Omelettes at Easter

It is Easter weekend! So speaketh The Owner earlier today as he spilled his tea down his clean shirt front whilst watching the BBC Breakfast News. Then James Martin came on to tell everyone why they should really be doing nothing further that morning than waiting for inspiration for tonight's tea from one of the offerings from the chefs on his program.

It was at about that point that The Owner sprang up from his chair (more tea down his front) and announced that as it was the Easter weekend, an omelette was what was called for, for his breakfast. I have pondered on this and apart from it requiring eggs I cannot see the connection between the omelette and it being Easter weekend.

Now I have sat and watched the two chefs many times on Saturday Breakfast doing the Omelette Challenge. Sometimes they produce something that is so barely cooked that even I would think twice, then sprinkle it with chopped chives or parsley and consider themselves to have done quite well. Other times they produce something that looks quite edible, so I was hopeful that The Owner's culinary expertise would shine through and I may even get a small sample myself. So there he was, out in the kitchen, (which I have found often most prudent to avoid at times like this) and there was much crashing and banging and whirring of food processors. None of which have I ever heard from James Martin's guest chefs, incidentally, which probably heralds the kitchen looking like a war zone when he has finished. But if the means justifies the end and I get a bit myself, whatever! Then the phone rings and he sits down and talks at great length to someone with a great deal of seriousness about someone or something. Phone call ended, he sat back with a pensive look upon his face as he considered either the subject of his call or tried desperately to remember what he was doing prior to the call. It was the thin fingers of smoke which crept in layers around the corner of the kitchen door which must have in some way reminded him, as he suddenly jumped up and ran out into the kitchen. I followed at a safe distance and time interval, so that none of the angst would find a connection to me and went to see what was occurring. The omelette, which always looks golden and moist on the telly, was giving the appearance of burnt toast as it sat on the plate with smoke drifting upwards from the bit at the centre which appeared to be glowing like an ember in the fire. After a moments thought, inspiration struck and he slathered ketchup all over the omelette and went and sat down. I guess he wasn't hungry after all as he only took one mouthful and pushed the plate away. I soon found the 'omelette' in my dish but felt a little less than hungry myself after just one small nibble. I will report later if I find out why Easter weekends mean omelettes for breakfast.

The Orange Apron

Oh my Lord, it is Easter isn't it? I don't need a calender or a diary to know this either! K9's don't do them anyway, but I still wouldn't need one to know. How have I realised? The Owner has been to B&Q, that's how! He was sat here fidgeting over the weekend, clearly bored, whilst watching the telly. Nothing untoward so far. Then his fidgeting slowed and then stopped when the adverts came on. His fidgeting restarted, but this time it was with excitement as a plan had formed in his mind. Do you see how dangerous this was all becoming? So yesterday he was up and out early and B&Q was high in his mind. I tried to get out of the car to go for a wander across the car park in search of the Burger Hoomun and some sustenance, but my way was blocked and I was shut in the car. He came back across the car park a short while later, hidden amongst a convoy of trolleys loaded with various DIY devices and materials, and many many plants. He was also wearing one of their orange aprons which he had removed from some ageing gentle hoomun under pretext unknown and somehow managed to walk out with it. I suspect Ageing Gentle Hoomun will be still looking for where he left his apron for some time to come, a bit like The Owner and his keys. Hopefully he won't be inspired to take the spoils of his visit to the pub to show everyone as there is a really nice Lady Collie K9 that has been in there recently and I really don't want him cavorting around the pub in an orange apron if she walks in with her hoomun. He has already been down by the road wearing his newest favourite item of clothing hoping someone sees him and asks why he has got it. He will then start regaling them with his version of the story as to how he acquired it, which will obviously change every time he tells it. Overnight I have managed to chew the orange ties off the apron, so that should have put an end to that problem but we still have the rest of it to deal with. Liberal quantities of wee should deal with all the work surfaces he has propped up against the shed door, hopefully we will have rain before the weekend and that should be enough to persuade him to find something else, less problematic, to occupy his mind. Otherwise I may be spending the weekend in the calf sheds.

A Return to The Garden Centre

Well what a busy day we have had today! The Owner was charging around the house, first thing this morning, like a whirling dervish, with first the cleaning cloths and dusters and then to follow up with the ruddy Dyson. This kind of activity early on a Sunday morning can only mean one thing, we have visitors! And so it came to pass. Nearing lunch time, with The Owner showing beads of sweat across his brow, the door burst open and the darkened shape of Owners Daughter was here, hands on hips and already frowning very loudly. Inspection was passed with flying colours it would seem and Owners Daughters frown lessened considerably to the point where I could have sworn I heard her laughing! 

Then came the words which made me shudder to my very core. Owners Daughter wanted to go to...... The Garden Centre!!! Now, the last time The Owner went there he was asked to leave and the Lady Manager Hoomun told him never to return. This had all the hallmarks of the start to a bad afternoon! 

We arrived and The Owner jumped out of the car in a rather athletic fashion and virtually ran across the car park in his urgency to get inside. This could all go horribly wrong I feared, but we got through the doors without incident and I breathed a sigh of relief. So I wee'd over some flowers in a very big pot. I did notice a short while later they were looking a bit peeky but concluded that it must be down to the windy nature of the weather today. Then came the start of the whole downward slide of the events of the afternoon. Under a big tent was two very big and very long tables and a kind of tunnel was formed between the two by a bench across the top. This very big and very long structure was covered in hundreds of pots with flowers in them, Then The Owner got down on his hands and knees and crawled along the tunnel covered with pots with plants. Every time he was crawling past little old ladies looking at the plants, in his best squeaky voice that was clearly intended to sound like a plant, he was calling out "Buy me! Buy me! Please buy me!" The talking plant table was causing quite a stir around the garden centre as word got round. The Owner was clearly warming to his task as his messages got more elaborate. I sat in the corner, out of the way, with just a little morbid curiosity about how this was going to end. The one thing of which I was certain was that it would not end well. 

Having scared off the little old ladies from one end The Owner decided to move his attentions to the far end of the table to where there was still old ladies who hadn't fainted or wet themselves because of his efforts. You remember he was on all fours? Well he still managed to trip over a hosepipe and did a barrel roll that many an action hero would have been proud of and pushed the very big and very long tables apart and the whole lot came crashing down. Oh the shame of it!! Owners Daughter went and made herself scarce. I went and hid behind the big tent and just peeked around the corner, The Owner sat there surrounded by fallen and broken tables with pot plants and compost all around him. Some of it was even on his head. All the time he was shouting "I am not a number!", although I have no idea why. 

That was when Lady Manager Hoomun came striding down the corridor frowning even louder that Owners Daughter can. I opted for the safe option and went back to the car, when I got there Owners Daughter was already there, slurping on an ice cream. She had a second one in her hand which she offered to me saying "There you are Jack, he won't be wanting this for a while I think." When The Owner did return, he quietly got in the car clutching a little brown envelope which he wouldn't show to Owners Daughter. All the way home all he would say was "It was only a bit of harmless fun! No need to ban me!" As far as I can see he was already banned, so it wasn't going to make that much difference really.

Rooks New Nest and a Kippered Owner

Today a connection was made. One of those connections I have made in the past after The Owner has been sighing at me all day, to my utter bafflement, as he repaints the freshly painted door only four hours after he last did it, when I lay down and realise my tail is covered in wet paint. You know the kind of thing...

It was The Owner who made the connect on this occasion. He, no, we have been noticing the growing mess of small twigs building on the pathway down the side of the cottage as we walk towards the gate in the morning. I have sniffed at it occasionally and I even wee'd on them once, but The Owner has studied them rather more carefully but came up without conclusion as far as I can tell. He may as well have wee'd on them the same as me! He, no, we have also noticed that there is often Rook sitting on the gutter watching our progress and sometimes even with a twig in it's beak. I have occasionally seen The Owner with a blade of grass in his mouth, but never a twig. So far we have several twigs scattered across the path, level with the chimney, and a rook that often sits on the gutter with a twig in it's mouth, swearing in rookish quite a lot. I don't speak a lot of rook but I understand the basics, including swearing. This evening, being a little chilly indoors, The Owner has been busy trying to light the fire. The smoke, as you would expect, has been going straight up the chimney.... for only a few minutes..... before it started to come back down the chimney again.... and fill the room with smoke. The Owner seemed particularly perplexed by this and his eyes were running like he had been watching an edition of DIY SOS. As long as I laid on my comfy cushion I was largely below the level of the smoke so I was able to snooze through it. Eventually The Owner gave in and went outside so I followed him, out of curiosity really, to see what he was going to do next. Crow was sitting in his regular spot on the gutter when we emerged from the smog that was building in the kitchen and he clearly had a very great deal on his mind and seemed to be blaming The Owner for something. Mainly the smoke that seemed to be drifting out of his feathers as far as I could tell. After what seemed like an eternity a connection was made in The Owner's mind. His synapses were working at an astonishing speed today, as he connected the twigs, Crow and the fact that the living room was now filling rapidly with smoke from the fire. If I were Crow I would be keeping a very low profile in the morning as The Owner seems to have a particularly vengeful look in his eye. For that matter I think I may be out quite early in the morning. Just as a precaution. He is in the shed as I write looking for his set of sweeps rods. It could be a long evening I think!

A Good Night's Sleep

I have to report that The Owner's new bean bag is indeed a very comfortable and warm place to rest your weary bones. 

Yesterday The Owner managed to coax some life out of a particularly recalcitrant computer after several days and a whole lot of money spent arguing with it. So by last night he was feeling the relief and opted to go to bed a little earlier than usual. The computer seems to have learnt its lesson as it is still working and he has already given me a headache as he thumps away on the keyboard above me here in the office this morning. 

Last night, as if in some way to offer recompense for disappearing off to bed and leaving me, he gave me a mint flavoured chewey stick with the usual caustic comment of "Here you are dog breath!" which I pretended to ignore. Now I like to take my chewey sticks somewhere nice to chomp on and don't enjoy them so much when chomped just any old where, and that was when the idea hit me. The Owner, you may recall, has a new bean bag upstairs in our second living room. Now I quite like it up there, even though I am not really supposed to be upstairs. The windows are much lower and if I sit on the floor by them I can survey the scene across the farm as I plot my next patrol. So I waited a few minutes, with my chewey stick in my mouth, and tried to ignore the dribble which was escaping, until I thought he may be asleep. I thought about adopting the full-on charge up the stairs but instead went for the stealth approach. One paw on one step.. wait.... then another paw on another step..wait again, until the climb was complete. It all went well and the sleeping behemoth I know as The Owner, was still snoring for England in his bedroom, I had made it! So I clambered up on to the new bean bag and decided to put in an extra turn around before laying down, just for good measure. Then I enjoyed a good old chomp on my chewey stick. It was good! I noticed also that curled up on the bean bag I could see across the fields all the activity during the night. I noticed a very active badger run which I have made note of for a quick patrol later, just in case there is any badger poo, for the rolling in. Also I noticed a fox, who apeared to be, well, performing. We don't get too much fox poo around here to roll in so I have made note of that too.... then slumber overcame me. It was a pleasant nights sleep, and warm, so I slept well and nearly got caught out this morning when The Owner started to stir. So I scurried on down stairs and quickly curled up on my duvet to make it look as though I had been there over night. The result was convincing I thought, but it was never witnessed just how convincing my efforts were. The Owner, just out of bed, was bellowing from upstairs. "JACK" he said (I use capital letters to emphasise his volume) "COME HERE!!!". I am getting the feeling already that I am in trouble. So I crept up the stairs, as much on my belly  as I could manage. When I got to the top I poked my head around the corner of the stairs with a little wag of my tail, just the tip you understand, to see The Owner, hands on hips, fresh out of bed (not a pretty sight first thing in the morning), pointing in a very accusing manner at the bean bag. "Is that something to do with you?" Old Hawk Eyes had spotted the end of a chewey stick lying in the middle of the bean bag. Damn I missed some! I thought about going and getting it from the bean bag and finishing my snack but thought discretion would be by far the better option and crept downstairs again. Hopefully with his computer working now at a furious pace he will soon forget about where I spent the night. Otherwise it could be  long day here in the studio.

Filling The Bean Bag

Having cleared up the first attempt at filling the bean bag and still having the best part of three quarters of the bag of little white 'beans' still to be transferred into their final destination The Owner was becoming inventive. With a fist full of cable ties deployed about the bags and a self righteous expression upon his face he started to pour the 'beans'. After a few minutes of pouring, the bag of beans was empty and the bean bag was now kind of full (ish) and The Owner stood there with a self satisfied smug look across his face of a job well done. "There you are Jack", he said, "I knew I could do it!". I'll let you be the judge of that I think.....

The Bean Bag Has Arrived!

The Owner had really impressed me after the arrival from his new best friend Barney yesterday. He rummaged around in one of the boxes and found a piece of paper. The kind of piece of paper that he usually only reads after it has all gone horribly wrong and whatever it was would no longer work out of utter confusion over which button he had pressed and what he was expecting it then to do. He then READ the piece of paper!!! This was a first! He then went on to his favourite website for finding out how to do things, Youtube, and watched several short videos on how to put the contents from one box into the contents of the other box. "That all looks simple enough!" he said. Which to be honest is usually the precursor to things becoming quite complicated, as a rule. I noticed on the videos that the operation required two people, and whilst The Owner may be the size of two people in so many ways, he is just one. There then followed many phone calls which were all very similar. "Hi, are you busy in the morning? Hello? Hello? Hellooooo? Huh, lines gone dead!" There then followed the statement I always dread, "Well it can't be that hard with just one of you. 

Let me explain. In one box there was a bean bag and the other was the beans, although they didn't look that edible to me.. So we make a start... put elephants trunk end of bag inside bean bag... and then stand up. Elephants trunk end of bag falls out of bean bag.... so do half the beans in the bag before he noticed. He stood there for half an hour scratching he head trying to work out how he was going to get all the escapees rounded up and back into the bean bag, particularly when all the little white beans didn't like him so much and rolled away when he put his hands anywhere near them.

It took nearly an hour but he managed to corral the little white "Beans" in the corner and get all the escapees into the new bean bag. He still has that defiant 'I can do that' look about him at the moment and although I really should be going out on patrol about now, out of shear morbid curiosity, I can't help myself, I am going to have to stay and watch the circus unfold.