My Visit to The Theatre

The Owner seems intent, of late, to introduce me to some culture that reflects my obvious breeding. So he went along the other night to see a play by some hoomun who writes funny sentences about stuff. For instance, “Shall I compare thee to a summers day?” Well, around here a summers day can be filled with the sound of tractors working well into the night and smells that even I cannot muster emanating from the dairy yard and what lady hoomun would want to be compared to that??

So last night he tidied himself up a little and sprayed himself with stuff which smelled funny and put my posh lead on me and we made for the theatre. I have never been to the theatre before but I had imagined something a little comfier in the seat department somehow and also one with a roof too. At the start some Hoomun with a microphone said with a great air of gravitas and self-importance “Will you all please turn OFF your phones.” This made The Owner smile a lot as he gets very niggley when hoomuns use their phones near him on the train, in the pub, at the village hall, at the café... well pretty much anywhere really. So he was clearly feeling a point had already been made in his favour, but when the lights went down and some fool was running around the stage carrying a skull saying how he once knew him well, in a manner that any sane hoomun would have struggled to follow, a lady hoomun a few seats away started texting. The Owner, of course was in raptures over what the fool was saying which kind of proves my point. The Owner soon began to fidget with irritation at the texting lady hoomun. Another twenty minutes of clickety clack on her screen and stifled chuckles, The Owner was practising fidgeting to the level of an extreme sport. When the lights came on again he went off, full of righteous indignation, to complain to Manager Hoomun, who assured him that something would be done to prevent any more irritation during the second half. The Owner returned to his seat with a righteous smug look about him, clearly he felt a point had been made. Immediately the lights went out the lady hoomun started clickety clacking on her phone screen and it was more than The Owner could bear. “Oi! Your texting is disturbing our enjoyment!” He pretended to ignore someone else shouting “So is your whining!” but was indignant when Lady Hoomun responded with “Well don’t watch me then!” and then returned to her screen. This was not going to end well and I was already looking for a table or a chair to go and hide behind. With an athleticism witnessed only when someone goes to the bar at the pub and The Owner is after a free pint, The Owner launched himself across the tables and in one smooth movement grabbed her phone and threw it across the auditorium as he fell to the floor. As he picked himself up again he was clearly expecting to see nods of approval from all around him for his heroic actions but was instead met with the sight of Security Hoomun looming out of the darkness at the back of the seats with a purposeful look upon his face, intent on removing the cause of the problem..... The Owner. He felt no better when some hoomuns, with a less than charitable frame of mind, started cheering as he was frogmarched to the door! I opted to slide along the floor in another aisle in case anyone connected me with The Owner.

I am guessing that will be the end of my introduction to sophisticated culture for a while. At least until The Owner can find a new theatre to go to that he hasn't been thrown out of.

Maybe I should not try and use his mobile to write my diaries for you either.

The Dog Flap

The Owner has found himself some new friends recently, hoomuns from a nearby farm. Except they don’t appear to do much farming, they seem to pontificate in a manner that The Owner seems to understand about farming life which seems, as far as I can understand, to have no bearing on the realities of farming. Even I know you don’t put poo in the ground, you spread it on your shoulders! They also have their own K9, a little funny looking thing they kept referring to as King Charles. This obviously gave him delusions of grandeur as he strutted about the place but he clearly had no breeding, unlike myself. Had I mentioned that I was born and trained on Lord Bath’s estate? Last night, enticed mainly by the promise of a bottle of vintage port for The Owner I suspect, we wandered down to their farm. As we walked up the lane to the house I was greeted by King Charles K9 who seemed to be far too excited about anything and everything and wanted the world to know just why. Do you see what I mean? Clearly no breeding! I did my best to ignore him for as long as I could but in the end I tried a tentative little bounce of playfulness which was responded to by King Charles K9, with an avalanche of playfulness. I resisted for as long as I could but before long we were chasing all around the farm buildings and through the farm house and it was quite good fun I thought. As the evening sun gave her last warmth to the air around us, King Charles K9’s owners closed the back door. “That is fine” I heard them say, “There is a dog flap in the back door!” I was a little unsure at first but after a particularly exciting chase round the kitchen, King Charles K9 ran straight at the back door! I felt this was sure to end in tears and may in some way account for his already rather flat nose, but at the last minute he jumped straight at the dog flap which moved out of his way and he ran straight through and into the garden beyond. What is sauce for the goose etc. so I followed without breaking my stride. As the door neared I jumped, and a graceful job it was too, straight at the dog flap. It gave way on impact and I sailed straight through! Well, my head did and so did one shoulder. The rest of me seemed resolutely to refuse to go any further through the dog flap. For that matter it resolutely refused to come back out again either! There I hung, stuck fast in the dog flap and no matter how I fought and struggled I could not go forwards or backwards. The Owner came to my rescue, well he tried to, yet I still was unable to move. Farmer Hoomun and Farmers Wife Hoomun tried, but still I was stuck. They smeared washing up liquid, in an altogether far too familiar fashion for my liking, all about my person which would normally have resulted in an opinion or two. But I just had to stand there, framed by a kitchen door, and accept their attentions. At one point someone suggested calling the fire brigade! Oh the embarrassment that would have caused after weeing on their fire engine wheels the last time our paths crossed. Eventually Farmer Hoomun produced a tool kit and my heart sank in equal measures to the way The Owners face lit up at the sight of someone else’s tool kit which may have had tools that he didn't have. The door was removed.... more soap..... more pulling and pushing. I was becoming very uncomfortable wearing this door and was beginning to look upon the lampshade round the head that Vitnery Hoomun stuck on me once in an altogether kindlier light. The evening got worse! An electric saw was produced which broadened The Owners smile still further and the door was disassembled from around me. The smile has disappeared from The Owners face this morning as he is frantically searching the internet for a replacement door for his friends. He has decided that the builders merchants want to much for one and is now searching for builders reclamation yards and most are getting the same response from him, “How much?? I only want an old one!!!” I suspect we will finish up buying a new one from builders merchants when he is hopeful they may have forgotten his rant about profiteers. For me, I am going to keep well out of the way today and even further from any dog flap!

The Lake Full of Gin

Yesterday was a hot day here, a very hot day, and I have to say I did not really enjoy it. This morning was showing all the promise of being just as warm to be honest, as we walked down to the studio. So I found a corner behind the water cooler to settle down, opting to delay any patrol until the cool of the evening. At lunchtime, when the temperatures were at their highest, The Owner suddenly jumped up from his desk in an unfamiliar show of enthusiasm which quite startled me. But it was his next statement which startled me all the more! He said to me "Come on Jack, lets go for a wander down to the lakes. The water is "gin-clear" down there, you'll enjoy that!" I tried to find somewhere to hide to be honest. I have seen what a few glasses of gin can do to The Owner. So a whole lake full of the stuff!!???? I was not about to try any gin in a hurry, so I reluctantly dawdled along behind him, finding anything possible to have a sniff at in the hope he may get his attention diverted to something else. Well I am still a little mystified by his statement, as when he grappled me to the ground and threw me in, I was expecting to come out with my legs going everywhere except where I was instructing them to go. But they seemed remarkably co-operative to me. The water was nice and cool and very clear, so much so that you could see the bottom which unnerved me a little. It was still cool when I got out but I had made the visibility much more tolerable and I found myself unable to see more than a few inches in front of my face. He did get his camera out to take some pictures of me which I was not so happy about. I managed to jump up at him as I exited the lake and.... well..... the camera will dry out eventually I expect, so no need to worry. Me? I just managed to dry off a little by rolling in the dust on the way back. I am hopeful of another patrol down there this evening, but so far he seems a little reluctant. Perhaps he needs the gin instead of me.

Small Boy is Due

This morning we are expecting Small Boy apparently, so I am on guard. Poised, in fact, ready to launch forth in excited greetings. Like a true athlete I am rehearsing it all in my mind.

Three Angry Wasps

After an early return from the studio yesterday The Owner made a cup of tea in his special heat retaining mug, which seems to have a particularly vengeful manner about it and burns The Owners mouth at every opportunity. He wandered off up the garden, wielding a trimming hook in a particularly menacing manner, as he set about the nettle patch which last season had been my favourite sunny patch up behind the Barbie. He did give me one or two strange and accusing looks as he discovered the odd plastic box that I had squirrelled away after The Owner had cooked the chops that were in them and one that still had the chops in when I found it unguarded in the kitchen. Well flavour is flavour and you can’t miss an opportunity can you? Fortunately The Owner didn't connect the row he had with Sainsbugs Delivery Yoof about missing chops in his order with my absence for an hour at the time, and the appearance of that particular piece of packaging now. After an hour or two’s activity amongst the nettles, with scald marks on his lips from the mug and nettle rash on his legs and arms reminiscent of the outbreak of some nasty tropical disease, The Owner made a bee line for the wine cabinet. Wine poured and his comfy chair beckoning, he left me feeling somewhat relieved that he hadn't discovered everything I had hidden behind the Barbie, and what he had discovered I seem to have got away with. After he went indoors I moved some of the remaining bits and pieces that I was responsible for to a safer hiding place, and went in to join him. It is about this time of day that I can sometimes manage to use my will-power, and occasionally some dribble, to make him get me a Bonio from my at-home-Bonio-bucket, which is more colourful than my studio-Bonio-bucket. So I went in and tried my luck. Result! He already had a Bonio waiting for me! So after a quick chomp I laid there drinking in the sense of comradeship of the moment. Suddenly, The Owner starts to fidget, as I could have sworn I heard a buzzing sound! It went quiet again for a moment… then more buzzing. The Owner jumped up and started patting his shirt, which seemed to prompt a more pain filled reaction than was warranted by the pat that he gave himself, and he ripped his shirt off. After much shirt flicking and flacking he threw it across the room, gave it a withering stare and sat down again. I could still hear buzzing so I took myself off to my comfy cushion, you can’t be too careful in these matters! Suddenly he leapt up spilling his wine (which meant it had to be serious) and was patting his trousers frantically and jumping around all over the place. Finally, off came his trousers too! He stood there in the lounge in just his wine soaked boxer shorts with three wasps buzzing angrily around his head seemingly irritated that he had disturbed their slumber in the loose folds of his clothing. In his attempts to avoid their angry attentions he ran twice round the dining room and out through the front door! I was just relieved that the two old ladies who smell of lavender (yuk and double phew) from the other end of the village were not walking past at the time! I wandered outside to see what he was up to and witnessed the sight of him, in his boxers, crashing through the undergrowth at the top of the garden being chased by three slightly irritated wasps. They seemed to be managing quite well and didn't need any input from me so I left them to it. Besides, I happened to notice he hadn't put the lid back on my Bonio bucket properly and when he gets back he may be a little too preoccupied to notice. I may sneak a few behind the fridge for later while I am a it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth I always say.

A Real Gun Dog

I would just like to say that the first person who shows this to The Owner will have their legs wee'd on.

The New Flower Bed

I am in the boot room, I thought it safest. The Owner went off early this morning, without me as you ask, and when he returned he smelled of breakfast. I thought I should ignore it and just turn my back on him.. until he produced a box of Bonios so I forgave him immediately. But after Volvo Hoomun had left we wandered home. Even as we entered through the gate he had a worrying look in his eye as his gaze settled upon the garden refuse wheelie bin, emptied yesterday. After he had selected several garden tools that Small Boy had not abandoned around the garden last summer he wandered off with his wheelie bin and I felt sure many of the flower beds breathed a sigh of relief as he passed. At the back of the side lawn there is what he refers to as a flower bed but I suspect to the rest of the world it is a patch of untamed nettles. This was the first sign that the rest of my day was taking a downward turn. Well, I prefer a little seclusion when I.... well... perform. So this patch of untamed tall grass and nettles had the products of my many "performances" in various stages of dehydration and decay. The liberation of each former dollop brought fresh looks of disapproval from His Ownershipness. But I have to say it was worth putting up with the disapproving looks to see the freshly tilled soil appearing behind where he was working. When the rain shower dampened things for a while he went inside and made a pot of tea and we had ten minutes bonding sat in the porch on the seat whilst he slurped loudly at his tea and I chomped equally loudly on a Bonio that The Owner had in his pocket for me. Rain stopped and tea finished we went back outside and this was the bit where it went downhill a little. Well, quite a lot actually. The Owner was busy terrorising a worm he had found and I suddenly noticed the after effects of having had a Bonio. Well, when it goes in one end it has to appear again somewhere doesn't it? So out of habit it appeared again in the nettle patch, only it wasn't a nettle patch any more but a freshly tilled and weed free flower bed. The same flower bed that The Owner was now crawling around on his hands and knees putting bedding plants in. Well if he hadn't been crawling backwards he would have seen where he was going wouldn't he? And if he had been watching where he was going he probably wouldn't have put his knee in my own fresh efforts would he? The pattern it made on his knee could have been an entirely new form of divination I thought. But when I looked, the omens were not very good for me! Something reinforced by the roar of disapproval emanating from The Owner, so I thought it best to retire to the boot room for the night.