A Very French K9

The Owner and I were sitting lazily in the sunshine in the front porch. I was watching, intently, the hover fly that seemed to be treating my nose in much the same way as perhaps a helicopter would the landing pad on a big ship. I know you’re impressed with my knowledge with such matters but when you sit and watch Quest of an evening with The Owner, there isn't much about a Mighty Ship I don’t know. As for The Owner, well it is always difficult to work out what he is thinking about on such occasions so we just label him as having a lazy vacant moment and leave it at that. There was a big roar from an engine and a cloud of dust as a black car which looked vaguely familiar slid sideways into the lay-by in front of the cottage. I was still debating with myself an appropriate course of action when a door burst open on the car and at great volume, out leapt my mate Vic R. He does most things, I notice, at great volume. As he lumbered up the path past the lavender (yuk and double phew!!) he bellowed with great enthusiasm “Helllllooooooo to yoooooou!”. I was already getting a headache and I suspect that The Owner would soon be developing one too. “Hello” he mumbled in response as he staggered to his feet. “I had better go and put the coffee on then.” Nooooooooooooooo!” replied Vic R, losing none of his exuberance, “I am going to take you to the pub for a beer and a sandwich” The Owner of course immediately lost his tardiness and became very excited at the thought of going to the pub when someone else had offered to pay and we were both soon in Vic R’s car and heading up through the village. When we got to the pub there was clearly some form of K9 interest in the gardens as I could see several lady K9’s flocking around something. We went in to the bar, me on my posh lead obviously, as The Owner and Vic R ordered their drinks and sandwiches. Drinks collected and much cheeriness all round, we wandered out in to the pub gardens to await the food. Have you noticed how I don’t get a sandwich?? Well in the gardens we were also confronted with the object of female K9 interest which demonstrated their fickleness completely. Vic R said to The Owner “What kind of dog is that then?”. The Owner announced with an air of authority that it was apparently a French Mastiff and then said, “He must smell a lot of garlic then”. I have no idea what he meant by that but it must be one of The Owners special jokes as no one else was laughing! I had suspected that it was just The Owner trying to impress, to cover up his lack of knowledge on anything in particular as is normal, until HE spoke! HE was addressing a particularly cute looking young yellow lab which I thought would have gone for my obvious breeding. “ Ma Cherie, you want that I whisper of lurve gently in your ear?”. She immediately went all silly and played up to him, to the embarrassment of her owners, and seemed oblivious to the real star of the show. I even tried to speak to her in a voice which made it obvious that I had breeding. I mentioned Lord Bath a lot, but she was just smitten with this Gallic fool! I went and sat obediently under The Owners chair and glared at HIM a lot and chose to do little else about it. Why??? Have you seen a French Mastiff???? He is twice the size of me!! More like Monkey Dog Thing on steroids really, and I would really like to live to see the next day!

At Diesel Dog Daughter's House

After a less than peaceful night with The Owner, Owner’s Daughter breezed in with a cup of tea for The Owner and a cheery “Morning Jack” for me. I can’t help but wonder which of us got the better deal there! Owners Daughter spent ages in the bathroom getting herself ready to “Meet her public”. I can’t help but wonder what she does in the process as to me, a K9 with breeding, there seems very little difference apart from smelling funny, a bit like those two old ladies from the other end of our village. For myself I can manage with a quick scratch and a lick of my little boys bits and we’re off and running! Breakfast eaten and overnight bags stowed back in Owners Daughter’s car we were off again on our journey. When I say “Breakfast eaten” I really mean I had had my breakfast. The Owner, on the other hand, had declined a dry Ryvita and a bowl of muesli and was grumbling about having had no bacon and eggs for his Sunday breakfast. He was still grumbling about it half way through the afternoon by which time it had changed to grumbling about not having a KFC but it was a grumble he was not letting go of for anyone. After a while of further driving and even more bacon and egg style grumbling we arrived at Diesel Dog’s home. Not that I recognised the house, just what happened. We pulled up outside a house amongst lots of other houses and The Owner got out and stretched his legs and yawned, Owners Daughter did the same, only it was her legs she stretched, not The Owner’s. For my part I opened one eye from my position curled up on the back seat, which was when I noticed something vaguely brown and furry flash through my vision and was gone again. Unsure of what I had seen I opened both eyes and sat up. I again saw a flash of something vaguely brown and furry fly through one open car door and out the other without touching the seats on the way through. It would seem that demented badger running is not something that Diesel Dog reserves for the path across the back of the cottage and he is clearly able to practice the art in a variety of places and situations and straight through Owners Daughters car is one of them. I managed to escape when Diesel Dog was in mid circuit at the farthest point from Owners Daughters car and went in search of a sunny patch up the garden with which I am planning on getting acquainted with during the rest of the day. The Owner, Owners Daughter, Diesel Dog Daughter, Biker Sister and Mechanic all spent ages moving stuff in boxes from room to room, drinking tea, and perspiring profusely, whilst Diesel Dog did a lot of demented badger running through the car, the house and round the garden to do it all again. I am not sure what Diesel Dog Daughter feeds him with but I think she may want to change it for something with a lesser octane rating.

I fear this could be a very long day indeed!

Staying at Owner's Daughter's

After a phone call, from Owners Daughter I gather, which seemed to require much frowning and nodding sagely from The Owner, he concluded the call with the comment “I will prepare an overnight bag for me and Jack”. Surely the right phrase should have been “For Jack and I” but I will let that one pass although I know which order we should be considered in. But I have clearly yet to educate The Owner over my importance and breeding! Now, I was excited and perturbed at this in equal measures. I have absolutely no idea what an overnight bag is or should K9’s (with breeding) have one, as I have never had one before that I am aware of. But also, that I was unsure what exactly it would lead to. I sat and watched as The Owner poured my water out of my dish down the sink and placed the same into a bag along with my food dish and a small plastic box full of my food that the terribly nice lady hoomun from Skinners had sent to me. Although I felt the accompanying comment of “If you want any water for now you will have to help yourself from the dirty pond. But then you’re used to that aren't you, ‘newt breath’?” was just a little insensitive. He proceeded to put a clean shirt and a pair of trousers that had, frankly, seen better days and I was hoping he was not going to wear them anywhere that he might be seen or recognised, into an “Overnight bag”. Although to be honest, as far as I could tell it was exactly the same as every other plastic carrier bag in the drawer which overflows every time it is opened, I have noticed. He poured himself a large glass of wine to “steady himself for the journey” and Owners Daughter arrived to collect him. She was already frowning very loudly before she arrived and unusually it was at neither The Owner nor me, Jack Labrador GD (failed)! She bundled The Owner into her car and propped him up by wedging his “overnight bag” in beside him and I leapt nimbly over the back and into the boot........ why does she insist on filling the boot of her car with canvas paintings? Well I guess that’ll be another job for The Owner and his duct tape later! We arrived at Owners Daughter’s new home and I immediately tidied up the bird table, the cat food dish and one or two other vaguely edible items I discovered on my first patrol of the perimeter. Although I did notice that I was kept well away from the hamsters cage! I also noticed that I could see no blanket for me to lay on! As early evening turned into late evening and the wine bottle became empty Owners Daughter took herself off to bed and threw some blankets in my general direction, I thought. “Ah, good! There’s my bed!” and I clambered on top of them all, which seemed to prompt a less than favourable response from The Owner as he kicked me off “His bed”! The Owner arranged the blankets and pillows on the floor and climbed into them, leaving me to sleep where exactly? That’ll be on the floor then I guess. I was not impressed! The Owner was soon snoring loudly and I was looking for somewhere a little softer to rest my chin and soon happened upon his hand sticking out from under his blanket, so I rested my chin in his hand. Ok, so I may have dribbled into his hand a bit in my sleep. But I could see no justification for his response and, frankly, hurtful comments about “K9 oral incontinence!” He was now awake again and taking the art of fidgeting to the level of an extreme sport again, until he had to give in and go for a wee. Whilst he was gone, I reasoned that he wasn't needing the bed he had made himself on the floor, so I climbed in. Well it seemed a shame to waste it whilst it was still warm! Not wishing to wake Owners Daughter by turning lights on and stuff, he fumbled his way back to his heap of blankets in the dark and climbed back in. It would seem that a K9 fur ball (with breeding and a wet nose) was not what he was expecting to find in his bed and woke the whole of Owners Daughter’s village up as he made it known. It was a long night......

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.