The Owner's Meeting with Council Lady Hoomun

Update on the whole melted wheelie bin saga. The Owner rang the council and was warming up nicely by shouting at the hold music they were playing as they moved him from department to department until someone was silly enough to ask "The" question, "How can I help you Sir?". There then followed a litany of complaints, ranging from pot holes in the road to surly attitude from council employees. To the point when he was about to be passed on to a more appropriate department for dealing with grumpy hoomuns who complain a lot, when he brought the subject of his wheelie bin up. After much argument, which he appeared, from where I sat, to be losing, he had a kind of moment of inspiration. He told the Council Lady Hoomun it had been struck by lightning and suggested they had a meeting. Yesterday was the day of the meeting and I was quite excited about it. The Owner often goes out and tells me I can't come with him as he is having a meeting. But yesterday the meeting was to be held here at the studio so I was going to see what one of them was for the first time. When Council Lady Hoomun arrived, The Owner launched straight into another diatribe about the shortcomings of the council, local government generally and many other things which he clearly needed to get off his chest, to the bemusement of Council Lady Hoomun. He eventually moved on to the subject of how he should not be held responsible for when Council property, (presumably wheelie bins) get struck by lightning. So that was what was behind this! The Owner is afraid he may have to pay for the new wheelie bin! Now, in my understanding, lightning usually happens when the weather is warm and is cloudy and I spent a great deal of time yesterday sat in the doorway looking up, but I never did see a cloud that may have been responsible. I still think it was the glowing embers that did it! The Owner seemed to be winning and pointed wildly to the remains of the wheelie bin in the corner of a shed and Council Lady Hoomun seemed to be giving in. He does that a lot, keeps on about it long enough until people just give in to shut him up and then he thinks he has proven the point. So I lost interest and went looking for something else to amuse myself with. I started having a root around in what remained of the wheelie bin to see if there may have been a morsel in there somewhere that would be good for a chomp. My snifter informed me that there may well have been something worthy of further exploration lurking in there somewhere and so started digging. I was warming well to my task, although I had to be a bit careful as some of the embers were still glowing. I had quite a heap of ash building behind me when Council Lady Hoomun happened to notice my efforts and seemed to somehow connect the large quantity of warm ash and the melted bin and placed a bill for a new bin in The Owners hand and jumped in her car and drove off with that kind of emphatic air about her that I have often noticed Lady Hoomuns have with The Owner. The Owner isn't speaking to me still today and I get the feeling that it will be the boot room for me again this evening. The second night running. Still, the good bit is that a new bin was delivered today and I have wee'd on it already!

Turmoil

Sorry for leaving you dangling a little yesterday over the whole saggy bottom - hot coals in the wheelie bin - thing. Yesterday was one of those occasions when I really rather wished that paws and claws could use the green felt tip pen on The Owner in the same manner that he threatens to use it on me when confronted by circumstances which, for that moment, exceed my understanding of the matter. He also has hours of fun on a Sunday morning when the papers arrive as he rifles through the pages looking for photographs of celebrities and politicians, caught out by their own pompousness. or just outright stupidity and have not the faintest idea why and writes the word "Turmoil" across their foreheads with the green felt tip pen. You may recall on Friday how The Owner deposited some hot ashes in the plastic wheelie bin and when I left to go off on patrol, the side of the wheelie bin was beginning to resemble an elephants saggy bottom, and there were just the odd whisp or two of smoke appearing from around the lid. Yesterday, being a Saturday, was a day of great domestic activity around the cottage as The Owner flew around the place with a duster and the ruddy Dyson. At some time after lunch, he arrives at the point in the ritual where the bin liner needs changing and carries the old one up to the bins to be deposited into the green wheelie bin.... the one that was melting yesterday! Upon rounding the corner, I have to admit to being slightly astounded at the sight myself! The wheelie bin, formerly around five feet high, was now a shadow of its former self at about eighteen inches tall and surrounded by a solidified lake of green plastic! The Owners face was a picture, one fully in need of the addition of the word "Turmoil" in green felt tip pen across the forehead! He stood there for a full ten minutes surveying the scene before him; part trying to work out what the hell had happened to his wheelie bin and part trying to work out just how he was going to convince everyone that it was someone else's fault. I feel tomorrow could be an interesting call to listen in on when he rings the Council Hoomuns to try and get a new wheelie bin and convince them it had nothing to do with his hot embers.

The Elephants Saggy Bottom

Today has not been the best start to a day for somebody at the cottage! You may have noticed, if you live nearby, that the day started with wind and heavy rain and The Owner was up remarkably early. Both of which have proved dangerous in the past and so it was an ominous start to the day at the cottage. By seven o-clock this morning The Owner was on his second pot of tea and had found no-one on the BBC News to shout at and so was starting to fidget. Eventually the large heap of ash under the log grate in the fireplace became the object of his attentions and he pounced on it with great enthusiasm. I had a certain interest in the contents of the grate as well, I remember a bit of a chicken sandwich getting thrown on there the other day and I was curious to see if there was any left that might be suitable for a quick chomp. The Owner filled a large bucket with ash, no sign of the chicken sandwich, and stood up to take it out. Well, I will concede that I may have not been standing in the best place in the world to not get in his way, but throwing the ash all over the carpet was a little extreme! He frowned very loudly at me as he cleared up HIS mess, so I took myself off to the boot room. When he opened the front door to take the bucket of ash out I noticed there was still something glowing in the ash bucket. He opened the lid of the wheelie bin and threw the ash in and immediately disappeared in a fog of ash picked up by the gusty wind. You remember I said it was raining this morning? That was not just a space filler, he was already covered in a lot of rain drops and his hair was still damp from his shower. Ash has a kind of magnetism all of its own when it comes to rain and damp hair I have noticed, and this proved the theory. He looked quite a picture stood in the doorway with heaps of ash on his shoulders and his hair resembling one of the zombies on a Michael Jackson video! The second shower of the day restored his hair a little but not his temper and I suspect it may get a little worse later on. I feel sure you shouldn't put ash with glowing embers in a plastic wheelie bin and that may have something to do with why the side of the wheelie bin now resembles a saggy elephants bottom and is appearing to be smoking from under the edges a little! I think this story may not yet have finished!

The Owner's Negative Vibe

I am getting a distinctly negative vibe from The Owner this evening! I would just like to point out that it was not me who left HIM on his own all afternoon. Random freestyle patrols are not as easy this time of year because the studio door is not habitually open, so when he jumps up just before lunch and announces that it is time for me to have a wee, I was not about to argue. As I scampered quickly back, after having "performed" in the paddock near the piglets, I noticed a car parked near the studio door. I bounded in, hopeful of a Bonio for my efforts, when the door was slammed behind me and I was abandoned to my devices as The Owner jumped into his friends car and they were gone!. Abandoned I was. And not even a Bonio by way of consolation! Several hours later. How many Jack, I hear you say. Several hours later... he returns, laden with boxes and bags and an attitude. Well I was pleased to see him when he came staggering through the studio door, smelling of pubs and drink as you ask, so I jumped around a lot with an excited air about me to greet him. Well, OK, so I may have jumped up at him a little bit. Nothing serious, you understand, not even a muddy paw for the white shirt. Certainly nothing to justify the exaggerated fashion in which he threw his bags and boxes to the floor. And why, I wondered was that bag now leaking stuff all across the track which looked suspiciously like Baileys to me? And how was that my fault? And why didn't I get a Bonio to say he was pleased to see me either? I will be finding a small square on the carpet in front of the fire this evening with which to form a close bond. One where I can't hear his sighing and tutting as he keeps looking at an empty glass and then at me.

Revenge is Best Served Very Cold

There is a hoomun phrase I believe, about revenge being a dish best served cold? Today it was served very cold and I had no part in it, although if K9's could laugh out loud I would have been laughing very loudly! There may be those who remember The Owner's unkind mirth at my predicament last year when I discovered the downside to trying to run on ice not thick enough to take the weight of a slim and very fit K9 of my stature. This morning The Owner was remarkably chipper when we left the cottage as normal and wandered in the general direction of the studio. There then followed much patting of pockets and jackets which normally precedes a return walk back to the cottage. Glasses, phone and keys retrieved from the dining room table where he had left them, we started our journey again, only this time he was stopping and taking pictures of frost on the grass and trees and stuff like that. Then his attention was caught by the pond, which given the frost we have seen these last two days had a layer of ice over it. The Owner went to the edge of the pond and kicked at the ice a little, it didn't break. So he tentatively put a foot on the ice and pressed down, it still didn't break! So he put both feet on and stood there with the kind of satisfied smug look on his face that a hoomun child may have when they first discovered that legs are for standing with. His day then took several rapid turns for the worse as he suddenly slid across the ice and fell on his backside on a bit of ice which was apparently not capable of supporting such a weight or shock and gave way with a strange crunching splash. One of which I was all too familiar myself last winter. The Owner looked a picture and one which I wished I could have used his phone to take.... except it was in the pond with him and now is refusing to co-operate on any level. The Owner squelched his way home again, apparently devoid of his former good humour with which he started his day. He is now dry, with his phone in bits spread across the radiator and is grumbling about everything so I think I will make myself scarce for the rest of the day.

The Too Pay!

I have experienced some very strange hoomun behaviour this afternoon. It would be no surprise to learn that it was The Owner who was responsible for the strange hoomun behaviour I guess. This particular strange behaviour was when The Owner was telling me off but laughing at the same time. Well, more of a chuckle really. After lunch The Owner was banging furiously away at the keyboard when a car pulled up outside. A hoomun got out and knocked on the studio door. The observant among you may have noticed it to have been a little gusty outside today and as Visitor Hoomun opened the studio door half his head fell off!! Well you could have knocked me down with an empty Bonio box! The wind had blown the top of his head right off!! Then I happened to notice a rabbit lying on the floor at his feet, well it looked like a rabbit anyway. I am a retriever, I retrieve things. Things like rabbits. So I picked it up and brought it back to The Owner, who didn't seem to want it. Told me to take it away. Then Visitor Hoomun shouted loudly at me so I ran off up to the calf sheds with my rabbit. Visitor Hoomun seemed particularly vexed about something so I ran harder to get away from him. The Owner was now joining in the pursuit too which was a strange sight to behold and they were both shouting about a "Too Pay". I was now forming the opinion that K9's are not supposed to retrieve a "Too Pay" so I dropped it where I stood. The calf sheds are nearing the point where they require cleaning out so they were a little deeper than normal in organic matter which is apparently not something that hoomuns like to see on a "Too Pay" I have learned. The Owner arrived and picked up the "Too Pay" between thumb and fore finger and offered it back to Visitor Hoomun, who despite all his shouting didn't seem pleased to see it back. The Owner then exhibited this strange behaviour I mentioned, telling me I am a naughty K9 for running off with a Too Pay, whilst at the same time appearing to be laughing loudly inside his head. Too Pays are apparently not for K9's I have learned today!

Jamie's Fifteen Minute Meal - The Owner Stylee!

Today The Owner is like a badger with a sore head! Last night, he was late with his dinner and I think that is the reason behind it. After he gets all soft and emotional over watching Strictly Come Dancing and offering his own critique on their dancing talents in a manner that would give the unenlightened an impression that he actually could dance himself, he was inspired to create one of Jamie's 15 minute meals. You know, the ones that Jamie Oliver cooks in a tidy kitchen and takes 15 minutes, the rest of the hoomun world takes at least an hour (The Owner takes two hours) and the kitchen is like a bomb has hit it. Oven was turned on and spices and herbs are lavished on the poor unsuspecting chicken, when it gets slammed in the oven. He set the timer, poured himself a large glass of something and flopped back in to his armchair. The kitchen was gently filling with the customary smoke when the timer went off and he rushes out and puts the oven light on and peers in through the glass door. To my simple understanding of the hoomun art of burning perfectly good food, it looked little different to when he put it in. The Owner clearly thought so too, as he set the timer for another hour. Hour up, you couldn't see across the kitchen but the chicken looked, well, kinda raw really. It was at this point that he opened the oven, which was still cold. So where was the smoke coming from? That would be from the other oven then! The smoke? That would be from the fat in a roasting dish forgotten about in the other oven from last week sometime then, also in the other oven. I feel sure that's why he is like a badger with a sore head. It has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the boot room door not being closed properly last night and me deciding to ask him if it was time to get up yet when Dairy Hoomun started the pumps on the dairy early this morning. It certainly wasn't the cold nose under the duvet up the back of his legs either.