I may be gone some time........

Well it’s ‘au revoir’ folks for a while. My mum explains it all on her blog here Henry the Dog's Mum. I think things aren’t going too well for her and UHugh, but they could be much worse. I’m going into the kennels whilst she goes over to the UK, but even when I get back I may not be able to blog for a while.

In the meantime, I want to thank Dumdad from The Other Side of Paris for two more awards.

As you know, I don’t normally pass awards on, but this time I’m going to make an exception. I’m going to pass them both on and bugger the rules that are attached to each award. It won't hurt for once to break them.

All my human bloggers have got cupboards full of trophies, and all well deserved, so you don’t need any.

So, I’m going to pass these awards on to all my doggy pals – and if I forget any of you, pop along and pick them up anyway

The first one is the Premio Dardos Award. Premio Dardos apparently means “prize darts” in Spanish. It is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. That can't be me - it sounds much too grand, but hey, what the hell. I AM grand. And so are my doggy pals.

The second award is this one.


The premise of this award is blogs that one couldn't miss each morning.

So they BOTH go to:

Life of Stubby Stubby’s a real ‘eco warrior’ and very good pal.

Clive who is a true hero, a working dog who brings a ray of sunshine into the life of ‘Little Man’

Frankly Speaking – my friend Frankie Furter – a little Daschund who does stuff for charity and makes me feel humble.

Minnie-Moo – the rescue lab, who’s simply great fun and quite a babe.

Detroit Dog – because they do good things for dogs and it was one of the first blogs I started to follow

Ruby Isabella Jones – I love her philosophy, and she’s also a babe.

Scruff the Wonder Dog – a new find, and mum thinks he’s cute.

Baby Vodka – mum says he’s the cutest mini schnauzer she’s seen (other than me of course)

Finding Sirius – a lovely blog about a rescue dog & other rescue dogs & worthy causes – you must pop over there and have a look. The photographs and stories are enchanting.

NONE OF YOU HAS TO PASS THE AWARDS ON. They’re simply for you to keep in your trophy cupboard.

Ok, so I’ll be off.

Au revoir & HOPE to see you again one day soon.

(I'll be lurking)

Life in the year 3000

Mum and Uncle Hugh were talking about some strange stuff last night whilst they were drinking their grape juice at the bar. It’s not really a bar. They call it ‘the bar’ it’s just a wooden sideboard thingumajig that they put their drinks on whilst they stand chatting. I think it represents a pub they used to go to in the UK on a Friday night and ‘prop the bar up’ as Uncle Hugh used to put it. They don’t have pubs in France. Not in these parts.
Anyway…I’m digressing.

So, as I was saying, they were talking about strange stuff. They were talking about what life might be like in the year 3000. It made my doggy brain a bit dizzy thinking about it, because we’re only in 2009, right? So 3000 seems like a long way away. Considering I can only count up to 10. I wonder if we’ll still be living in France? I mean, I’ve only been alive for (nearly) four years and I’ve already lived in three countries, so I doubt it somehow knowing my mum. I reckon by the year 3000 we might have lived in quite a few more places.
Anyway….I’m digressing again.

They were talking about stuff like time travel, and whether or not it will be possible in 3000. They were talking about virtual reality and how people wouldn’t go on real holidays because there wouldn’t be any point when all they’d have to do is log into the latest ‘Holiday’ software programme. They were talking about cities being built inside pods. They were talking about humans being microchipped at birth. What’s new about that? I was microchipped not long after I was born. That’s hardly rocket science n’est-ce pas?

I started wondering about what life will be like for a dog in 3000. Maybe we’ll have flying beds. I could sit in my bed and press a button and it could fly from the kitchen to the lounge and back again. That’d be fun. Maybe they’ll invent special toys that never wear out and would morph into something different whenever I get bored with them. Or maybe we’ll be taken on virtual walks and play with virtual toys. That wouldn’t be much fun, but young dogs wouldn’t know any different would they? Not if they were born in those days.

What do you think life will be like in the year 3000?

As long as I’m not expected to eat virtual food, I think I’ll cope.

Mum found me cuddled up on the sofa yesterday:

I asked her to tickle my tum:

Then I had a stretch:

A grand day out

It was Mother’s Day yesterday in the UK so I decided to celebrate it here in France too and took mum out for a picnic.

Ok…ok…it wasn’t MY decision. Not exactly. It was Uncle Hugh’s – but I had been transmitting thought-waves his way. I’d been thinking really hard, “Take mum out somewhere nice” because they’d not done anything together for a while and mum seemed a bit maudlin.

Anyway, I knew something was going on because mum was packing plates and knives & forks and stuff and so I got all giddy because I reckoned it was going to be a PICNIC and when there’s a PICNIC mum sometimes stops being strict and she lets Uncle Hugh give me titbits. So I ran round and round in a hyper way, and mum called me “Crazy Dog” and blamed it on the Haribo Jellies that Uncle Hugh had given me the night before.

Then we all piled into the car and I was a bit miffed ‘cause when Uncle Hugh is in the car with mum, I’m relegated to the back seat. I don’t like the back seat ‘cause once mum had to brake really quickly for a bad French motorist and I flew off the seat and shot under the passenger seat and bumped my head. Now mum always puts my bed on the back seat (for “padding”) and makes Uncle Hugh put his passenger seat right back, so I can’t slip under it, then she puts a pillow in the space between the drivers seat and the back seat. Bloody palaver. If she’d just buy one of those posh doggy safety seats, it’d do the trick. But mum’s skint at the moment. But she wasn’t once…..I’m digressing.

Then we set off.

We ended up in this lovely place, where we went for a long walk by the side of a canal, and there were loads of new smells. I get excited about new places because there’s always new stuff to sniff.

Then we had to find mum somewhere to pee. She found a big bush.

Then we found this picnic spot and there was a boat called Henri. Honest. We all laughed. Here it is:

It was a great picnic. I found some really old bread and meat that had been left by another picnic, some time ago judging by the smell of the meat – mum said “DROP!” in her Alpha Bitch voice. I swallowed.

There were some ducks too, but they were scolding me in a very strange language, and it wasn’t French, they were going “NYAKNYAKNYAKNYAKNYAK”. Naughty little buggers. I would have given them the finger if I had one.

On the way back mum got a bit lost but she's glad she did because she found a lovely little village, where we had a stroll. It was great. There were tons of dog poo on the pavements. Mum stood in some and said "Shit!". Quite appropriate n'est-ce pas?

Here's that lovely little village with the poo:

Here’s a butt shot for my lady fans – I’m not keen on water – I was a tad wary.

Here’s me waiting for titbits.


Here’s another gratuitous butt shot.

Yep, it was a grand day out

Not going to the kennels this week

I’m not going to the kennels, I’m staying here this week. Mum has just let me know and I’m really chuffed, because it means I can have ‘Fingers of Fun’ and Haribo Jellies with Uncle Hugh this evening.

The trouble is, I’d not planned to post anything on my blog other than to say ‘Goodbye Folks’ so now I’m a bit lost for words, which isn’t like me. So you can either go over to mum's blog and see what she has to say on the matter or you can simply enjoy the photos.

Me having a rest:

Mum discovered this one of me as a pup - she found it on UHugh's old mobile phone, it's the only one she has:



This one is proof that even cats love me.....



Right I'm going for a walk now with mum. See you Sunday.

I've been poorly and Mum nearly choked.

That's me looking a bit sorry for myself. I'm alright now.

I’ve been vomiting. Well, I’m a dog, so it happens from time to time. We dogs tend to eat stuff that we shouldn’t. In fact, when we vomit we even eat that – sorry folks. Too much info, I know. But eating stuff we shouldn’t is what we do best. Mum always says “DROP!” in her very firm Alpha Bitch voice if she sees me eating stuff that I find when we’re out walking, but I’ve worked out that when she says, “DROP!” if I swallow at that point, she simply sighs and says, “You little bugger.” So, I tend to get away with it unless it’s too big to swallow, then I have to drop it. Then I get praise but she doesn’t give me a treat to compensate for dropping the tasty morsel, so I sometimes wonder if it’s worth doing as I’m told.

Anyway, as I said, I’ve been vomiting because I found some really old stuff that smelled quite strong and made me think of very dead things.

Luckily, mum’s house has tiled floors.

So, I ate lots of grass and vomited that up too. Uncle Hugh said “Yuk!” Mum said “Fook!” Mum cleaned it up. Mum always does.

Then mum nearly choked. Uncle Hugh gave her a piece of ham and she started chewing then all of a sudden, she stood up and said, “I’ve got a problem”.

Don’t tell her, but I laughed my socks off. I know it wasn’t supposed to be funny but her face went all red and she started shaking and panicking and flapping her hands around like something injured whilst saying to Uncle Hugh
“It’s stuck, it’s stuck. It feels as if it’s hovering between my ossofoguss and my windpipe (what’s an ossofoguss?) if it goes the wrong way do you know the highmlick manoover?” (what’s that?) I think mum’s been Googling stuff again. She tends to have stuff wrong with her after a session of Googling.

Anyway, Uncle Hugh says, “Of course I do, stop panicking. Here, eat some bread.” And I’m wondering why eating bread would help. So she starts eating bread and drinking water and her hands are shaking and she’s saying, in a rather screechy strangled voice, “It’s still there, it’s not going, it’s getting worse….” Then she coughed and this great big lump of ham shot out of her mouth and onto the floor, and I thought “Yum!” so I ate it.

They both looked at me as if I were some kind of grotesque monster and I’m thinking “What?” I mean, I reckon it was fair game. She didn’t want it, did she? It had been upsetting her. She seemed glad to have got rid of it.

The Law According to Henry – if it falls on the floor, it’s fair game, unless mum says, “LEAVE!” first in her Alpha Bitch voice.

Now for a cute video of me trying to get mum’s attention whilst she was on the computer yesterday morning. I was hungry after all that vomiting.

Trying it on? Moi?

Trying it on? Moi?

Mum says I’ve been “Trying it on” a few times since I got back from the kennels all shorn and cute. How COULD she? I’m not like that. Would I?

Ok, I concede, perhaps I HAVE been trying it on – a tad.

As you know, a couple of weeks up to my going into the kennels my fur was very long and dense and we had a few warm sunny days. Hence, quite a few times into my daily walk (usually on the way back) I’d get all overheated and feel a bit light-headed. So I’d fling myself down into some shade and refuse to budge. When mum tried to get me to move I’d give her my “How could you torture something as cute as me?” look.

Result? Mum would telephone Uncle Hugh and he’d come in mum’s car and pick us up. I’d get a nice cool ride back home – the aircon blowing a lovely cool breeze on my hot brow. Result!

Well. As you know, my coat is now shorn and whilst it’s been sunny, it’s not been that warm, so I’ve not got that as an excuse. BUT – mum walks fast. Mum is also walking faster than usual – something to do with making up for eating and drinking like a pig in the UK. Was she???? I must read her blog. Anyway, she walks fast, and every walk is at least four miles. She’s got really long legs, mine are short. Plus, I’m running all the time. So I reckon it’s more tiring for me…..(I’ll get to the point eventually)….. So, the last couple of times when I got a bit tired on the way back from my walk I thought that if I looked all hot and bothered and sat down, she’d simply ring Uncle Hugh and “Hey Presto!” little silver car with aircon would come and pick us up.

Wrong! Instead, mum gave me her ‘Knowing’ look and said “You little bugger. I know what you’re doing” at which point I tried to look all innocent and simply panted more, hoping I could fool her. No. It didn’t. A rather hefty tug and a brusque “Walk On!” got me going. I don’t think I’d better ‘Try it on’ again. She’s not daft. Well, not all the time.

Mum and me get excited about different things when we’re out walking.

This is what I get excited about.

Flat, dead frog. It didn’t smell that exciting because it was a bit too fresh. Maybe in a few days time.

This was a bit of used kitchen roll, which smelled of baby sick. Wonderful!

This is what mum gets excited about:

Boring.

This is me trying to get at mum’s socks whilst she’s trying to put them on. I can’t resist socks.

(PS: the weighing scales have been out since they went to the UK - they are slack aren't they?)

I reckon I'm the only dog on this planet with a Dummy

But I might be wrong. I'll await verification of that from the wonderful Dumdad from The Other Side of Paris who awarded me this very prestigious Dummy. Apparently it's the blogging equivalent of an Oscar, so I am well chuffed.

Mum only told me about it yesterday evening, and this is how I reacted (actually I was also getting excited about Uncle Hugh's 'farting hands' - they always make me go a bit hyper). Also, please excuse mum's very noisy and embarrassing laugh (French Fancy, keep muted). I think she was drunk:

Yes, Uncle Hugh is in his Jim Jams again. He is not a slob, honest:)

Hello again everyone.

Well, I’m back and I just want to say that I know about Braja, and at first I was really sad. But then I prayed to God Rex, so everything’s going to be fine – don’t you folks worry. And I’m sending her a special photo of me. So that’ll definitely sort it. She’ll be up and about in no time.

As you can see, I’ve been clipped and I reckon I look like a right ‘babe magnet’. If you remember last time mum picked me up from the kennels I looked a bit like this:



Mum rudely said that I stank and then she put me in the shower. This time she said I look good enough to eat. I don’t think you should take that in the literal sense. Mum says things like that, but she never means them. She also says stuff like “I could kill you, you little bastard”, or, “If you don’t come here RIGHT NOW, I’ll wring your neck.” But I’m still here. She’s all bluster. She’s never laid a finger on me. I don’t take her seriously. Well, I do sometimes. But not often. I humour her, mostly.

Well, you finally met my mum. I love her to pieces but she does have a tendency to go on doesn’t she? She talks a lot my mum. And she’s a bit gushing, but she can’t help that. She does try and rein her ‘over enthusiasm’ back, but sometimes she forgets. Anyway, enough of her. I’m the star. On with the game.

As usual, Kennels was brill and I got thoroughly spoiled by James and Jane. There was also an added bonus that their little pup had a really bad cold, and a constant runny nose. So I helped him out from time to time with that, which made Jane go all religious on me. She kept saying “Oh my God” every time I did it. Her little pup’s just the right height at the moment.

Rog wasn’t there. Pity. But I had loads of bitches in my harem this time. One, called Lulu, was a Pomeranian crossed with a Yorkie. Now she was a strange looking thing. She looked a bit like a bedraggled ‘pompom’. But she was quite cute in a dirty way, and she spoke good English.

Lulu taught me about False Friends. She called them “foesamee”. False Friends are French words that seem to be the same as English ones, but they aren’t. And you can get yourself in a bit of a pickle if you don’t know them. She said that there is one false friend that us English folk get wrong a lot. And that is ‘préservatif’. She says that in France it means ‘condom’, which is a bit rude (I found out). Now I know why mum’s friends fell about laughing that morning when mum told them that the jam didn’t have any added preservatives in it.

Here are a few more:

Actuellement – in French means ‘at the present time’, whereas when we say ‘actually’ we sometimes use it to mean ‘in fact’, which is actually ‘en fait’ in French.

Ballot – means a bundle or package, not a way of voting.

Ancien – can mean ‘former’ as opposed to old. It depends where it comes – before or after the noun. I don’t know what a noun is (I’m simply quoting Lulu).

Right, I’m a bit bored now. If you’re interested there are a few more HERE.

Meanwhile, I’m off for a much needed walk because I've not had my morning poo yet. And I'd quite like some bonding time with my mum.

It's good to be home and I'm looking forward to catching up with my favourite bloggers.

I'm packed and ready to go....

The bag on the left was a present from the lovely Braja. Before that, mum used to shove my toys and stuff in a common carrier bag. Now I’ve got a proper bag, all the way from India. That's my food tin on the right - the most important thing!

As I said, I’m packed and ready to go. Well, I’m packed, but I’M not ready to go. I’d rather stay here cuddled up in mum’s ironing.

Mum grumbles that I always sit on her ironing. I guess she’s right. It smells nice. It smells like outside.

I’ll be gone until 14th March, but mum will be blogging about her new experiences in the UK – so expect a lot of moaning…..only kidding. To be fair to her, she seldom moans. But she does rant from time to time.

Au Revoir and see you soon.

MUM’S BLOG: Henry the Dog's Mum – why not drop in and say hello?

My mum's a dummy!

Are you a dummy like mum?

Mum bought this book to try and learn stuff so that one day folk might think she’s intelligent. It’s not worked, she’s in a right tizz. Uncle Hugh’s in Switzerland so I’m having to put up with her all by myself and she was almost CRYING this morning after reading it. Her face looked all hot and red.

“This is for Dummies,” she cried, “and I still don’t understand it. That means I’m less than a Dummy. What’s less than a Dummy? Billy no brains? I don’t think there’s anything rattling around up here, Henry. I think it’s empty. Tell me you think I’m smart, please….” and she started blubbering.

Well, what could I say? Nothing, of course. I just looked at her. Then she had the cheek to say, “Stop looking at me as if I were an injured puppy!” Honestly, it’s not even PMS time. If it was, I could understand, but it isn’t.

Why does she want to know stuff about Physics anyway? And what did she really expect? That she’d read it and ‘hey presto’ she’d turn into a Rocket Scientist? I wanted to say, “Wait until Uncle Hugh gets home and he’ll explain all the stuff you can’t understand.” Then after thinking about how that simple, harmless sentence might have been received, I thought that perhaps it’s a good job I can’t speak.

I think she might be a bit anxious about going back to the yUK this Sunday. She might be worried about how she’ll fit back into a 9-5 office role and wondering what it is she’ll actually be doing. I don’t know. I do know that she’s stressing that she hasn’t got any ‘work clothes’ anymore. Honestly mum, you do stress about some daft things.

I’ve been wondering about my blogging when I’m away. I can’t imagine having much to blog about. Between you, me and the gatepost it’s fairly mundane in the kennels. All the stuff that goes on is very doggy, and not stuff that you humans would understand. I don’t think you’d appreciate me explaining all the vagaries of my doggy pals, especially when most of them simply don’t apply to humans. It’d be like talking gobbledegook to you. Most of my posts have been inspired by my life with mum and Uncle Hugh. There’s only so much you can explain to humans about the complexities of scent, and stuff like that.

So, I’ve been thinking about encouraging mum to blog whilst I’m away. I think it would be cathartic for her – so that she could get stuff off her chest whilst she ventures into her new life back in old yUK.

Obviously, she wouldn’t take over from me. After all, I’m the star. She could have her own blogsite that I’d link to where you folk could visit, and then I’d start blogging again when I get back. I’m having a think. Your comments/suggestions would be appreciated.

We went for a walk when she stopped crying and it was pissing it down. It’s all right for mum, she had her waterproofs on, I simply had my fur – here are a couple of photos of me looking very wet:

And here's one of me yesterday when I stopped mid-walk and refused to go any further because it was TOO WARM! Honestly, this weather.

It's hailing at the moment. Doesn't know what to do with itself.

Dishing the dirt on mum

A few days ago, our good friend French Fancy did a post about her Waste Bin. Sounds like a strange thing to do a post about but we bloggers do post about strange stuff sometimes, don’t we? Anyway, as mum was reading it, she started chewing her bottom lip guiltily and she gave me a few sidelong glances as if wondering what I was thinking, then she went straight into the kitchen, had a look at her bin and said “Oh fook!” whilst shaking her head.

I sneaked in afterwards, had a good look at it myself, and took a few photos. No wonder she was shaking her head. Though I say it myself, being a dog and all, and not minding dirt, IT IS FILTHY.

And no – that is not poo on it below, I had a sniff, it is a bit of curry.



Please don’t think my mum is dirty. She isn’t. Her surfaces and floors are clean and tidy, (though ‘tis true that she does not get into those corners that often, she’s not mad keen on dusting, and there are an abundance of spider’s webs lurking in the beams) but her drawers and cupboards are a mess “..what you can’t see doesn’t hurt…” is her favourite saying when Uncle Hugh complains about the state of them (but does nothing about it himself) and her ironing is presently taking over the spare room. The toilets, however, are so clean I could eat my dinner out of them (mum’s got this ‘thing’ about loos and scrubs them every day). But for some reason the bin has been sorely neglected.

I think that over the next couple of days, it will either be cleaned and bleached to within an inch of its life or it will be replaced. I have a feeling that replaced is going to be mum’s chosen option because mum often takes the easy way out. She’s thrown a few saucepans away in her time because they were too ‘burnt on’ and she couldn’t be bothered to wash them. However, plastic is tight at the moment, so she might end up cleaning it instead.

Mum doesn’t like housework, but she does it because she has to nowadays. When she was working in the UK she had this nice lady called Kath who used to come and do it for her but what made me laugh was that mum used to run around the house tidying it up like crazy before Kath arrived. I could never understand why she cleaned it in readiness for the cleaning lady. Go figure!

Mum’s most hated things are washing pots and ironing. She has a rather unhealthy, fervent attachment to her dishwasher. In the past I’ve known her put it on for only three plates and a mug because she DETESTS washing up. Apparently, it was her ‘job’ when she was a girl and it damaged her for life. I would be SERIOUSLY worried if she had to choose between me and the dishwasher.

Honestly, her carbon footprint must be humongous.

As for ironing. She hates it so much I don’t understand why she doesn’t just throw her clothes away when they’re ready for washing and buy new ones. It would take all the angst out of it wouldn’t it? Or, she could simply wear stuff without ironing it. Do those creases look so bad? They certainly don’t bother me.

A few more things mum hates: washing the car - I think I told you before, she never EVER washes it, she just buys a new one eventually. She always has silver cars because she says they don't show the dirt. The inside is the same. Filthy. Uncle Hugh calls it her 'skip'.

Mum doesn't like changing the duvet cover either. She'll change the sheets and the pillow cases regularly but refrain from changing the duvet cover until she absolutely has to - hence there are never any pretty matching pillowcases and covers on mum and Uncle Hugh's bed.

Mum hates doing windows too. They've lived in this house in France since December 2006 and she's only done the big window once (picture of me looking through it below) and the other windows - never. They are surprisingly clean, perhaps it's the clean air around these parts.

What mum does love - vacuuming. She says it gives her a feeling of satisfaction seeing and hearing all those bits being sucked up. I'm a bit wary of our vacuum. It's quite powerful and long and snake-like and I have visions of me being sucked up it and never finding my way back, so when the vacuum's out. I make myself scarce.

What’s your most hated chore? I don’t have any chores, because I’m a kept dog. Not a working one, like some.

Here are some more photos of me from behind because I got so many folk admiring my butt last time I thought I’d keep my ‘fans’ happy.

Me noseying out of the main window with my friend "Buddah guy", who's about my size.

Van Gogh's Ear, Rugby and Spring

I’ve been given an award by Detroit Dog who I admire because they’re really into animal rights and welfare and actually do stuff to help as opposed to merely talking a good talk. I think it’s a bit bizarre being given an ear as an award when I’m usually given ears as a chewy treat (no, this one isn’t edible, I tried), but then again you can’t get much more bizarre than a blogging dog n’est-ce pas?

“The Van Gogh's Ear Award is for blogs that are making a difference in the blogosphere," its creator said, "We are all artists in our own way, be it art, photography, writing, philosophy, comedy, or blogging, and we all go a little crazy sometimes.... Always remember you're unique. Just like everyone else."

I can’t believe that my blog actually makes a difference, all I do is tell you stuff about my day or my mum’s day, and sometimes I don’t do it that often – you’re right Braja I’ve been a slack bastard for not posting since Thursday but I blame that on Rugby and Spring. More later.

Anyway, I want to say thanks for the award, it makes me feel all humble and shy when I get awards because I honestly don’t feel worthy. I certainly don’t feel like an artist. I can’t paint or draw for toffee and I certainly wouldn’t inflict my poetry on you.

However, blogging has enriched my life. Well, I mean other folks’ blogs have made my life richer. I’ve learned so much whilst I’ve been blogging. My knowledge really has expanded. I still wouldn’t be able to develop a cure for cancer or create anything worthwhile but I reckon I’d get a few more questions right on “Who wants to be a millionaire”. And I’ve made so many friends. I feel as if I’m part of a community. I was a bit isolated before when it was just mum, Uncle Hugh and me.

Right, on with the game. Ha! No pun intended. I mean, I did mention Rugby above. Well, Rugby and Spring are the reasons I’ve not blogged since Thursday. More about Spring in a sec. I’ve been watching the Six Nations with mum and Uncle Hugh. Rugby Union is the only sport they like to watch. I’ve tried to ‘get’ it, but I don’t. What is the point of thirty guys running around on a field, getting progressively more muddy, throwing and kicking an odd shaped ball around and beating each other up in the process? I ask you? What IS the point? Between you and me, I reckon mum watches it because she likes the guys. She pretends she’s interested in the actual game, and she’ll talk a technical talk, then suddenly she’ll say something like “Wow, look at those thighs…” and Uncle Hugh’ll give her a sidelong glance and we’ll give each other a knowing wink.

Another thing, Spring really has sprung here. Look:

So mum’s been taking me on lots of walks. We’ve walked and walked because the weather has been so lovely. Yesterday it was too hot. YES – too hot. For me and my shaggy coat anyroad. I actually flung myself down on the ground in a bit of shade and gave mum my “I’ve had enough” look, so she had to ring Uncle Hugh and he picked us up in the car and drove us back. It happens when I’ve got too much hair and the sun’s shining. I’m only little, so I get overheated really easily, which is why I need clipping. Mum felt guilty, I could tell. AND SO SHE SHOULD. She’s a terrible mum sometimes.

Well, we got back and when I’d cooled down mum and Uncle Hugh stood in the garden drinking their grape juice whilst the sun when down and I had a mosey round. Here are a few photos of me moseying.

Below are a couple of video clips of me on my walk – mum says I’m full of testosterone at the mo. I don’t know what that is but she says it’s what’s making me kick my back legs when I’ve peed. I only do it in the spring, apparently. They’re only short clips Lee. Seconds, literally. Have a lovely Sunday everyone. I think we might be having a Rugby free day today. Thank goodness!