The Downside to a Wagging Tail

There are some responses which are kind of automatic for a K9, stuff you can't stop doing even if you wanted to, like wagging your tail when you feel pleased about something or crawling on your belly and not looking at The Owner when you have eaten something out in the garden that you know The Owner won't approve of but he just hasn't found out yet what it was. That kind of response!

Well you may recall my efforts at waking The Owner the other morning by sneaking upstairs when he got up for a wee and spending the rest of the night curled up on the sheepskin rug I had dragged under the bed. Well I had re-thought the whole matter and decided another attempt at finding that moment when he wakes up and before he gets his grumpy head on. So he was busy most of the evening sorting out someone's computer that seemed to be having a bit of a paddy over who knows what, but when he was finished he poured himself a large glass of something red and sat down. As normal, he sat down, took one sip and fell asleep. This was my moment, I thought! Tee hee! I silently crept up the stairs and after a quick sniff at one or two strange looking garments on his bedroom floor I dragged the sheep skin under the bed again and went to sleep. At close to midnight, with his head hanging over the back of the sofa in a manner likely to give him a stiff neck and with his mouth wide open, his snores finally woke himself up with the kind of snort that normally only a pig would make....hmmm, no, I can see the connection! So I hear him get up, turn the lights out and grumble something about seeing me in the morning and then clamber up the stairs. Tee hee, he hasn't noticed I was not in my bed! The Owner clambered in to his bed and turned the light off and pulled the covers up over his ears. This was where it unravelled slightly for me. I felt generally quite pleased with myself at getting up here and under the bed unnoticed, And what do K9's do when they feel pleased? They wag there tails, that's what! My mind is saying "Don't wag, don't wag!" But the tail clearly has other intentions and starts wagging furiously back and forth and hitting the leg of the bed on every wag. The Owner sat up quickly in his bed and the plan was undone! "You can come out from under there", the voice boomed. I tried to ignore it, but the tail wagged more. "Jack, go downstairs!" The plan was undone, I will have to try another tack tomorrow.

The Morning Roar

This morning started with a roar! The Owner seemed displeased somehow. 

I have recently seen videos of lots of cute cats patting their owners face in an effort to wake them up and then their owner smiles as they open their eyes and see their loyal pet and there are many comments and voice overs that seem to suggest that this kind of awakening is very well received by hoomuns the world over. In The Owners case it must go wrong somewhere between him waking up and him coming down the stairs because by the time he gets to the kitchen he is in a right foul bait. So I thought I would get to him before he descends the stairs and see if I could get the best of his day. At about two this morning I heard him start to fidget upstairs which is followed ten minutes later by him coming downstairs for the inevitable wee. He pays scant attention to me at that time of the day unless I happen to be laying across the doorway of the bathroom door so my disappearance upstairs whilst he was in the bathroom went unnoticed. I went through the upstairs living room and past the beanbag knowing that by the time he gets to the bean bag, and finds me asleep in it, he is already grumpy. I crawled under his bed and dragged a sheepskin rug with me to lie on. The Owner came grumbling back upstairs without any lights on so didn't notice me, although I thought I may have been rumbled when he stopped briefly where the sheepskin rug was and mumbled, "Where the hell has that gone?", but continued to clamber back in to his bed. 

This morning, excited at the prospect of seeing The Owner happy, I was awake at first light. Well it was daylight.... just! So I crept out from under the bed and took a wander across to the wardrobes to get a better look at the slumbering shape of The Owner. Yes! I had timed it right, he was still asleep! So I ran across the bedroom and jumped. So, ok, I did miss my footing a little and tripped over the end of the bed in mid flight and landed in a slightly confused heap on top of The Owner, but I hardly think it warranted his reaction! I thought it best to go downstairs quickly and get back on my duvet quick. I had hopes that he may have put it all down to just a bad dream but judging by the way he threw my breakfast in my dish and the scowl upon his face as he did so, I think his memory is working ok. I will try that again another time, only without the trip!

The Bottle Carrier Unravels

Yesterday The Owner was hard at work all day, doing his Photoshop best for one of his hoomun mates at the pub (I like pubs, have I mentioned that recently?). Payment was to be two bottles of his finest wine. Now unlike The Owner, Pub Hoomun Mate does actually buy fine wines so The Owner worked like a little dervish to get the work done. Mid afternoon Pub Hoomun Mate arrived outside the studio door but wouldn't get out of his car as it was raining hard. The Owner, however, was not about to let a tropical monsoon get in the way of two bottles of fine wine so went rushing out and came back in clutching a rather nondescript box which to my reckoning might have been a bit heavy for just the two bottles. Oh how right was I? This is going to end in tears, mark my words. Inside it were not two, but six bottles of assorted fine wines. The Owner was salivating at the thought of such wines in his wine rack and I suspect that after drinking the first one, his intention was to keep refilling it with cheap plonk to decant and serve to his guests for sometime to come. I took the trouble of looking up the origins of wine and let me just share my findings with you... "The English word 'wine' comes from the Proto-Germanic winam, an early borrowing from the Latin vinum, 'wine' or '(grape) vine', itself derived from the Proto-Indo-European stem win-o." I think that last bit says it all somehow. Himself, having established that the quality of these wines, but particularly the price, was worthy of more public display than carrying them home in a rather nondescript cardboard box, decided that folks may see more of what he was carrying on his journey home, if he put them all in a Sainsbugs cardboard wine carrier for the journey. Well the journey home was a very wet affair with the tropical monsoon really getting into the swing of things, and, well, let me put it this way. What is the end result of carrying six heavy wine bottles loaded into a wine carrier made with cheap recycled cardboard when it is the monsoon season? Well, let me just say that his mood was a little sombre yesterday evening... and sober!

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!