Slimy slippers

image courtesy of shoesbymail.co.uk

image courtesy of shoesbymail.co.uk

My dad loves his slippers, especially when the weather isn’t all that warm. I used to try to steal them and run off but he would go a bit mental and threaten to warm my backside with them! Which, I suppose, isn’t too bad when the weather isn’t all that warm.

I have found a new game that I like to play now. When he isn’t wearing them and he isn’t looking I sneak up and lick the inside. I know that sounds disgusting, and trust me it doesn’t taste that good, but the look on his face when he puts his bare foot in his freshly slimed slippers is worth a hundred warmed backsides.

Busy Border

It seems that I am so busy these days I don’t have time to do anything; rush, rush, rush.

Yesterday we had some snow, not a great amount, I wasn’t digging my way from the front door to the end of the drive to go for a walk – although that would have been great fun – no, it was just a couple of inches, a light dusting you might call it. Now, as you know, I love it when it snows, we all do. Alfie and me run around like maniacs and Jess just wants to roll about in it. I like the cold on my paws and ploughing a furrow with my nose to see what’s hidden underneath.

There is a problem when it snows though. I have to spend ages re-marking my territory. This is not just in the back garden either, there is the fields, the bushes up the park and of course every lamppost and gatepost in the street. It seems that for the next day or two after the come comes I am permanently balanced on three legs. How I don’t run out of widdle I don’t know.

I gotta go there are one or two bushes and rocks out the back I need to sort out…

A gift from Mother Nature

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?”

Have you herd?

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.

“Heard what?”

“Herd of cows.”

“Of course I’ve heard of cows!” She must think I’m stupid or something.

Where have you been Bones?

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.

 

The new Jerusalem

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.

Skins with tails?

So what’s next? Us walking them?

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/video/mood-brain-controlled-tails-humans-112009597.html

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.

Kats, Kones and Karting.

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.