Thoughts on Gold Foil Stuck to Noses

I have been more than a little charitable to The Owner during his recent "Medical Problems". I am not drawing any conclusions from his experiences and his palpitations occurring shortly after the arrival of his new medical dictionary! There is also a section I have noticed at the back on K9 ailments, which he is reading at the moment, amidst periodic glances in my direction over the top of his glasses (more of which later I am sure), accompanied by the occasional episode of K9 manhandling as he prods and pokes his way to disproving a further life affecting K9 affliction. Look, I am healthy!!! OK?!?!?!? I will of course draw no inference from the fact that the K9 section is at the back! However, after this morning, my formerly charitable feeling of "bon homme" has evaporated. Last night, he was drinking beer from bottles with funny corks in which he delights in firing around the room whilst trying to see how many times he can bounce them off walls, ceilings and other furniture and still hit me on the rump. They also come with gold foil covers over the top. This morning after breakfast and early patrol I had a quick sniff around the living room carpet looking for any traces of Bonio chomps from last night, or other edible detritus left behind, when a piece of this gold foil got stuck to my wet nose. It could be thought of in the same terms as hoomuns wearing mittens and then getting a hair in their mouths. Paws and claws are just not good at getting rid of bits of gold foil stuck to damp noses! The Owner, predictably, has found the whole matter very amusing and keeps laughing loudly at me every time he sees me and, as the foil in question is sticking up at the front of my nose, and in permanent view from where I can see it, keeps asking whether I prefer a cross hair or traditional blade sight. I responded by finding some badger poo for one shoulder and something indescribable in the calf sheds for the other. I was then banished to the boot room until the hose had been dug out of the shed and the yard broom rescued from wherever Small Boy had left it. I was then washed down in rather too rough a manner for someone of my breeding. He has now stolen my comfy cushion and my duvet and both are in the washing machine. The poo I found has been a particularly good vintage and has resisted normal attempts at removal. I am choosing to draw no conclusion at the moment from the fact that he is calling me in an altogether too friendly fashion from the bathroom, after much sloshing of water in the bath. I will report later on the glasses situation.

The Birthday Tea

Today is Friday and, perhaps predictably, we have been to the pub, "To celebrate your Birthday Jack!" he said. Am I missing something here? My Birthday, he gets the drink? The good news is that I managed to get him back home and past the pond without incident. Now, yesterday, we went to the studio. The Owner said to me, "Jack my boy, t's your birthday!" Well after past Birthdays I was immediately suspicious, I still remember the hangover! But, he offered me a dish of tea which I thought sounded a good idea. When Small Boy makes me tea I find it quite pleasant as an experience so I got quite excited and bounced around a lot. Well, three pints of tea was perhaps a little bit too much but you don't look a gift horse in the mouth do you? It was about an hour before the bladder became a little too uncomfortable, so The Owner let me out in to the paddock. Well I wee'd and I wee'd and I wee'd! The Owner was a little uncharitable, I felt, when he asked me if I wanted the Sunday papers to read whilst I was busy. When we got back to the cottage, Postman had delivered lots of chews and doggy chomps. Well, I had to sample a few didn't I? Not sure what was in one of them but it made me feel a bit funny and I finished up running from room to room. I couldn't help it!!!! The tally was; 2 pint glasses (full), a box of champagne flutes (now a box of bits), his favourite tea mug (no handle), his dinner plate (full), oh yes, and the table lamp (now without a lampshade). I am thinking that Birthdays may be overrated! I am going for a lie down!

More Wise Words from Jack Labrador

More wise sayings from Jack Labrador - Badger poo is a poo by any other name.

Wise Words from Jack Labrador

More wise sayings from Jack Labrador - A Bonio in the hand is worth.......well......eating really!

The Log Delivery

Yesterday, Bracknell Hoomun and Lady Bracknell Hoomun arrived and brought some logs for The Owner. When I say "some" logs, I mean a lorry load! It took them ages to unload them and carry them round the back and put them in the fuel shed. The fuel shed is now full beyond even The Owners head height right out to the door. I assisted with the process as you would expect, until Bracknell Hoomun nearly ran me over with his wheelbarrow and he seemed particularly vexed by having to load the barrow up again with what he dropped. I left The Owner alone as he seemed in a particularly bad mood as well, after he dropped one of his logs on his foot, just in case he found a way that it was my fault. I went instead and assisted Lady Bracknell Hoomun, mainly coz she had a pocketful of Markies and every time she got down off the lorry, I got one! This morning The Owner is wandering round the house looking for something. In the last few days we have had several deliveries of treats for me. My anonymous friend Blood Hound 7 sent me some treats through the post and then Andrew Plod Hoomun turned up looking for coffee and he brought me some treats, of which I was allowed only the one. Well this morning The Owner is looking for them to give me one for being a "Good Boy". Well, in hoomun terms, a "Good Boy" I am certainly not. But I have to report that treats do somehow taste better when you just find them when you are not supposed to. I think the peace and air of fraternity in the cottage may be shattered when he discovers the empty packet in the boot room. I hope he finds it soon so we can get that bit over and done with for the day coz I just know I will be in trouble when he does. It's raining hard outside so I can't escape to the farm so it may be a long day.

Oh No, Dog Dancing!!!

I was sat there this morning with The Owner, the start of a peaceful Saturday morning, I thought. Our Saturday mornings are seldom out of the ordinary and seldom ever rushed as he watches Breakfast News on the BBC. He is too much of a snob to watch anything else and to be honest I don't mind as I watch Mike Bushell the sports presenter do strange things in the name of unusual sports which usually confounds any theories I may have been forming about the hoomun condition during the previous week. This morning I sat there and saw him start his report and pulled up a corner of my comfy cushion that I hadn't dribbled on or covered in other unidentifiable stains to watch his hoomun sporting antics. I could not believe what I saw!! Dancing Dogs!!!!! After watching this, for the next ten minutes The Owner was fidgeting in a way that I understand only too well, a plan is forming in his mind! I would be making myself scarce for a while as these kind of plans usually are at my expense. I went up the garden and found the spot behind the barbie, true there was little sun and the wind was a bit chilly but it was safer than remaining indoors with The Owner when he is plotting ways of getting himself into the spotlight again.

The Studio Ceiling Paint

Today has been a busy day already, so much so that I have come back to the cottage out of the way of the frenetic activity now taking place in the studio. I have just selected a particularly tasty Bonio for a quiet chomp and sought the comfort and quiet of my comfy cushion instead. I also have my eye on a Markie which I have noticed under the side of the cooker. Well, I have always said that the ruddy Dyson is an instrument of the devil himself haven't I? There is a kind of malevolent consciousness about it which terrifies me, and I think this morning has proved me right. Yet again!! My guess is The Owner has a meeting today in the studio, as early this morning he threw the ruddy Dyson onto his shoulder and marched off to the studio with a certain sense of purpose about him. He then proceeded to vacuum the carpet, then my vet-bed and duvet, then behind the book shelves and, clearly warming to his task he went in search of more fodder to feed the damn thing with. Nothing was safe! My world was in a frenzy as I ran from desk to desk trying to find some refuge from this mechanical Lucifer! Then he turned his attentions to Spider, who, together with many of his ancestors, has spent the last hundred years or more building cobwebs without limitations. Was nothing safe I wondered? Apparently not! I have been noticing two large areas of ceiling paint peeling a little and that was where The Owner turned his attentions next, which I was quite pleased about as the usual ritual when nothing further can be sucked up off the floor is to chase me around a lot with the Dyson hose. It was then that it happened!!! The effects of the ruddy Dyson were a little too much for the adhesive properties of two hundred years of paint on the ceiling and with an extra special suck from the Dyson hose, about half of the area of the ceiling paint came down as one piece! I thought I was seeing a ghost or something as the dust began to settle, this sheet of white paint was draped over the desk and the light unit in the middle of the ceiling and this big lump was moving around underneath it like a hamster under a freshly laid carpet. The only thing which gave away what was causing it was that the lump was swearing quite a lot using words that I pretend not to understand, so it had to be The Owner. Postman arrived at that point and opened the door and shut it again very quick. I guess we'll be getting our mail tomorrow instead! I think today, my comfy cushion will be about as far as I venture, for my own safety as much as anything else.