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.

Pup fiction

I hadn't actually noticed until last night, what with all the comings and goings lately, but my little people have been away. Gutted. Not gutted because they've been away, but gutted because I wasn't aware of it. I could've been having a fine old time lazing around on their bed and chewing their toys. In they walked last night without so much as a by your leave and took control of the front room. They started that "down Ronnie" and "no Ronnie thats mine Ronnie" business quicker than you could say "Grrrrr". They don't seem to realise that I have spent many hours this week laying down my scent. They really must learn to respect my authority and realise that if I've peed on it, it's mine!

It's VERY cold outside at the moment and the long man still hasn't bought me a bloody coat! I notice he has taken to wearing TWO coats whenever we venture outside lately, and a hat, and a scarf, and a pair of gloves. Then he spends nearly all the time we're walking moaning about how cold it is. I'm well aware how cold it is, I'm stark bloody naked! He's lovely, but my goodness he can be thoughtless sometimes.

A bit of a break from the norm now, I generally like to be factual in my entries but I'm going to throw in a bit of fiction for a change. I heard a joke this week and thought I'd share it with you. I've been rehearsing it for ages. It goes like this.... Theres this dog, crawling throught the desert under a blazing sun, dragging his back leg behind him and leaving a little trail of blood in the sand. He crawls all day and all night, then the next morning comes upon a little Western town full of cowboys and red Indians. (Ooops, how un-P.C. of me, I of course mean native Americans.) He crawls up the main street and heaves himself up on the hitching post, standing on his hind legs, and limps into the hardware store where he buys himself a little stetson, a little waistcoat, a little pair of boot, pair of spurs, gunbelt and two little six shooters. Then he limps across the street and into the saloon. He looks left and right real slow, then spies black Jake, leaning on the bar with his back to him. He draws his guns and shoots Jake in the back, twelve times, killing him stone dead. The Sherriff grabs the dog and drags him to the cells. Once the dog is safely locked up the sherriff says to him "Boy, we gunna hang you tomorrow, you wanna tell me why you did it?" The dog looks the Sherriff straight in the eye and says...

"He shot my paw."

Dogmanay

It was the first day of the year this week, and also the last day of the year but, get this, the LAST day came BEFORE the FIRST day! How does that work? I can't get my head around it, but I'm happy to let it go. The long man and the clippy cloppy woman both went out early on the last day of the year, and so, thinking I could have a lazy day, I settled down for a morning of snoozing, intending to entertain myself in the afternoon with a little gentle puppy pad shredding followed by a nice chew of the cushions. However, the long man came home within a couple of hours, whilst I was still fast asleep and dreaming of chewy lamp posts, which put paid to my plans. He did fetch me a sausage roll though so, you know, every cloud and all that jazz.

The long man and I had a good deal of quality time together for the remainder of the afternoon. He was in a very nice mood and was extremely well behaved. His training is going so well, I think it's about time I started concentrating on the clippy cloppy woman. If I don't take her in hand soon I fear she may turn feral, and it would break the long mans heart if I had to send her away.

The clippy cloppy woman arrived home quite some time later, and I thought we were going to eat. Instead, we jumped into the metal box thingy and went to visit the clicky ankled woman in Salford again. I was starving, but the long man did give me a few biscuits to tide me over, and I do love a nice biscuit. Only thing better than a nice biscuit is many nice biscuits.

When we arrived at the clicky ankled ladies house Audrey and the shouty woman were already there, as per usual. I must say, even if I do say so myself (And I DO say so myself) I think I am having rather a positive effect on Audrey. A little bit of that good Ronnie style and class seems to be rubbing off on her. She can still be a little stand-offish at times, but we seem to have reached the stage in our relationship where I can have a really good, deep, two nostrilled sniff of her backside without her turning around and biting me, which is nice.

We let the four people stay up late, they seemed to be having a good time and it was nice to watch them chatting, laughing and drinking those funny smelling drinks that make their legs go jiggly. Audrey and I got ourselves a comfortable spot on a spare chair and basically waited for them to tire themselves out so we could get a good nights rest. Just as they were beginning to quieten down, at around midnight, the long man turned the volume on the telly-thingy up loud. There was a dong dong dong noise, then they all cheered and started singing. Next thing you know there was what sounded like gunfire from outside and the sky lit up. I immediately thought that someone else had beaten me to it and started the revolution that I had been planning but no, fortunately, it was apparently just "those chavs from up the street" setting off fireworks. Phew.

The ballad of Ronnie and pride

Went to a place called Worden Park with the long man this afternoon. It was very enjoyable. Full of ducks and ponds and trees and poo (Some of it not even dog's poo.) to sniff. Whilst there I met with a big old black Labrador called Ben. He tried to give me a bit of advice on the do's and don't's of living with these needy people, the kind of tricks I need to learn to get an easy life. Apparently I should swallow my pride and learn to toe the line. I should only ever poo outside, should stay off the bed, should never hump a pillow no matter how bored I am, shouldn't bark while they're all sat eating at the dinner table and must NEVER rip things up or chew the little people's things. Bloody hell, what's left after you take all that out of your day? Some dog's have no self respect, I bet the cold winter nights just fly by in Ben's house. When I eventually seize power then weak, cowardly dogs like Ben will be first up against the wall, along with the filthy cats. There will be NO room in my brave new world order for weakness or cowardice. Or cats. Swallow my pride, NEVER!

Last night the clippy cloppy woman said that I had been given the wrong name and that I should really be called "Chastity". She mentioned it just after I squeezed into the bed between the two of them while they were doing that thing where they bump their lips together. If she thinks I'm answering to that name then she's got another think coming. I begrudge answering to the name I've already been saddled with.

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?

Crowded house

So much has happened in such a short time I really don't know where to start this entry, it's been like a madhouse around here. I'm as tired as, well, a tired thing. And then some. Visitors aplenty, although the much anticipated visit from that Chris bloke turned out to be a real disappointment. Apparently, so the story goes, he turned up in the middle of the night after we were all asleep and snuck down the chimney to leave his gifts. A likely story! For one thing, the gifts he supposedly left for us all smelled suspiciously like the bags that the clippy cloppy woman has had in the back of the cupboard where she keeps her slippers for the last week or two. Bags which have now mysteriously disappeared. Coincidence? I think not! I'm beginning to doubt this Chris bloke even exists.

Many of the people that came visiting were people I am already aquainted with - Audrey, the shouty woman, the lady with the clicky ankle, the cat lady and the lady with the black furry coat - but they were joined by a plethora of new faces. There was a little person that wasn't very little and looked very much like the long man, but not as long. I think I'll call him the little long man. And then there was the little long mans brother, who had a scratchy chin, and the scratchy chinned mans special friend. They were all very smiley, and of course yours truly was very soon the centre of attention, as befits a puppy of my calibre.

The people spent most of the morning giving one and other gifts. I kept count and by my reckoning the little people did the best out of the arrangement by far. They certainly received the most gifts and I didn't actually see them give anyone a gift back. Canny little tykes, those two. Their gifts were also, without a shadow of a doubt, the nicest to chew. Should keep me going for a few weeks at least.

The room where the clippy cloppy woman makes the food smelled delicious all morning. The air was thick with meaty, greasy, drool inducing aromas that must've had the same effect on the people as on myself, since they all ate so much food at dinner time. Especially the little long man and the scratchy chinned man, my goodness they certainly do have good appetites, and just like Audrey they most certainly do NOT like to share food! Thank heavens for my long man, who kept "accidentally" dropping little, and some times not so little, pieces of meat on the floor. I was having the most magnificent little secret feast until Audrey, the bloody nuiscence, cottoned on to what was occuring. She made such a fuss, barking and biting my neck, that everyone noticed mine and the long man's little arrangement. Nice one Audrey, remind me to come around to your house some time and curl a poo out onto the shouty womans bed. I'll frame you, you selfish little swine, see if I don't. No one crosses me, especially where hot, greasy, succulent meat is concerned. Don't dream it's over!

The people all spent the evening laughing a lot and gulping down lots of odd smelling drinks. Goodness they were loud, especially the shouty woman. Both Audrey and myself were really beginning to tire of the peoples wobbly legged shenanigans when suddenly, one by one and two by two, they all decided enough was enough and started to go to bed. Eventually the house was quiet, and I decided to sleep on the bed with the scratchy chinned man and his special friend. That turned out to be the worst possible place to try and get some shut eye. No sooner had I begun to dream, this time about those flappy, feathery, screechy, whistly things I see in the sky some times, than the scratchy chinned mans special friend was up like a shot, making gurgly, groany noises and dashing to the room where the people poo, bouncing off every wall en route. She dropped to her knees and sniffed the bowl they poo into, which can't have smelled very nice because she immediately shouted "Ohhhhh gorrrrd" and started spewing up most, if not all, of what she had spent all day eating and drinking. She is very wasteful, because when she had finished she just left it and wobbled back to bed. Still, her loss. It was delicious.

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.)