….yes she is and I am hugely embarrassed. As you know, I got clipped when I was away. Well, Claire gave me the same clip as she gives me in the summer (i.e. SERIOUSLY short) because mum thought it would be ok. Our house is snug and when we go out for a walk I can run around and keep warm because mum always takes me where I can go ‘off lead’. The trouble is, on Friday the under-floor heating in the kitchen stopped working.
When things stop working in France it is a BIG thing for mum. In France, things tend to stop working either for good or for a VERY long time. Mum’s experience with French tradesmen is this i) find one who wants to actually do some work (will take at least three weeks), ii) persuade said tradesman to come to house to look at problem (usually takes at least six telephone calls), iii) French tradesman cancels first three appointments, iv) when said tradesman finally turns up he is late, v) French tradesman huffs and puffs, looks very serious and says it is a very difficult job, vi) French tradesman can’t fit job in for another six weeks, vii) when French tradesman finally does the job it takes all of two minutes and as she hands over €1000 mum realises that she’s been seriously fleeced and for a fleeting second wishes that she still lived in the UK where she would never have allowed any tradesmen to fleece her but in the UK she didn’t have what she calls “…the language barrier…”. The trouble is, mum is crap at DIY and Uncle Hugh is even worse. Mum can change a light bulb; Uncle Hugh can if he’s supervised.
Anyway, I’m digressing. So, the under-floor heating conks out and in this part of France, we are experiencing a seriously cold snap. And I mean seriously cold. Uncle Hugh had told mum his car had registered minus 10 on Thursday morning and Friday wasn’t much warmer. Yesterday morning as mum and Uncle Hugh were having breakfast mum looked at me and said, as if she were REALLY surprised, “…Oh my God, he’s shivering...” I’m thinking ‘...yes I fooking am, it’s bloody freezing.You two are rugged up to the eyeballs and I’ve only got two millimeters of fur between the freezing air and my skin, why are you so surprised?” But obviously I couldn’t say that so she kept saying, “Oh my God, he’s shivering. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have told her to clip him so close. Oh, I’m so STUPID. What can I do?” I’m thinking “...you can feed me some of that croissant and butter that you’re eating, that’d put some fuel in my belly…” but no, I got my usual meagre portion of Royal Canin – I put weight on last Summer and for some reason mum still thinks I need to watch what I eat. Does she not realise that one needs to increase one’s calorie intake in the winter months? In the Arctic, the scientists there have to eat 9000 calories a day just to maintain their weight. I’m digressing again.
Well, to cut a very long story short we went shopping (I’ll not bother telling you about going to see Uncle Hugh’s new flying bus and mum’s hair setting on fire when a burning ember from the open fire at the Aeroclub flew out and landed on her head). Mum and Uncle Hugh took me with them in the car because they thought it might be a bit cold for me if they left me in the house. When we got back home, she presented me with what she called a ‘baby-gro’. “Sorry Henry,” she said, “...it was all I could find at short notice, the pet place didn’t have anything your size...” and she proceeded to dress me in this PINK monstrosity complete with butterfly and teddy-bear motifs on the front of it and she had the cheek to say “That’s better. Isn’t it lovely? Doesn’t he look cute? I wish I had a camera.”
I WISH I HAD A CAMERA? SHE MUST BE KIDDING! I am SERIOUSLY embarrassed and am praying to God Rex that this cold snap goes very quickly. Why couldn’t she have got me something ‘designer’? Something chic? Something cool? I found these on the internet Dog Designer Gear – you must check it out – they’re even being modelled by a Schnauzer like me.
But no – I have to wear a ‘baby-gro’. Will I ever live this down?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
What floats your boat?
I told you a while back that mum got excited about bits of dust being smashed together CERN gets mum excited – I know, I know, bless her – it’s rather tragic isn’t it? Getting excited about dust. Especially as the machine that was going to smash the dust together broke before it actually did it – a bit of an anti-climax, don’t you think? She really does need to get out more. Perhaps it’s her age. Oh well, I’m digressing. I ask what floats your boat because I find it intriguing – what people like to do with their time, or what people get passionate about. So many different things appeal to so many different folk.
Some folk like to throw themselves out of flying cars with a rucksack on their back that’s got a big silk tablecloth type of thing stuffed in it. Some folk like to throw themselves off of high places with a big elastic band attached to their ankle. Some folk like to drive really really fast round and round and round a circuit until they’re dizzy. Some folk like to jump off mountains with a big kite attached to their back. Some folk like to knit.
I get excited about smells. By sniffing a piece of poo I can tell a) what type of animal it came from, b) what sex it was, c) what it had for its dinner, d) whether or not it is suffering from any vitamin or nutrient deficiencies, and e) if it’s got worm or some other parasite infestation. That’s why it’s really important for us dogs to smell our own poo, but humans don’t realise that and simply go “Ugghh….will you STOP doing that!” at least that’s what my mum says when I try to smell mine.
Uncle Hugh gets passionate about flying in his flying car, whereas this flying business doesn’t do anything for my mum. Uncle Hugh sometimes flies to the UK in his little flying car. It takes HOURS and HOURS and HOURS. There are no toilets or nice ladies selling stuff and he could get there much quicker and cheaper by going Ryanair or Easyjet, (which is what mum mutters under her breath when he’s talking about doing it) but he still likes to do it, because it excites him.
As well as colliding dust and Top Gear, mum gets excited about walking, trees, flowers, and stuff like that. In the autumn, she gets very giddy. She’ll start shrieking and jumping up and down and pointing and saying “…look at the colour of those leaves Henry…LOOK….LOOK..” and I’m thinking “Yes, they’re orange…and? Helllooo!!!” I do worry about her. I wish she’d get excited about normal stuff. Why can’t she get excited about handbags or shoes or frocks like her friends do? But no. Dust and leaves… dust and leaves! I shouldn’t be too critical. I guess if we were all the same it would be a pretty boring old world wouldn’t it?
Some folk like to throw themselves out of flying cars with a rucksack on their back that’s got a big silk tablecloth type of thing stuffed in it. Some folk like to throw themselves off of high places with a big elastic band attached to their ankle. Some folk like to drive really really fast round and round and round a circuit until they’re dizzy. Some folk like to jump off mountains with a big kite attached to their back. Some folk like to knit.
I get excited about smells. By sniffing a piece of poo I can tell a) what type of animal it came from, b) what sex it was, c) what it had for its dinner, d) whether or not it is suffering from any vitamin or nutrient deficiencies, and e) if it’s got worm or some other parasite infestation. That’s why it’s really important for us dogs to smell our own poo, but humans don’t realise that and simply go “Ugghh….will you STOP doing that!” at least that’s what my mum says when I try to smell mine.
Uncle Hugh gets passionate about flying in his flying car, whereas this flying business doesn’t do anything for my mum. Uncle Hugh sometimes flies to the UK in his little flying car. It takes HOURS and HOURS and HOURS. There are no toilets or nice ladies selling stuff and he could get there much quicker and cheaper by going Ryanair or Easyjet, (which is what mum mutters under her breath when he’s talking about doing it) but he still likes to do it, because it excites him.
As well as colliding dust and Top Gear, mum gets excited about walking, trees, flowers, and stuff like that. In the autumn, she gets very giddy. She’ll start shrieking and jumping up and down and pointing and saying “…look at the colour of those leaves Henry…LOOK….LOOK..” and I’m thinking “Yes, they’re orange…and? Helllooo!!!” I do worry about her. I wish she’d get excited about normal stuff. Why can’t she get excited about handbags or shoes or frocks like her friends do? But no. Dust and leaves… dust and leaves! I shouldn’t be too critical. I guess if we were all the same it would be a pretty boring old world wouldn’t it?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
I'm back!
Well I’m back. Mum picked me up this morning and I was dead excited and then I vomited all over the back seat. I blame the dodgy hygiene practices of some of the French bitches. I’m really particular about my hygiene and I’m always cleaning myself but some of the bitches I’ve been hanging out with these past few days, well, I won’t go there. Suffice it to say they aren’t very particular.
You humans get all fussed about vomit don’t you? I mean us dogs are really laid back about it. It’s like – “Oh well, breakfast all over again….” Sorry. Too much info, I know. Mum always stops me from ….you know…. But I don’t see the point – if she’d let me she wouldn’t have to go to all that trouble of cleaning it up would she? Ok, I’ll drop the subject.
Two things – number one – I made some new friends and I learned some of that French stuff and – number two – mum is even more sick of the UK than she was before.
I’ll start with mum’s news ‘cause it’s a bit boring so we can end on a good note with mine. Apparently, in the UK, this Mr Brown is cutting VAT to try and help the Credit Munch. I don’t know what VAT is but apparently it means that you can go out and buy a brand new ‘Top of the range’ BMW and it’ll cost about £1000 less than it would have done a week ago. I guess that’s good if you were thinking about buying a brand new ‘Top of the range’ BMW, but if you weren’t then I suppose it makes bugger all difference. Mum reckons that if she lived in the UK she’d be about £2.50 per week better off - in about two years time when the retailers and everyone else have sorted out all the admin to do with this VAT thing and passed on the cuts to the consumers, by which time she says it will have gone back up by 3% anyway. It sounds like a big puzzle to me. Mum said to Uncle Hugh “…why didn’t they simply cut fooking taxes? When they do things like cut VAT it’s obvious that those in charge have no idea how a fooking business is run….” She was a bit mad. Good, everything’s back to normal.
Now my news. Well, I met three bitches – Zoë & Filo - who were both French, and Holly who was English. Holly was new to this kennelling business. She’s what we call an infrequent boarder. I’m a frequent boarder. I’m often in the kennels. Holly was new to it all – you could tell before she even said - she had name-tags on everything. How passé! And her bed and her toys were all newly laundered. Well, I could have laughed my paws off. Bless her. She looked very lost when she arrived so I took her under my wing, so to speak, and gave her the benefit of my wisdom and experience.
Zoë and Filo were from the same house. They had the same owner. They were both terrier types, like me, and we all had a good laugh playing in the field. Even Holly soon relaxed into it. Apart from their dodgy hygiene practices, Zoë & Filo were great. At least that’s what I thought. At the time I thought they were very kind, they even taught me some French. Phuh! Kind! NOT. This morning when I got back and started speaking to Claude and demonstrating my new found French I soon discovered that I’d been taken for a mug. No wonder they laughed delightedly every time I repeated what they were teaching me. There’s me thinking that I’m saying – “Hello, my name is Henry” and “Goodbye, I hope you have a good day,” and “Do you want to play with my toy?” and “I’m English.” No, instead Claude says I’ve been saying “Hello, my name is Henry and I’m an a***hole”, and “Goodbye, I hope your mother rots in hell.” And “Sniff my a*** dickhead” and “I’m a moron.” I WAS MORTIFIED. There's a problem - what Zoë and Filo taught me, I went on to teach Holly. I keep wondering what reaction she’s gonna get from the French dogs around her when she repeats what I’ve taught her. Thank goodness she’s a Rottweiller. I guess they’ll simply pretend they didn’t hear her correctly. You don’t argue with a Rotty do you?
It’s good to be back. I’m looking forward to reading all those blogs that I’ve missed whilst I’ve been away. I’m hoping that the kennels will be online in February then I can keep posting whilst I’m away.
You humans get all fussed about vomit don’t you? I mean us dogs are really laid back about it. It’s like – “Oh well, breakfast all over again….” Sorry. Too much info, I know. Mum always stops me from ….you know…. But I don’t see the point – if she’d let me she wouldn’t have to go to all that trouble of cleaning it up would she? Ok, I’ll drop the subject.
Two things – number one – I made some new friends and I learned some of that French stuff and – number two – mum is even more sick of the UK than she was before.
I’ll start with mum’s news ‘cause it’s a bit boring so we can end on a good note with mine. Apparently, in the UK, this Mr Brown is cutting VAT to try and help the Credit Munch. I don’t know what VAT is but apparently it means that you can go out and buy a brand new ‘Top of the range’ BMW and it’ll cost about £1000 less than it would have done a week ago. I guess that’s good if you were thinking about buying a brand new ‘Top of the range’ BMW, but if you weren’t then I suppose it makes bugger all difference. Mum reckons that if she lived in the UK she’d be about £2.50 per week better off - in about two years time when the retailers and everyone else have sorted out all the admin to do with this VAT thing and passed on the cuts to the consumers, by which time she says it will have gone back up by 3% anyway. It sounds like a big puzzle to me. Mum said to Uncle Hugh “…why didn’t they simply cut fooking taxes? When they do things like cut VAT it’s obvious that those in charge have no idea how a fooking business is run….” She was a bit mad. Good, everything’s back to normal.
Now my news. Well, I met three bitches – Zoë & Filo - who were both French, and Holly who was English. Holly was new to this kennelling business. She’s what we call an infrequent boarder. I’m a frequent boarder. I’m often in the kennels. Holly was new to it all – you could tell before she even said - she had name-tags on everything. How passé! And her bed and her toys were all newly laundered. Well, I could have laughed my paws off. Bless her. She looked very lost when she arrived so I took her under my wing, so to speak, and gave her the benefit of my wisdom and experience.
Zoë and Filo were from the same house. They had the same owner. They were both terrier types, like me, and we all had a good laugh playing in the field. Even Holly soon relaxed into it. Apart from their dodgy hygiene practices, Zoë & Filo were great. At least that’s what I thought. At the time I thought they were very kind, they even taught me some French. Phuh! Kind! NOT. This morning when I got back and started speaking to Claude and demonstrating my new found French I soon discovered that I’d been taken for a mug. No wonder they laughed delightedly every time I repeated what they were teaching me. There’s me thinking that I’m saying – “Hello, my name is Henry” and “Goodbye, I hope you have a good day,” and “Do you want to play with my toy?” and “I’m English.” No, instead Claude says I’ve been saying “Hello, my name is Henry and I’m an a***hole”, and “Goodbye, I hope your mother rots in hell.” And “Sniff my a*** dickhead” and “I’m a moron.” I WAS MORTIFIED. There's a problem - what Zoë and Filo taught me, I went on to teach Holly. I keep wondering what reaction she’s gonna get from the French dogs around her when she repeats what I’ve taught her. Thank goodness she’s a Rottweiller. I guess they’ll simply pretend they didn’t hear her correctly. You don’t argue with a Rotty do you?
It’s good to be back. I’m looking forward to reading all those blogs that I’ve missed whilst I’ve been away. I’m hoping that the kennels will be online in February then I can keep posting whilst I’m away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
