won't be too sad. On the plus side, they won't be there to kick me out of their room, and there are so many chewable things as yet unchewed to chew. Woohoo.