Homicidal maniacs

I think I have one. Henry clearly thinks I have taken out life insurance with him as the main beneficiary (I haven't) or have left all my worldly possessions to him in my Will (that would be half a bar of Galaxy and a ropey Ipod Nano - and anyway, I haven't) because I think he's trying to kill me off.

It all started as a result of me meeting A Man. Yes, that's right. An actual human man. A person in my life without paws. Someone who doesn't roll in fox shit for fun (well, not in front of me yet anyway), and whose idea of taking me out to dinner does not involve looking through hedges for decomposing roadkill. As you can imagine, this is a definite step up from young Henry's social skills.

Not that Henry should be feeling left out, mind you. He has played an integral role in this relationship so far (this has been borne with great stoicism by said man), with several dates revolving around taking the dog for a walk.

However, despite this, it's clear his nose has been put out of joint and it seems that he's decided that killing me off is the way forward. It started with a subtle campaign of shame. I'm not sure if anyone has actually ever died of shame, but obviously Henry thought it was worth a try. We started with the 'run around barking and jumping up' technique whenever the poor guy was in range. This was accompanied with a side-order of 'get wet then take a flying leap at him'.

Then, we moved on to 'muscle our way into every situation going'. For instance, don't think you can sit about holding hands without a large furry paw being plopped into the mix. In fact, for Henry the ideal sofa arrangement is him in the middle, with the humans as bookends.

When this didn't work, he tried 'stealing food from the guy's very mouth', although this did not quite have the desired effect as he was simply removed from the room at mealtimes and has not been allowed back in yet.

His latest tactic has been chemical warfare. It has to be said that over the last few years my sense of smell has atrophied to a worrying level (most likely as a defence mechanism) but the complaints rolling in from every angle were enough to convince me that we had a problem. Quite how he had achieved such an impressive level of stench is beyond me, but it was enough to necessitate open windows, followed by a bath. That's open windows for the humans, with a bath for Henry. So far, so good on that front.

Which brings us to his final, last-ditch attempt at murder - the Spaniel Induced Heart Attack. You see, we went to the sea-side on Saturday, and after a stroll into town, a pint at the pub and some fish and chips, we decided to take Henry for a run on the beach before heading back. This was an error.

The cliffs at this particular beach are not high, but they are sandstone and have crumbled in places until they are more of a very steep slope, with plenty of cover growing. It's an ideal place for rabbits, and Henry was in his element, scooting up and down like a very small furry mountaineer.

And then it happened. I called him down, and for once in his life, Henry actually did as he was told. It's the unusual nature of that which makes me think that this was deliberate. He flew down the slope, got to the drop - and launched himself into space. Now, admittedly this was a fairly small cliff. The drop was only about 6 feet. But that's a long way if you're Henry sized! In fact, I think I may have squeaked a bit: my heart certainly missed a beat. He face-planted into the sand, looked a bit dazed - and then, thankfully, was off with no ill effects. In fact he gave a repeat performance about 5 minutes later (after which he was put back on the lead on health and safety grounds).

That was Saturday - today is Monday, and I fear the worst. The man is coming over in a bit, and Henry appears dormant. I'm not fooled though - he's just plotting his next move. Who knows what diabolical plan he may have come up with now?

Return of the Masked Picnic Raider

As you read this, think of it as being a bit like a therapy session for me. Pull up a chair, perch your glasses on the end of your nose, and assume your most soothing bedside manner, and please do excuse any gibbering on my part. I am sure that in a decade or so, I'll be absolutely fine again.

So, on Saturday I had a nice family day out at a game fair. In fact all of this can be laid firmly at the door of my family. It's all their fault, nowt to do with me, guv...

Henry was veeery excited to be there, and in fact was a bit of a handful. Happily, he did start to settle a bit after a while - which is when my step-dad and step-brother came hurrying over to suggest - nay demand - that we should have a run in the gundog scurry. They had been watching a few of the competitors have mishaps, and were certain that Henry could beat the competition and win a shiny new car in the process.

Yes, that is this Henry here.


















Yes, I know. A scurry champion he is not. But you know, I thought we might have a little go at the novice scurry. Seemed like a nice idea, the fencing looked escape-proof, it was very much about having a go and it was a nice, marked, double retrieve that under normal circumstances Henry would have found easy-peasy.

So the nice man took our entry, and the nice lady threw out two dummies. And Henry, bless him, shot straight over to the first one and grabbed it. OK, he then took it on a lap of honour before he brought it back. But, you know, that's still an improvement on the last time we did this, so so far, so good.

Then I sent him back for the next dummy. He was a bit overwhelmed by all the exciting things going on around the arena, so he ran past it a few times. Then - then it all went a tiny, tiny bit wrong. It all seemed fine at first. There was a family sitting on the floor outside the arena, and Henry seemed to be making friends with them.

Of course, those of you that have read other posts on this blog, or indeed who have met Henry, can probably guess what was really happening. In fact, you have probably abandoned your calming manner and are most likely screaming a dreadful warning at the screen. And you are right. Yes, that family were having a very nice picnic, with a lovely wicker hamper and little triangular sandwiches with the crusts cut off, all laid out on a plate, right up to the point when a dirty great spaniel stuck his head through the fence and relieved them of their lunch (although, is the Novice (i.e. half-trained hooligan) scurry really the best place to have a picnic?!). The realisation of what was happening hit both me and the lady throwing the dummies at the same time, and we both arrived with Henry at once to remove him from the crime scene. Henry then completed his performance by finding the other dummy, and taking it out of the arena, to my mum who was, in all fairness, probably quite interesting due to the fact that she was shrieking with laughter (thanks Mum). We then left the arena, although not before we had been given a cheer by all those watching. We may not have been the fastest entry, but we were probably the most entertaining.

I have been having flashbacks all weekend, but I'm sure they'll clear up in a year or two. When that happens please do remind me of this before I enter another scurry. Unless we're going in as a novelty act that is.

Vets Bills and Haute Couture

Henry has had a mishap, involving another dog that was less than friendly. I took home rather less dog than I took out on that walk. Poor Henry (although if he had listened to me and had come back when I said it never would have happened, but he reckoned he knew best...)

So, one trip to the emergency vets on a Friday night, one rather swift trip to the main surgery, one set of stitches and an overnight stay at the vets later, he's fine and I'm £380 lighter (well, actually Visa is but we won't go into that).


















It's nearly healed now as you can see, so I have decided he can go off the lead again, provided the wound is protected in case he decides to, oooh, I don't know, roll in something revolting (surely not).

Enter the Bespoke Patent Stitch Protecting T-shirt!


















In fact, I think this could usher in a new career for Henry. Look! He can smize and everything!

The canine beautician

The weather here has been vile. I don't know about anyone else, but I am now thoroughly sick of winter. It fulfilled its purpose when the shooting season ended - it now has no purpose, and needs to begone!

As a result, the field where training classes take place is somewhat soggy. I taught a puppy class today (exciting!) and almost went A.O.T. (that's arse over tip) several times... fortunately I kept my feet, I feel landing on the aforementioned A. would have reduced what little authority I had to begin with.

So, when Henry came out of the car, there was a lot of skidding around behind him until he chilled out. This was the first class we had been to since Christmas, so he was very happy to be back, and very keen to get over to Sophia to say hello!

We were doing just fine until he had to sit for a while - he was so keen to get to the treat in my hand that he leapt up to try and pinch it (naughty naughty). As he landed I felt a splash on my face, and the next handler along did say, 'He got you!', but I thought I'd wiped it all off and was confident that my normal, glamorous (hah!) appearance had been restored.

Until I got into the car to drive home, that is.

Because I caught sight of myself in the rear-view mirror.

Can you imagine a sort of human Dalmatian?

That was me. Covered in lumps and splotches of mud, as though I had just ridden round Aintree in the rain.

I did wonder why people kept grinning at me... I suppose at least I noticed before I went into the supermarket!

Hey ho. Spaniels, eh? Bet I wouldn't have had all this bother with a Lab...

The Balloon of Doom

Something that happened a while back, that I remembered this morning...

So, I walk Henry around the fields at work before I start work each morning. So you have to imagine that on this occasion I was wandering round frozen fields in a smart skirt, tights, wellies, and something of a daze (I really don't do mornings).

As we wandered I noticed a deflated foil balloon caught in the hedge - one of those ones you can buy for people's birthdays. Henry was quite interested in this, but left it and on we went.

On the way back it occurred to me that really, I should pick the balloon up and bin it. After all, it looked messy and besides that, some poor groom might have to try and lead a horse past it later. With the special equine sixth sense in such matters, any horse would instantly recognise that balloon as a cunningly disguised pony-eating monster and all manner of trouble would surely result.

Of course, as soon as I showed an interest in the balloon Henry had to have it. However he was too slow and I got there first. It was then that his demonic intelligence surfaced. Shooting me a sidelong glance, he shot under a fence into a paddock and started eating frozen horsepoo (bleurgh), ignoring all my cries for him to desist from this revolting behaviour and come back to the authorised side of the fence. Angered by this recalcitrance, I dropped the balloon and started to climb over the fence. At which point Henry, seeing I was stranded astride the top rail, abandoned his snack and shot back under the fence to seize his foily prize, parading around brandishing it like a trophy. Which was when I noticed for the first time that I had an audience... my boss and another director.

It's times like these that make you wonder why dog ownership seemed such a good idea. And I laddered my damn tights too!

the good, the bad, and the stinky...

All the same dog, of course...

The good:

Was playing fetch with Henry this evening next to the lake, and he dropped the ball into the water. After a while I went to see if I could find it - no sign of it, so told Henry 'find it'. He kept digging and digging at the side of the bank, standing in the water - I thought it was where an old branch was stuck and that the ball was long gone. So eventually gave up and called him away, but he refused to come, digging at the bank - only to pop out with the ball, which must have been somehow wedged under there. Clever puppy!

The bad:

Shortly after that he caught the scent of the cat that lives in a big house, the large garden of which runs down near to the lake, leapt over the big brambly ditch that forms the boundary and ran about on their immaculate lawn on the trail, totally ignoring me. He then leapt back onto the land we're allowed on and vanished into the woods for about a minute before eventually coming back (and looking very sheepish - think he realised he'd crossed the line big time!)

The stinky:

Well he's been swimming in the lake - who do you think the stinky is?

DOGS! Who'd 'ave 'em? Talk about your emotional rollercoaster!

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).