Dogs, mostly
The schpiel at the top of this blog says that I own too many dogs and cats. Well, that's a debatable point, since you've already met the only cat I own (and we won't go into the question of cats and ownership here) and, of course, the DevilDog (whose nose is now nicely healed, but bald). I only actually own two other dogs (if they can be called that), but I have been looking after three more for the last few weeks, whilst my parents have been away. Six dogs is perhaps too many for our small house.
Since Stuart's lurgy has made my brain into some enormous mucus-producing machine, incapable of coherent thought, I've decided to take this opportunity to introduce you to the current crew.
First there's Chiswick:
Since Stuart's lurgy has made my brain into some enormous mucus-producing machine, incapable of coherent thought, I've decided to take this opportunity to introduce you to the current crew.
First there's Chiswick:
Don't be fooled by the picture. He's actually smaller than that in real life. Also less energetic. And he can't really walk on water. Chiswick comes from darkest Perthshire and, like a lot of the locals around there, has an interesting parentage. His dad is also his grandad, which explains a lot.
Next we have the DevilDog, Mortimer himself:
Mortimer is a rufty-tufty Patterdale Terrier; a four-legged killing machine; the bane of foxes, badgers and anything else foolish enough to get in his way. His deeds are legend. You won't find him upside down on the sofa, waiting for his belly to be scratched. Oh no.
Macrahanish is a Dachshund - long dog, long name:
Next we have the DevilDog, Mortimer himself:
Mortimer is a rufty-tufty Patterdale Terrier; a four-legged killing machine; the bane of foxes, badgers and anything else foolish enough to get in his way. His deeds are legend. You won't find him upside down on the sofa, waiting for his belly to be scratched. Oh no.
Macrahanish is a Dachshund - long dog, long name:
Dachshunds love snow - so last week was a special treat. The bane of Mac's life is to be mistaken for some kind of spaniel cross. He's actually highly pedigreed, with lots of champions in his bloodline - not that I agree with showing dogs.
Next we have the visiting mob, and first off (to get it over and done with as quickly as possible) Beetle:
Otherwise known as Hoots, Nasty, Horrible Hoots or Smelly Little Dog's Pizzle, Beetle is less favoured in these parts. He's a Norwich Terrier in need of a personality transplant. Bossy and possessive sums up the Norwich temperament. He's getting on in his years now, has had a 'little operation' and is busy making up for his loss by putting on weight. Quite blind and deaf, it's taken him two weeks to work out how to get out the dog-flap. Before that, his party trick was to wait until your back was turned and then lay a steaming turd behind you for you to slip on.
Then there's Jed:
There's a book of sheepdog names - they're only allowed to be called things like Meg, Spot, Shep or Useless. Jed is otherwise known as Useless the Sheepdog (or sometimes Pretty Boy). Curiously all the farm staff here think he's a fine looking dog, and not a complete girl's blouse. But then again, they're comparing them with their own dogs (I'd better stop there in case they ever read this blog).
And finally Gus:
Gus is so nice. He's the sort of dog who helps little old ladies across the street. He'd jump into a swollen river to rescue a puppy. He never swears and he always writes thankyou letters, even when he hasn't really liked the present. Just don't ask him to get off the sofa.
So that's the crowd I'm looking after right now. You may or may not care, but it's been fun for me. And for those of you who thought I might have forgotten someone:
Like I said, rufty-tufty, killer Patterdale Terrier. Aye, right.
Next we have the visiting mob, and first off (to get it over and done with as quickly as possible) Beetle:
Otherwise known as Hoots, Nasty, Horrible Hoots or Smelly Little Dog's Pizzle, Beetle is less favoured in these parts. He's a Norwich Terrier in need of a personality transplant. Bossy and possessive sums up the Norwich temperament. He's getting on in his years now, has had a 'little operation' and is busy making up for his loss by putting on weight. Quite blind and deaf, it's taken him two weeks to work out how to get out the dog-flap. Before that, his party trick was to wait until your back was turned and then lay a steaming turd behind you for you to slip on.
Then there's Jed:
There's a book of sheepdog names - they're only allowed to be called things like Meg, Spot, Shep or Useless. Jed is otherwise known as Useless the Sheepdog (or sometimes Pretty Boy). Curiously all the farm staff here think he's a fine looking dog, and not a complete girl's blouse. But then again, they're comparing them with their own dogs (I'd better stop there in case they ever read this blog).
And finally Gus:
Gus is so nice. He's the sort of dog who helps little old ladies across the street. He'd jump into a swollen river to rescue a puppy. He never swears and he always writes thankyou letters, even when he hasn't really liked the present. Just don't ask him to get off the sofa.
So that's the crowd I'm looking after right now. You may or may not care, but it's been fun for me. And for those of you who thought I might have forgotten someone:
Like I said, rufty-tufty, killer Patterdale Terrier. Aye, right.
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