Mountain dog

Yep, that's what he is alright.

Henry and I (and assorted members of The Family) walked up Scafell Pike on Saturday - for a short while he was the highest dog in England.

The weather was 'orrible (it nearly blew my step-dad over, and he is 6'7" tall and built like the ex-second-row player that he is), and it rained upwards. Oh, and it turns out my waterproof jacket isn't, and my boots have sprung a leak. We got thoroughly cold, damp, and all our muscles ache. Even Henry was cold - and he went through all the cold last winter without so much as a shiver! Also, my mum managed to fall over twice on the way down, and has announced that she has a massive bruise on a rather tender area as a result. Oh and we didn't get a view either - the low cloud meant visibility was down to about ten metres or so - except for the moments when the cloud cleared which were just magic.

In short, it was bloody brilliant, and I can't wait to go walking again. Although I will be getting new boots and a new jacket first - and Henry will be taking his dog jumper as well, just in case!

Sadly no pictures, as the camera got as wet as everything else did!

One other thing - I could not believe the sheer lack of preparation of some people we saw - from the tourists with umbrellas (I thought I was seeing things!) to the people in jeans, no waterproofs and fashion trainers (who looked universally cold and miserable, unsurprisingly). It's no wonder the local Mountain Rescue team are so busy - in fact we saw a Mountain Rescue volunteer heading up there as we came down. I suspect he was checking everyone was off the mountain safely - either that or he's come screeching to a halt in the valley on seeing a pink brolly bobbing up the mountain and was in hot pursuit of its hapless owner! You only have to read their callouts list to see that some people are really not prepared for much more than a walk to the shops when they set off up the mountain.

I can't currently walk downstairs without wincing, but I can't wait to get back up there!

Oooops

Henry has had a home haircut this week. It did not go according to plan.

Up until now Henry's hair has been in the car of a lovely and highly professional groomer. Every couple of months, he would go into the grooming parlour and a couple of hours later he would emerge, smelling sweet and looking smart. Sadly this was not a cheap service, and as times are tight (and I have a deep-rooted dislike of handing over money that could be spent on essentials like chocolate or new socks) I decided it was time to get proactive with the clippers.

So it was that with my borrowed clippers, I set out on this new project last night. After I got the hang of it, it was relatively straightforward, so, encouraged, I got the scissors out and started trimming his paws, legs, ears and tail.

Unfortunately that was where it went wrong - while snipping at the feathering on Henry's hind leg I got a bit carried away and accidentally snipped the skin! Henry was very stoic about it (Bloody hurt though - Henry) but I feel terrible about it. Poor Henry!

Here's hoping this haircut lasts a long time, I don't want to have to go through all that again any time soon (You and me both! - Henry).

Not a happy camper

Henry has many, varied revolting habits, most of which I can now regard dispassionately (having a dog is a fantastic way of strengthening the stomach). But there is one that I really cannot be doing with at all: his unfortunate liking for rolling in fox poop.

There are a few theories for just why dogs do this. Some say it is a way of trying to conceal their own scent from potential prey (but then, why roll in the poop of another predator?). Others think it is a reaction to the fantastic smell - they get so overwhelmed that they cannot help but dive straight into the delicious substance. My theory is that he does it because he is a disgusting little bugger with unsavoury habits who likes to wind me up, but that's just me!

Whatever the answer, the sequence of events is unvarying: Henry is suddenly spotted flinging himself to the ground repeatedly, then, once he has ground enough into his scruff and ears (generally just at the point I manage to reach him to chase him off) he comes running up grinning like a loon. He is then relegated to the boot of the car for the journey home rather than the front seat, and then has to be dragged into the back garden, tied up to a handy bush and hosed off with cold water and tomato ketchup (which removes the smell) and then baby shampoo. This is always accompanied by heart-rending howls and scrabbling as he tries to get away - one of these days I'm sure the RSPCA will show up (And it will serve you right - Henry).

The upside to this is that for a few short hours I have a sweet smelling Johnsons Baby spaniel - the downside is that I have to take hm out again soon... and of course before long it will be too chilly for outdoor baths and I'll have to put him in the bath upstairs. Argh!






If looks could kill...














I would be...



















nothing more than a smoking crater...

















but he brings it all on himself!

Wet feet!

What happened to summer? Somebody give it back!

It has been raining on and off (mainly on) all day here, which poses a special problem for me - that of soggy feet. You see, last year my parents bought me a set of new boots - Rydale Malhams - for my birthday. The idea being that these would last for ages, ushering in a new age of warm, dry feet for me (I'm one of those who spends all winter with at least one numb toe at all times). And so they did. For a few months. But then the sole started coming away from the upper, and now the merest sniff of a raindrop leads to mass leaking and soggy socks. Hmph. I am Not Pleased - all I can say is, save your money, they are bloody rubbish!

So at the moment I am saving frantically for a pair of Dubarrys (cost: the earth, the moon on a stick and your first born child) in the hope that these will do the job (and the certainty that if they don't I will be on a plane to Galway to complain in person). I am planning on getting a pair in October. Until then, I am wrapping a plastic bag around each foot every time it rains (the glamour) and squelching.

So if anyone has a 'rain go away' dance they could perform for me to keep it dry between now and then, I would be most grateful for the assistance in avoiding Trench Foot!

The 'S' word

We had our first go at a gundog scurry today. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear - never again!

Henry went straight for the dummy - for about two strides. Then he veered off into the lake - the one covered in green scum of course (Yum - Henry). Then he changed his mind about a dip (phew!) and headed in the right direction, but then went straight past the dummy and went to say hello to the nice men with the starting pistol and all the other dummies. Then he grabbed another dummy, and took it for a run around the arena to make sure everyone saw it, then headed out of the arena again, before heading back in, now minus the dummy and being tackled by the lady with the microphone giving a running commentary to the rather large audience.

I may be reliving this in the small hours of the morning for some time to come.

On the upside, apparently he's going to fit right in at the shoot we are going to...!



This is the certificate recording a very long two minutes and five seconds... and below is the mutt that earned it!

Second post of the evening!

Just decided that now would be the ideal time to get Henry used to gunfire, so searched on Youtube for some driven shoot day vids.

We started with the speakers turned down, and he went to sleep on the sofa (Well it was a boring video - Henry). So prodded him awake, and cranked the volume up to max - still, not a glimmer of a reaction.

So decided to make it interesting with a dummy or two - basically whenever a loud shot went off I chucked a dummy across the room then sent him after it. By the end of the second video, we were using two dummies at once and I was directing him to the appropriate one.

I always said he'd be great if I could hold a shoot in my living room!

A breakthrough!

Henry has a thing about bunnies. He just loves 'em. In particular, he loves chasing the dratted things.

This is less that desirable in a gundog, since they are supposed to be steady to fur (i.e. bunnies), feather (i.e. birds) and livestock (i.e. errrmmm.... livestock). Are you paying attention Henry? Steady! I said STEADY! STOP! GET YOUR HAIRY LITTLE ARSE BACK HERE! And so on.

Today however, with the aid of the Best Treat Ever (roast chicken skin) Henry successfully walked to heel past a rabbit warren, with actual rabbits actually up ahead in actual sight. Wow. Just wow! What a Good Boy.

May these be the first wibbly wobbly steps towards getting a steadier dog (As long as you keep making with the chicken skin, we'll all stay friends - Henry).

Free range spaniels!

I nearly just acquired a second dog!

My route home from work goes along a lane through a gorgeous tiny village - it's literally just a few houses, a green, a farm and a church. The lane is quiet but a few people use it as a cut-through around rush hour time.

As I was going through there this evening, I saw a little blue roan cocker trotting along the verge all by itself - not a human in sight. Couldn't just leave it, so pulled over, stuck my hazards on and called it over to me.

Well, it was just gorgeous. She (as I discovered she was) was so friendly and happy to see a nice human, she came scampering up for a fuss and was happy to be handled and stroked. However she had no collar on - which posed a problem. As a friend whose dog nearly lost its nose will confirm, Henry is great with other dogs BUT he doesn't really like sharing car space, and as the boot of my car is rammed with junk and the back seat is currently housing a wooden pallet on which I shall be storing firewood, space for a second dog is limited. So I opened the passenger door of the car, and while Henry and the wee stray were having a snog (But I luuuurved her - Henry) I furtled Henry's slip lead over her head. Then I shut Hen back in the car (How could you do it to me? - Henry) and took our new friend off to knock on doors, in the hope that someone would recognise her.

Well, we traipsed from house to house to house - no one was in, everyone was at work. At this point I was starting to worry - how on earth was I going to get her and Henry to my vet safely to scan for a microchip - and what if she didn't have one?

Fortunately, the fifth or sixth house we went to had got an occupant who recognised the little miscreant - who was called Cloud. Not only that but as we arrived there we heard someone calling for her. Her owner had been checking the fuses as the area had had a powercut, and while she was doing that madam spaniel had taken herself for a walk. In fact, her house was the very first one we had tried - the lady just hadn't heard my knocking.

So madam Cloud has gone home, and young Henry is sulking that I have deprived him of a potential new buddy. But I can't deny, I was half tempted to bring her home....

Good deed for the day - done!

Just goes to show though - microchip your dogs, people! If I had been unable to find Cloud's owners there and then, my only hope would have been to take her to the vets to have her scanned. It only costs a few quid, it doesn't hurt the dog, and it could be the difference between getting your best friend back or never seeing them again. In the words of the ad man - Just Do It.




A gratuitous picture of Henry on his holidays last week. Because it has to be done.

Does anyone have a spare anvil...?

As I need one to anchor young Henry with.

As penalty for being a lanky git that works for a charideeeeeeeeee, my desk is currently being raised to the appropriate height by means of some bits of wood under the legs. This highly technical method is far cheaper than buying desks which are height adjustable (and was actually also used by my former employer, Her Majesty's Government; who says civil servants get all the perks?).

Generally Henry is a free range office dog, but there are occasions when it is necessary to secure him - which is where a lead looped around the leg of my desk comes in handy.

Unfortunately this was the case when a new dog came for a temporary stay today - the lovely Holly, a black lab belonging to my colleague. Holly will be showing Henry the ropes when the shooting season starts, the poor thing. Henry was very taken with this sleek and muscular vision of labrador loveliness (Hubba hubba - Henry), and bolted to the end of his lead in an attempt to reach his new lady friend. Sadly, this led to my desk being jerked almost off its blocks, resulting in some rather unseemly grunting and cursing as we tried to right the situation!

I can't find an alternative place to attach Henry to, so if anyone does happen to have an anvil about their person, do chuck it this way...