The new sofa has arrived and I immediately claimed it, it is now mine but I let my big brother Alf lie on it too. Dad has covered it in throws so I don’t redesign it but for now I like it how it is.
I am not being cocky when I write this but the truth is plain to see: I am a perfect machine. Mother Nature has made me this way. Sometimes the old girl makes mistakes and we get aberrations like Jess and Alf, but usually she gets things right.
I have bright eyes that let me see for miles, even without them my nose is so sensitive that I can picture the world around me just from scent. My ears can pick up the slightest sound and my brain is instantly alert. My fur is thick and wirey, it keeps me warm in the harshest of conditions and protects me from brambles and suchlike. I have a deep, broad chest that contains a heart that is so strong that I have almost limitless stamina. My legs are short but incredibly strong. I can run as fast and as far and jump as high as an olympian thanks to my broad, powerful hindquarters.
Therefore I resent my dad saying things like: “Hasn’t Bones got a fat arse?”
This morning we headed out across the fields for our morning run with mom. As you might have guessed, dad was still in his pit snoring his head off. Jess was sniffing every blade of grass, I was running around her legs trying to wind her up and Alf had gone off somewhere. Next thing I knew, Alf came barreling over to me, “Bones, there’s a big pack of giant dogs in the next field and I think they’re looking for trouble!” He panted.
“They’ve come to the right place then, leave this to me.” Off I went to the next field to have a look and see off this giant menace. When I got there, all psyched up for a mega scrap, I realised that as usual Alf was making fun of me; they weren’t dogs at all, they were cows. Someone in their wisdom had put a load of cows in one of our fields! This means from now on it is off limits to us – not fair, we were here first.
I trotted back and told Jess, “They aren’t dogs, they’re a bunch of cows.”
“Herd.” She said.
“Herd of cows.”
“Of course I’ve heard of cows!” She must think I’m stupid or something.
I can’t believe it has been so long since I tapped out the last entry into Bones’ Diary. I wonder if anyone has missed me? You were probably wondering why it has been so long? Mostly it is because my dad has been hogging the computer too much trying to write his book: “Me & Gus on the Roof of the World.” At the same time he is writing his own blog to promote it and tweeting or twittering or being a twit…whatever, it’s just annoying! I suppose I could use my mom’s netbook but the keys are too small and close together for my paws. What’s a dog to do?
Maybe I could put in my letter to Santa that I want my own PC (puppy computer), and that if he brings me one I promise to be a good little dog. Which brings me to the other reason I haven’t had much time to write: I’ve been a bit of a bad lad. I developed a taste for furniture design and busied myself the other day reshaping the sofa; it’s not difficult, anyone can do it – a little chunk here and a little chunk there. Dad didn’t seem impressed with my artistry and went a little crazy, “You little ******* you’ve eaten the sofa!” Obviously I hadn’t eaten it, even chubby Jess couldn’t get that down her neck, I’d spat the pieces of foam on the floor.
He went out with mom for a couple of hours and when they returned he announced that they’d been and ordered a new one; he turned to me and thanked me for my efforts and said he was so pleased he had to pay all that money out. “My pleasure dad, would you like to consult on my redesign of the new one?” I don’t know if he understood that or it was the big smile on my face that he saw but he pointed a threatening finger at me and hissed,”Bones, if you even look at the new sofa I will beat you to death with your own freshly severed tail!” Hmm, a bit harsh methinks.
I’ve been keeping my head down recently, staying out of his way and behaving as best I can. That’s partly the reason I haven’t been on his computer, I don’t want to antagonise him. He’ll forget about it eventually and I can set about my next project, an armchair that I consider a tad overstuffed.
Dad came home angrier than I had seen him ever. He wasn’t ranting and raving but his face was stiff. It was a bit scarey, I was trying to think what I might have done to get him like this but for once it wasn’t my fault.
From what I can gather from overheard conversation, my dad’s aunt, who is pushing 90 or something like that, has had visitors. Dad was informed by one of her neighbours that some unsavoury looking skins had been up on her roof. Dad told her not to have anything to do with them if they came back and if there was a problem with the roof he’d get his friend to go up there because he is a proper roofer.
Sometimes auntie doesn’t listen to my dad so he told his sister to talk to her. When dad went down to visit his aunt on saturday the police were there talking to his sister. Apparently these skins had come back, had gone back on the roof, done next to nothing to correct a problem with the ridge tiles that didn’t exist in the first place, then charged her £1,100!!!! Not only did she get ripped off for all that money, they went into her house and had the cheek to steal and eat chocolate from her fridge!
One of the neighbours had taken the registration of their van but when the policeman called it in, there was no record of ownership, no tax and no insurance records. Basically they are long gone.
I urge all my friends who read this to be vigilant, please take extra care of your elderly neighbours because there are alot of bad skins out there who were born without morals or conscience and think nothing of preying on the vulnerable.
It’s Saturday morning. Your pal Bones and the two collies were lounging about, having a nice lazy day.
Mom took us out just after 6 this morning for a run across the fields. It was still dark when we left but we didn’t mind because the air was fresh and crisp, the dew on the long grass soaked us as we ran along through it. There was nobody about and it felt like we were the only dogs in the whole world and the fields were ours. We had so much fun we woke up the sun and it peered sleepily over the hedge at the bottom of the field to see what we were doing before dragging it’s lazy butt into the sky.
We’ve earned our rest after such exertions.
Mom took us out early because she had to drive to Birmingham where she teaches Reiki. Dad was still in his filthy pit when she left so we had blessed peace and quiet, if only for a while.
Eventually the ogre awoke and after some lumbering around up there, a few loud yawns and the screech of a cat whose tail had been trodden on, he made his way down the stairs.
He fussed us each in turn. I pretended to be asleep so he wouldn’t make me go outside for a widdle but he wasn’t fooled. The other dogs filed out dutifully on command, the creeps, but when I didn’t move, my eyes clenched shut, he merely lifted me in the air and tucked me under his arm. As we marched to the back door I struggled and tried to get my teeth into him but it was to no avail and I was dumped in the garden.
He toasted some bagels, but they were not the ones I like. he went for the cinnamon and raisin whereas I prefer the plain with cream cheese, he’ll do anything not to share his breakfast! At least he gave us a treat each when we trooped back in.
He ate his breakfast while watching a documentary on tv, boring history stuff. We retook our previous positions on various items of furniture and started dozing again.
When the programme he was watching had finished and he had emptyed his mug, he decided that what we really wanted to hear was a song – he was wrong! Undeterred by a lack of audience attention he started singing Jerusalem, one of my favourite hymns… in fact it’s not up against much competition, I’m not a hymn singing dog to be perfectly honest. Anyway, not only was the song ruined in my ears by his dreadful singing, if it can be called singing, but the big fool decided to make up his own version and at the same time insult the three of us! So annoyingly loudly, and irritatingly off-key, he belts out:
“And did those dogs, in ancient times, smell quite as bad as these bloody three?”
Jess jumped off the chair in a huff and went into the kitchen, Alf stood on the windowsill and barked ear-shatteringly loud, telling dad to stop singing. I just put my paws over my ears and waited for the din to cease. William Blake turned in his grave.
So what’s next? Us walking them?
I’m not sure if this is the brightest or the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Read the above and decide for yourself, leave me a comment and let me know what you think.
I might not be quite as clever as I thought I was – Dad knows! Ok so that statement usually ends in “…very little”, but it appears something he has added to his limited knowledge is the existence of Bones’ Diary.
I thought I had been very careful about keeping it from him, you know how jealously he guards his laptop. I’m sure he’s thought about ringing it with barbed wire or actually glueing it to his lap, the miserable git! You can’t keep secrets forever, someday these things slip out and are made public. That can happen in a myriad of ways but this time it was the stinking, filthy cats who grassed me up – the dirty snitch moggy stoolie gobshites!!!!!!!
I only found out when I stumbled across my dad’s blog that he has set up to promote the book he is writing: “Me & Gus on the Roof of the World.” Some crazy stuff about a trip he made with his pal, they went from Nepal to China, across the Himalaya. A crazy thing to do in the first place but it got even crazier and turned into quite an exciting adventure from what I can gather.
Why he wanted to go that far away and face the dangers that he did seems quite beyond me, but then again it’s always good to find somewhere new to widdle.
Anyway, while I doubt his silly musings will be anywhere near as enjoyable as some of my literary masterpieces, can you do me a huge favour my friends? Can you pop across and have a look at his blog? http://dannybreslin.wordpress.com Who knows, you might enjoy it.
Before I express my relief at having my lampshade removed, I want to tell you about the dangers of wearing one.
We were coming back from our afternoon walk on friday when we were attacked by a lunatic cat who had obviously decided that life wasn’t worth living and would end it all in spectacular fashion!
As we passed the entrance to a driveway, this stupid cat came flying out and dived into the middle of us; screeching, biting and clawing for all it was worth. Alf, who has proven himself quite a tasty little fighter when up against dogs, seemed unable to move and looked up at mom for direction. Jess clucked at the cat like a fat hen but was also unable to react. Meanwhile this feral furball had scratched her leg enough to make it bleed and nicked Alfie’s nose.
I went absolutely ballistic and fought back like I was struggling against Old Nick himself, but everytime I went to clamp down on this fleabag cat my cone was bouncing off it. The cat came back another couple of times but each attack was repelled by my cone hitting it as I tried to bite. If I hadn’t been wearing the stupid thing then they would have found nothing but a little collar with a bell on it – bye bye Twinkle or whatever stupid cat name it had been given.
The two collies who are double my size let themselves down in this one and ended up bleeding; I came out of it without a scratch. A lesson for all my dog pals: when the chips are down, go in 100% no matter what the odds, you are less likely to get hurt if you are not playing the role of the victim.
So anyway, now I am coneless I feel much better about myself. Nobody is laughing at me any more. Saturday morning we went to the vets in Tamworth, mom much prefers them to the local ones and I agree, I always get fuss and a treat down there and it’s not that far away. Snip snip and the stitches were gone along with the cone. Free at last, free at last.
Afterwards we went to the karting track just outside Tamworth. Yes it was dad’s annual karting day which regular readers of Bones’ Diary will remember I barked about last year. When we arrived dad took me out of the back of the car and we went in to meet the lads. A bit more fuss later and mom took me home.
Many hours later she went to pick him up. He arrived home in his annual karting stupor, his jacket worn in an “off the shoulder” look; one eye open and bottom lip jutting out in defiance. In an effort to stop him swearing she made him some food so at least his mouth would be full, keeping him quiet for a little while. Mom then went to bed leaving him to curse and wave his fist at Match of the Day on television, despite our favourite team winning, and tell us how much he loved us and how we were the best dogs in the world.
Ah well, it’s only once a year.
My dad’s guilt over the desecration of my nether regions has worked to my advantage. This stupid cone prevents me from enjoying a good scratch on and around my ears. Dad has very kindly been helping me out and I spends time with him in the evening getting my ears, head and neck scratched. At least he is good for something. I don’t blame him really for my loss, it seems he was talked into it by mom who, as all females of every species do, wanted me snipped. She decided that I was a danger to the whole neighbourhood and took this drastic action to curtail me.
It’s been over a week now that I’ve been walking around with a cone on my head like an icecream terrier. Tomorrow I have my stitches out and thus the cone comes off.
No more bumping into doors because I have misjudged the gap; no more will the collies pull my tail to switch on the light because they say I look like a lamp; no more will they sneak up behind me and bark up my butt because I look like a megaphone. Or try to get me to howl and pretend it’s an air raid. I’ve had enough, just leave me alone!
An old skin over in the fields even made fun of me as I was playing with his dog. He said “Oh look, it’s His Master’s Voice.” I didn’t know what he was on about until I saw an advertisement for HMV music store. GRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The stupid cone is mashed up anyway, it is scarred with collie teeth marks from where I’ve foresaken my rest and recuperation period and fought on despite the plastic handicap the cone represented.
Ah but….tomorrow everything changes. I will be free of this encumberance and if they think that depriving me of the chance to build an army of Border Terrier Badboys will somehow calm me down and make me a lapdog…oh dear oh dear – they are going to be mightily disappointed. My friends, the war has only intensified…hehehehe
There will never be peace, never! I will fight on until there is not another dog standing in my street or until the last beat of my heart has finally been silenced.
Vengeance will be mine sayeth Bones!