A Dizzy Moment

I am sorry that I won't be around to see them get old, that I won't be able to laugh at them, ridicule them, bark at them knowing full well that they can't hear me.

It was only a temporary slip up. I'm not doing it all the time. OK, so a lot of the time but even I have to admit that this was quite exceptional. A hard one to recover from, really.

She put down my food in the bowl on the floor. Yes, the same bowl which has inhabited more spaces than I care to remember and the same floor on which I was forbidden to walk not that long ago. I started tucking in (something I take the liberty of doing, uninvited, these days) and then horror struck. It was coming out of the other end. I tried to retreat but of course, I can't walk backwards these days and She had her legs in the way at the sink and bingo, by the time I'd done a six-point turn, negotiated my way around the washing basket, there it was. In the food.

This caused enough commotion to bring Him running whilst She stood there waving her hands about. I'm not sure that I could repeat this trick even if I wanted to. I get the impression that they don't want me to either.

Upstairs, Downstairs

My humans are fickle creatures. We move house. They move my bed. They move my food bowl. They move walls, they move in two extra humans who seem to be overly interested in what's going on up above. They keep disappearing up a ladder through a hole in the ceiling. The other week, one came down quickly and made the hole bigger. He hung there for a bit and then had to have a lie down. This has made it easier for me to see what they've been doing up there.

Humans are bonkers. I can remember back to the days when I collected sticks. I brought them into the house when they were running short and what did I get for my trouble? That sigh from Him, a look of disgust from Her and they never wanted to share my dribble, ever. These two, they're doing it on a big scale and they haven't been told off once. She feeds them sweet biscuits, makes bacon and egg sandwiches and congratulates them at the end of each day. So, where was I going wrong? Will I ever work these weirdos? I'm running out of time so I made a few mental notes.

My first theory was that I was being too direct in serving the sticks one at a time. These extra humans just barge on in with them in quick succession. Secondly, they have a sneaky method of concealment. No putting them on the floor behind the furniture for them. They're attached to the inside of the roof where She can't get them. Cunning, I must admit but in defence of my species, we don't ever resort to vibrating power tools unlike humans who just can't be without one. No wonder they're confused and fickle. No wonder and yet thank goodness, I'm deaf. I think they should just have a nice lie down on some old dribble.

You need the BAG!

He didn't go off in the car this morning. I've noticed he's like that a couple of times a week except when he's sneezing so loudly that even I can hear. She was still in bed. The problem is that he doesn't know the drill. You go out, you come in, you eat, you go out. Some things need attending to with urgency. All things must be done according to regulations.

This morning, under his care, I went out, came in, ate, went out, came in. He was still looking hopeful. Annoyed, possibly. Then she got up. There was an exchange. Now, she may have been in her dressing gown but she knows what to do. Some things are better not said. Non-verbal communication is essential to maintain one's dignity. She went to the door, picked up the new bag, followed me out and bingo! I have to say, though, that they weren't convinced by my look of confusion and excitement. I thought, well, if it's about ratios of outs to ins and eats then I might be in luck. She's looking rather smug.

Incidentally, I had a nice communication in response to yesterday's posting. All the way from Denmark:

Dear Monty. Whilst I must consider myself as a mere pup (I'm a blue roan cocker spaniel of 99) in comparison with your esteemed self, I feel that I have topped your achievement of (re-) learning to bark at 105; I waited until I became as deaf as a door post before re-embarking on the good, old-fashioned bark to ensure maximum attention (and, as you have discovered with your nice, well-trained old lady, they are now much more responsive to my needs).

My fan base is expanding. I've conquered Australasia, Scandinavia. Where next? The world is my bag of biscuits.

His Master's Voice

Now here's a puzzle for you. She thinks it's fine to start writing half way through her life but she can't get her head around the idea the I can start barking at the age of 105.

I know I used to do it until about 14 years ago but as I could hear less, I figured that there wasn't much point carrying on when I couldn't appreciate the delight of my own voice. At my age, you have to preserve you energy for more important things like smelling. Anyway, when they all bundled into the big car with all their worldly belongings to go off and collect lots of new smells over the course of a week, I went on holiday. A bit like the Ritz, really. The nice old lady, the one I've trained so well was very welcoming and obviously keen on learning more. It would be ungenerous of me not to acknowledge that this was a mutual, life-enhancing experience. Who says that you can never teach an old human new tricks?

She has a compact garden but which is rich in wildlife, perfect for recreational pursuits. I liked to spend a lot of time out there. This wasn't a problem for her as it gave her a chance to tidy my room and make my bed. Here comes the best bit. I barked to be let back in. And it didn't stop there. I barked to summon her and guess what? She came. In fact, she learned to come more quickly the more I barked which I think is jolly clever. You see, she recognised the quality of a quiet, manly, gruff, distinguished bark and its natural association with the need for attendance. It's so common when you hear dogs barking desperately, don't you think?

The by-product of this was that I exercised vocal cords I had forgotten about so I have her to thank for that. I later learned that my usual humans, having returned from their week away smelling interesting had obviously not undergone any similar training or intellectual stimulation. They're as slow as ever. In fact, I've almost given up barking again as they just don't seem capable of responding in quite the same way. The only reaction I got was one of puzzlement and confusion and I think that says it all.

What's the story?

I've just been out for my morning patrol in the front garden. She usually hobbles along behind me, stumbling blindly through the scents in her dressing gown gripping a little plastic bag. On this point, I must ask this: why does she use such small bags and why oh why are they almost see-through? Their inefficiency is compounded (the bags) by a faint whiff of small children. I use the terms 'faint' and 'see-through' loosely here as if talking from the viewpoint of my human.

Today, she was a bit more jerky than usual. Almost vigilant. Readers of old may remember me mentioning double-bagging moments, those sticky situations she tries to get herself out of by the most complicated manoeuvre imaginable involving two of her little bags and an immediate dash to wash her hands afterwards. Today, there was no messing. She noticed last night's message I left for our nocturnal visitors, picked it up swiftly before moving to the other side of the lawn, same bag in hand to collect this morning's contribution. It had barely enough time for to make landfall. I was whisked indoors most unceremoniously. I will have to leave examining the new mulch in the flowerbeds until later. Perhaps when she's left the door open. She's certainly preoccupied so there are no worries there. So what is it? Is it what I said yesterday? I don't think so. I've noticed her hovering around one of the noisy human's bedroom doors (you know, one of those who has shot up from small to big over the last few years). She almost knocks but then doesn't. Come to think about it, he was a bit funny yesterday too. Something is definitely afoot. I sense anticipation. What can it be?

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed

One of my humans' many shortcomings is that they have a very narrow outlook on life. When was the last time you saw your own one following a scent on the ground? They miss all the most interesting clues.

I attribute this partially to their slowness to wake up. I am awake long before I show any outward signs to them. This has its pitfalls too. I'm fed up with being kicked and prodded and having my pulse felt. Eventually, I have to raise an eyebrow just so they'll stop it. But when I do get up, albeit more slowly than I used to, I am raring to go.

You should see her in the mornings. Listen, I'm a dog and even I wouldn't go out in the front garden looking like that. I don't do dressing gowns. No one with any sense does. You're either up or your down. What's with this in-between stage? I'll tell you. It's the bit when the best information is out there. Opportunities. The chance to track a good, strong and fresh smell. When they do have all their faculties at their disposal, they're so preoccupied with their own smells, smothering them with stuff from cans and bottles that they miss the whole lot. A human tragedy.

Abandoned Dogs

I'm a bit hurt. Wounded, in fact. She and a whole load of other humans have been going around twitching, talking about red noses, the spring weather, the great spotted woodpecker and I just haven't had a look-in. She's been neglecting me and I've had no chance whatsoever to do any writing. But she's gone off to get dressed at last and has left the laptop on. It's a bit fiddly for my paws though, I have to say, because it's a new one and very small. I think I preferred it when she used His all the time. Anyway, let's not waste time talking about that.

The Spring Equinox approaches and I think She's into a new phase of cleaning. I say this because the other day, I was bathed. In a bath. Yes, THEIR bath. This is because apparently, until the loft conversion gets done (whatever that is), we only have one bathroom and no shower cubicle unlike the last place where there were two. So I was bathed by two ladies. Slightly undignified getting in and out. She even compared the process to lifting an old-fashioned television where the heaviest part is at the front (and I am not saying anything so rude about her) and they each man-handled me in and out by taking one end each. And then, then she said that the water wasn't as dirty as she expected it to be. I mean, how dare she? Obviously, I haven't had so much chance to season my coat with the fragrances of the land like I used to because they don't let me out on my own anymore. I was just a sitting duck for the jugs of water they kept pouring over my ears which haven't felt the same since. This is what happens when you get old. It is SO undignified. What happened to me? What they need is to put up a gate, something to keep me in, let me out to run around safely so that I can add some colour to the sterile water.

Oh, and another thing, I witnessed something very disturbing the other day, something I hope had no symbolic significance. The small humans were tearing up a picture into hundreds of tiny pieces. And the picture? It was a picture of a black wolf, a mythical creature with red eyes which had, by all accounts, been giving them nightmares. I keep telling myself. It was a picture and it was nothing to do with me, nothing more than, say, Little Red Riding Hood or Peter and the Wolf ..... did anyone else hear that quacking?