Call a spayed a spayed

Now I have, in an attempt to educate myself further, read quite a lot about the 1939-1945 conflict with Germany and, more relevantly to this post, the rise and fall of the Nazi party. The atrocities carried out by this frankly evil shower are beyond belief, and it was only a matter of time before both the long man's Grandfathers decided enough was enough and, together with a gang of their pals, went out there and gave the Germans a good old kicking. After a long struggle they defeated Hitler, who only had one ball, Goering, who had two but very small, Himler, who was very similar, poor old Goebbels, who had no balls at all, and all their cohorts. Not only did the long man's Grandfathers fight the good fight, but his Grandmothers also had to suffer terrible hardships such as forgoing bananas and having to substitute gravy browning for stockings. Now, aside from many, many other vile acts and beliefs, one thing that the Nazi's were rather keen on was something called "eugenics". This included some Teutonic tosser by the name of Josef Mengele performing forced hysterectomies on many women, and was one of the things that said Grandparents tried to ensure would never happen again. Well I'm here to tell you, puppy fans, that eugenics is alive and kicking and being performed at the Vets4Pets veterinary clinic in Leyland to this very day! There was I expecting to have my nails clipped or my bottom checked, as usually happens when the long man takes me there, when I felt a sharp scratch on my leg and passed out, only to awake several hours later in a cage, feeling nauseus, with a lamp shade on my head and my uterus in a bucket. Happy? I most certainly am not. The long man came to collect me much later with a nervous smile on his face and a pocket full of biscuits. Just when I start to think that man cannot possible sink any lower he goes out of his way to prove me wrong. I swear the only thing stopping me from attempting to tear his throat out as he sleeps is the cold-war doctrine of mutually assured destruction. That and this bloody lamp shade. It's not all bad news though. For one thing I hate kids anyway, and I am getting a lot more biscuits than usual.

Aside from having my canine rights completely disregarded and my womb horribly violated it's not been such a bad week. Home is fast getting back to how I remember it. Lots of tickles, lots of walking and lots of biscuits. I have also almost competely re-scented every room in the house. That fat, flat faced white cat from over the road got the shock of its short life yesterday when it jumped over my back gate and came face to face with yours truly. If not for this infernal cone I'd have had the little bugger too.

The clippy cloppy woman is still being very nice to me and, since the debacle that resulted in the loss of my ovaries, has become my favourite person by a long chalk. She still has issues with sharing, especially when it comes to the bed, but I'm sure that, given time, we will come to some mutually beneficial arrangement. Especially if she exiles the long man to the spare room.

I have been escorting the little people to school every morning this week. They seem to get a kick out of it and I love them for that. School is, apparently, a place of education but I think that the little people's school is failing them badly. I'm considering phoning Ofsted and getting them to give the little peoples teacher a good kick up the backside. They don't seem to have gotten any brighter since our seperation. Their vocabulary consists of nothing more than "can I have?", "get off that Ronnie it's mine." and "but whyyyyyy?". I have managed to teach one of them to get the lid off my biscuit barrell and sneak me a few of my delicious treats whilst the long man and the clippy cloppy woman are otherwise engaged. Maybe I should take up teaching?

I have the itchiest bumhole EVER, and because of this bloody contraption I've no way of licking or nibbling it. The only relief I get it dragging my bum around the furry things or the clippy cloppy woman's bedding, and that, puppy fans, is what I am going to do right now. Adieu.

Be my friend

Just a quick note to let all my adoring public know that I'm now on Facebook... please be my friend! Just search for "Ronnie Barker" and send me a request, I am something of an attention whore and will pretty much accept anyone!

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.

Yellow ribbon day

I'll start with an apology to my legion of regular reading puppy fans, it has been far too long since my last entry and I do hope you all haven't missed me too much. I am all too aware how large a hole my absence will have left in your day to day lives, and I promise I will make more of an effort in the future.

Now that my apology is out of the way I suppose an explanation is in order. Over the last week there have been what one can only describe as an unpheaval of simply epic proportions. And just to make a nice change, the upheaval is actually a very welcome upheaval. I'll start at the very beginning. That is, in my experience, a very good place to start.

First of all there was a nice little break from the monotony of the long man and my worthless existences, we went home! Alright, it was only for one night, but that's better than nothing and these days I'm grateful for even the briefest respite. An even better thing about this most recent visit was that the little people were there! The appear to have shrunk for some reason, they seemed so much littler than when last I saw them. They also seemed much more friendly, none of this "down Ronnie" business for a change. I think it's probably a case of absence making the heart grow fonder. And let's face it, who wouldn't miss the Ronster? The clippy cloppy woman has also changed, I think she has been moulting since she seems to have much less hair than I remember.

It wasn't all good news though. The whole house absolutely stank to high heaven of CAT! The vile stench was everywhere. It turns out that whilst my back was turned the clippy cloppy woman only had one of the dirty, slimey little turd buriers staying there for a week, actually in the house! Her standards have certainly slipped since the long man and my departure. Still, after weeing a couple of times, and pooing once, and rubbing myself against every surface I could I'd pretty much managed to eradicate all traces of her indiscretion.

As ever our visit was all to brief, and we left early the following morning. That, however, was not the end of the story. The clippy cloppy woman came to visit us a couple of days later, and she and the long man spent a lot of time whispering and smiling. Then the big news, the next morning all the long man and my worldly possesions were put in the back of the svan (Depressing that it all fitted in there actually, but I suppose material possesions aren't the "be all and end all" are they?) and we went home, this time for good. All our things back in their rightful place, his clothes in the wardrobe, my bowls by the door, our toys strewn all over the back room and best of all a brand new, big, furry, ultra comfortable bed all of my very own. One I can actually fit in and stretch out on. So decadent.

The following day, back home at our house in the middle of our street, was a day for contemplation. Life, it seems, is just one long succession of ups and downs, like a roller coaster. Plunging downwards is scary, but the feeling of elation when you pull out of the dive and start climbing up out of that trough is phenomenal. You just have to remember to keep your arms (if you have arms) and legs inside the carriage at all times.

It's all gravy

Another week over and done with. All my days seem to be blending seamlessly into one long, tedious, mind numbingly dull period of my worthless existence, due mainly to the long man and my current status as, at least technically, a pair of homeless bums. Tramps. Bloody hobos. The weekends are, however, considerably better, but then how could they not be? I'd have to spend my weekends with my head stuck in a rabbit hole and my tail set on fire for it to be less preferable. Anyway, once again I digress. As I was saying, the weekends are considerably better since we tend to spend them at the clicky ankled lady's house and I get to see plenty of Audrey. I'm no great Audrey fan but at least we speak the same language. Trying to get one of my people to understand what I'm trying to tell them is like, well, I don't know what it's like, it's unique but safe to say bloody difficult.

This weekend was a little bit of a break from the norm in that the long man didn't stay with me. He left me at Audrey and the shouty woman's house, then buggered off to some place called Brighton on a stag. I think he might've been lying. For one thing it would take ages to ride a stag all the way to the south coast and for another I found a train ticket in his pocket when I was rifling throught his jacket looking for chewable stuff. And biscuits. He's a bloody fantasist. He'd spent all week looking forward to his trip but I don't think the reality lived up to his expectations because when he returned to collect me he seemed very down. He was walking ever so slowly, he was moaning and groaning, he was rocking and reeling, he couldn't stand for more than a few minutes at a time and he was a very funny colour. In fact he was, alternately, several very funny colours ranging from a bluey-grey through to a very Simpson-esque yellow. He lounged on the settee all afternoon telling everyone that would listen that he'd had a great time! See what I mean, fantasist, I don't know who he thought he was kidding. Nothing that leaves you looking and feeling that rough could possibly have been in any way enjoyable. Maybe he will think twice before dumping me for his bloody mates next time.

To his credit, before he left, he did take me for a very long walk and then made me a delicious breakfast with extra gravy on. I know it was only because he was feeling guilty but hey, gravy's gravy. And he gave me a brand new bone which had loads and loads of bits of dead cow still attached to it. Very tasty. Unfortunately he neglected to tell the shouty woman that we had already been for our morning meander around the heavily scented streets of Salford, and so just as I was settling down for a morning in front of the telly thingy I was attached to my lead and dragged all around the estate again! Oh and just to add insult to injury, although he didn't mention that important nugget before dumping me he DID tell her that I'd been fed, so I didn't even get seconds to make up for it. That said, the shouty woman is pretty damned generous with her biscuits, and if there's one quality I admire in my people it's generosity with biscuits.

In other news, I was extremely perturbed earlier today when I saw an advertisement for an upcoming movie release. The movie in question is called "Hachi: A Dog's Tale"! Plagerism I thought. I'm not having that I thought. And so I engaged the help of my legal team. Well, when I say "legal team" I actually mean Audrey, but she's pretty clever generally. Her response, as ever, was something less than satisfactory. She told me to get lost. Typical. And this was AFTER she'd eaten the biscuits I gave her in anticipation of her help. The cow. My next idea was to google legal advice on the internet whereupon I came across some disappointing news. Some guy with mad hair and a bushy moustache, Mark Twain, wrote a short story called "A Dog's Tale" slightly before I did. In 1903 actually. All things considered I think I might drop my plans since there's a bloody good chance I'd get my backside sued. You know what people are like these days. Compensation culture and all that. In these litigious times one can't be too careful. I'm still not happy, and I bet the film's crap.

I have become quite obsessed with gardening lately, and I think I have quite an eye for floral design. There was this big, long flowery thing growing up and around the gate in the clicky ankled lady's back garden which was nice but I thought would look better lying on the decking. So, very carefully, I dug it up and placed it there. I was just standing back admiring my work when the clicky ankled lady turned up and, far from being happy, she screamed "My bloody clematis", followed by a load of verbal, and very rude, abuse directed at yours truly. Then, get this, she picked it up and put it in the bin! If that's not a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face then I don't know what is. The long man on the other hand seems quite keen that I should keep on gardening, I heard him on the phone earlier arranging to get me a spade next weekend. I can't wait for that.

Trailer for that film I mentioned...

Get me out of here

Bloody hell that long man is getting so very needy of late. He isn't going to work this week, he's poorly (Malingering if you ask me.) with something called "rain hard syndrome" and as a result my routine is all to cock. I did get a chance of a lie in this morning, but I missed my shows on Radio 4 because he had the telly thingy on instead. No "Woman's hour" and I've missed "the Archers" too. He had me lay on his knee this morning for over an hour tickling my ears. I know I've moaned about a lack of special tickles from the long man in recent weeks, I admit I missed them when he and the clippy cloppy woman first parted company, but I've outgrown all that now. Developed other interests. Too little, too late. He can stick his tickles where the sun doesn't shine. (That would be Salford I suppose, all the time we spend over there now and I don't recall seeing the sun once!) And even more annoyingly he asked me if I loved him! Well, I choked on my reply. I'd rather hurt him honestly than mislead him with a lie. Let's face it folks, even if he were in the least little bit lovable, which he most certainly is NOT, I'm a dog. And as such, I have no concept of love. Or hate. So at least I don't hate him. You'd think that would be enough wouldn't you?

According to the clicky ankled lady I have become something of a celebrity in the local pub. At least that's what I think she meant when she called me a "bar star dog" on Saturday when I was emptying the bin in the kitchen for her. I do like to be helpful when the long man and I are staying with her. And to be frank it's a good job I did empty it for her, she was throwing out all sorts of perfectly edible food. She's a very wastful woman indeed.

Speaking of celebrity, it appears that many people, from all over the world, have been reading my inane ramblings. A plethora of puppy fans. Some live in such exotic and far flung places and some of the place names are intriguing. For instance, one reader lives in a place called LABRADOR! I thought I might like to visit Labrador, until I googled it. My word, and there was me thinking Leyland was cold, but it's positively balmy in comparison.

Audrey and I are getting on famously now that we have been spending so much time together. She can still be a little snappy, and bitey, but you know what? I've learnt to rise above it. To be the "bigger" pup. To turn the other cheek. And most importantly, I've learnt to bide my time and wait for the opportunity to put her well and truly in her place once and for all. You see, I have noticed recently that as I get older I get bigger, and stronger. Audrey, on the other hand, seems to be well passed her prime. It is only a matter of time, you just mark my words, before I take my rightful place as top dog around here. There will be no more having to let her eat my bones. No more having to let her play with my toys. No more having to wag my tail and pretend it's ok. Oh no. She will, once I'm fully developed, have to respect my authority.

It's snowing outside. I think I shall drag the long man out to the pet shop. There is not one single piece of dead pig or cow for me to munch on in this dump. I've been having to make do with the occasional packet of crisps or piece of toast and quite simply that just does not cut the mustard. After all, a girl has her waistline to consider. I know it's not P.C. to make statements like that, "body image isn't important", "big is beautiful", but let's face it - it's never the thin puppies that say things like that is it?

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.