Swearing like a trooper

I think my dad has become a trooper, although I’m not sure what a trooper is or does (I think it’s got something to do with the weather, at least it does on Star Wars), my mom says he swears like one. Sounds like qualification enough for the job. If it pays per swear word then I think my dad will have had a very successful few weeks.

OK, here’s the story – We bought a new washing machine in October online from a major electrical retailer. It was delivered and installed and the old one taken away. Soon after installation the kitchen floor got all wet, dad began swearing at the new machine for the first time. He got it sorted himself saying he didn’t trust them to plumb it properly the second time if they were so completely £*&%ing useless the first.

Not long ago it started making a clunking noise, dad found that one of the plastic ridge things in the drum had snapped off completely and another had come loose; he started swearing at the washing machine for the second time. He rang them and asked if someone could come and look at it, they asked him to extend his warranty; dad’s face started getting a little darker as he hissed into the phone that he didn’t want another 3 years warranty, he wanted it sorting out under his existing warranty. He showed great restraint as the person on the other end told him it was a problem he could fix himself and that they would send him the parts. He came off the phone and swore.

Sure enough a week later a package arrived with spare plastic ridge things for the drum, dad fitted them himself while muttering a few swear words.

Three weeks ago the washing machine began making a squealing sound like a skin who had gone hurdling barbed wire in the nude. Smoke began to billow from it and it made me feel a bit sick. The drum had jammed solid, dad switched it off and opened the door and all the windows to let the smoke out and switched on the extractor fan (I always thought an extractor fan was someone who used to have a particular fondness for tractors!), but thicker than the smoke was the swearing my dad was now rattling off like a badly brought up machine gun. Jessie and Alf left the room but I was laughing behind my paw.

Dad rang the manufacturers and asked if they’d like to send him a drum for the washing machine so he could fit it himself, they hurriedly assured him that this was a job for an engineer,the irony sailing over their heads as if they were expert limbo dancers. Dad arranged an appointment but was told that they wouldn’t get out to us for a week, dad said that would have to do. He replaced the receiver, stared intently at the ceiling for a while as if he was scanning for cobwebs, then looked back at the phone and swore.

The engineer arrived a week later. A tall, greying reed-like man who looked like he was trying to swallow a golf ball. He had a look for a couple of minutes before announcing that the drum had siezed, dad told him he knew that, he’d told the nasal woman on the phone that. The engineer said he would have to order the part and it would take another week for the new part to arrive. “But you knew it was the drum, you knew what make and model it was, I told the woman at your call centre, why didn’t you bring a new drum?” I was in the hall in my playpen but I could envisage my dad’s expression from the low timbre of his voice, I knew the swearing was about to begin in earnest. The engineer made his excuses and left. Dad swore.

Another week went by and my great auntie Marie was letting them use her washing machine, a thirty mile round trip but mom was adamant that we wouldn’t be using a launderette as “we don’t know who used it before us”. A second engineer turned up with a new drum, obviously my dad didn’t make friends with the first one. He was a much jollier man and they exchanged small talk in the kitchen as he worked. Then, the bombshell! “Sorry mate, they’ve sent me out with the wrong part.” The explosion was expected but still shook me. The swearing was thorough and exotic. It wasn’t the jolly man’s fault and dad acknowledged that, but the fact that it would take another week before he could get the correct part was too much for my dad.

That afternoon he tried in vain to complain but was pushed backwards and forwards between the retailer and the manufacturer, niether of whom would admit responsibility. In the end I think he exhausted himself and with a final threat that he was going to insert the washing machine in a certain orifice belonging to the customer service manager. He hung up. He sat for a while in silence looking beaten, he had given everything in this fight for justice but had come up with nothing but an appointment for the following week with the engineer. He swore.



Inappropriate Bones

I’m a little embarrassed about this and ashamed to say but, as you are my very best friends, I suppose I can confide in you. One of our neighbours came round to tell my dad of a bereavement, I won’t go into too much detail here you understand. She was obviously upset and dad sat her down on the sofa as she was telling him of her grief. I decided to try and cheer her up so I jumped onto the sofa next to her, clamped onto her arm and started humping.

You could have heard a pin drop in the room as I went for it with everything I had, I looked over my shoulder at dad, my face a mask of effort, to say “don’t mind me…carry on talking if you want.” But dad was horrified, he spluttered and tried to speak but the words just came out as a gasp, “Bones – no…!” Jess and Alf sat their with their jaws slack, totally in shock. “Grab a leg each guys?” but they were like statues. Mom came into the room then and grabbed my collar before leading me to my playpen, all the while she was muttering apologies.

I didn’t think about it at the time but as I sat in my playpen I realised what I had done and now I am full of remorse. Alf said it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, he reckons I looked like a gargoyle, all wild-eyed and grinning like a maniac. Jess said I was a dirty little pervert, I don’t know what a pervert is but it doesn’t sound good. I was only trying to help; just don’t tell anyone okay?



Bones knows a secret

My dad found his eggcup yesterday as he was nosing through one of the kitchen cupboards. I was hanging around to see if he found any little treats or nibbles he might give me. He took it down from the shelf and looked at it like it was the Holy Grail itself (if you believe it’s a cup that is – but that’s for another time); it’s got a picture of a rather constipated looking cow on it, I didn’t know cows layed eggs – perhaps this was the reason the cow looked so uncomfortable, it was laying it’s first cow-egg! Dad looked down at me and said “Y’know what lil man? I ain’t had a boiled egg for time.” I told him that boiling a cow-egg might take a while, it must weigh half a ton, I also reminded him that “ain’t” is not a word and there is no excuse for lazy English;  as usual he wasn’t listening to me, if only he did he might learn something…skins bah!

Out comes the saucepan and a watch to time the operation and he set to work boiling two eggs. I realised then that they were hens eggs because there is no way you’d fit a calf in there. Not long after we’re in the living room with the tv on, two 3-minute eggs, a stack of toast and a mug of tea. Like the half decent dad he is, he gve me a corner or two of toast to munch on while he filled his face. Jess and Alf came wondering over and both sat down in front of dad to beg for their share of his bounty, he duly obliged despite my protestations that they were only pretending to be good dogs while there was toast on offer.

When the food was all gone and the stinking collies had drifted away after taking part of my share of dad’s food, he sat there sipping his tea with a big contented smile on his face. I sat and watched him as he enjoyed the feeling of a full belly. He looked at me and gave a big happy sigh, “It’s the little things Bones, y’know what I mean?” I think I do know, folks spend too much time looking for the big things to go their way like winning the lottery or something, looking forward to special occasions like christmas or birthdays etc. They worry about things that might never happen. They don’t stop to relish the little things, like going for a walk, eating a good meal, enjoying being with people they love, breathing fresh air, being alive: the little things that we take for granted. You take all these little things into account and add them all up then you realise that life is a really great gift – that right there is the secret of life and once you know and understand it the world seems so much better.

A puppy no more

Yesterday was an amazing day for your little Bones. Mom was off work and she and dad were acting a little strange, nothing amazing about that – skins are strange. Anyway, I was minding my own business trying to decide what mischief to get into first when dad came in and put a lead on me. What’s he up to? I thought, its not walk time and he doesn’t usually take me anyway. I was taken outside and put in the car; ahh we must be going to the vets.

As it turned out it wasn’t the vets it was the pet supermarket, even better, I always get fuss and treats off the staff and nobody’s going to stick a needle in me – brilliant! We walked in and sure enough the man by the till started fussing me and scratching behind my ears; he asked my dad if it was ok to give me a treat, dad said “sure, just count your fingers afterwards.” Cheeky bugger! We strolled down the aisles, dad occasionally pulling me away from stuff I wanted to pull off the shelves, he called me a shoplifter – now I’m a pretty strong dog but I seriously doubt I could lift a shop! We got down to where the leads and collars are kept and he put a collar around my neck to try it for size. The one I had was ok, red leather with studs, but this one was something else: black leather with little silvery bones  on it and a silver bone pendant. It could have been made for me. “Can I have it dad, really?” Dad didn’t reply but carried on walking with it in his hand so that must be a yes. We stopped by the toys and dad looked down at me: “Which one do you like boy?” I was getting excited now and proved it by widdling up the stand which dad hissed at me for. Which toy? There were so many to choose from but I liked the look of a nylabone with bumps and ribbing that would be great to chew. I stopped by it and looked up:

– This one please dad.

– Which one Bones.

– This one, the nylabone.

– There’s plenty to choose from isn’t there lil’ man?

– There is indeed dad but I’ve chosen this one, please stop annoying me and take it down from there.

– Made your mind up?

– Are you taking the…

He reached out and took the nylabone that I was after, “how about this one?” Finally! We carried on and he got some other things which I was looking forward to getting hold of such as little marrowbone biscuits and some fantastic tripe sticks, then we went to pay.

After getting home he called the other dogs and mom into the kitchen, mom and dad were looking at me in a peculiar way, sort of grinning like professional fools. Soooo…..? Then all of a sudden they burst into a song, made me jump I can tell you. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR BONESEYYYYYYY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU.” It’s my birthday? I didn’t know that, apparently I’m one year old. I stood on my hind legs and received the copious amounts of fuss I believed I was entitled to. Mom put my new collar around my neck and I felt so proud of it I thought I’d burst. I couldn’t wait to get down the fields and show my friends. Dad handed me my new toy which I ran out of the room with to go and play but then remembered there were tripe sticks so I spun around and went back. Sure enough the tripe sticks were ready to be served, they stink to high heaven but they are so tasty. They’d even got me a birthday card with one corner chewed off and a little poem about a puppy inside which dad read out to me; “do you mind dad? I’m in the middle of a tripe stick, anymore gushy stuff and I might be sick!”

One year old, it seems like such a huge amount of time that I can’t even comprehend what it must be like to be as ancient as Jess. Does this mean I’m no londer a puppy? I should start being more responsible, better behaved, stop looking for fights, stop chewing furniture…..or maybe I’ll save all that for when I’m two. hehehehe


The best toy of all

I’ve always enjoyed attacking my dad, not in a nasty way of course, just jumping on his slippers or pulling the bottom of his trouser legs. Anyway my repeated attacks coupled with regular wear and tear from his huge clodhopper feet meant that my mom went out and bought him new slippers. “There’s nothing wrong with my slippers” whined my ever-complaining dad, “They’re comfortable.” Mom looked down at them and sighed, “They could walk on their own by now!”

Later that day she came back with his new slippers and he reluctantly put them on, “Do they fit ok?” mom enquired. “I suppose,” mumbled dad, although you could tell he liked them straight away. “Give me your old ones and I’ll throw them in the dustbin where they belong.” Dad handed her one slipper, “where’s the other one?” she demanded. Dad looked around then back at her, “It’s gone, I’ll look for it later.” Off mom went to dispose of the toxic footwear.

When she left the room dad reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out the other old slipper; I was sat down at his feet looking up at him after my initial sniff told me I didn’t particularly like these new slippers, he grinned down at me and said, “saved this for you boy” and threw it across the room. CHAAAAAAARGE!!!!!! I grabbed the slipper and took it straight out into the garden, I lapped the garden a couple of times then came back in through the kitchen, into the hall and started lapping the coffee table. Alf was on the windowsill and woke up to shout encouragement. Jess made a grab for my prize but she’s so slow she came nowhere near it. I stopped running and shook it and shook it, growling through clenched teeth. I tossed it into the air and it landed on my head, so I shook it some more.

Dad was sat down watching TV so I took the slipper to him and we had a tug-of war, after a a couple of minutes he got it off me but I was already turned and into my stride by the time he threw it. I took it back to him and we played tug again. Just then mom came into the room and caught us playing with the supposedly lost slipper, we both stopped and looked round at her: “Boys!” she said with an air of exasperation and left the room, Jess hauled her big butt off the floor and followed mom, looking back at us trying to recreate the same expression. Me and dad watched them go, looked at each other then started wrestling with the slipper again.

STOP – wait a minute Mr Postman!

For many years postmen around the world have complained about being the victims of dog bites, now I know why – because they BLOODY WELL DESERVE IT!!!!

I waited very patiently yesterday for the postman to arrive with what promised to be a bumper batch of valentine cards for the world’s hottest Border Terrier (what do you mean “who’s that?” It’s me!). I heard Alf call out from the  windowsill guard post that the postman was approaching so I skipped into the hallway; I sat back from below the letterbox, I didn’t want to be crushed by the avalanche of cards I was expecting. The letterbox opened and onto the floor fell one envelope clearly marked with the name of an electricity company. I was a little surprised but waited for the rest of the delivery, “He must be struggling to get them all out of his bag,” I confided in Jess as she lumbered past on the way to have her latest sleep. “Whatever,” she mumbled yawning. He’s taking his time though, “Come on postie,” I called out.

“He’s gone,” said Alf.

“Yeah right, he’s just outside, it must be a load of cards, that’s all.” I carried on watching the letterbox.

“He’s two doors down now Bones.” Alf must be lying.

But the letterbox didn’t open again. Dad came past and picked up the electricity bill just as I had resolved to chew it up, he scratched my ear. “You ok boy?” He asked me, obviously as worried as I was about the lack of envelopes addressed to Bones. I looked up at him and said “Dad I think the postman has made a mistake, I was expecting at least 500 valentines cards and none of them have arrived, do me a favour and catch him up, see if he’s got them at the bottom of his bag?” I don’t think he understood me as he said “good lad” and disappeared into the kitchen, following the now snoring Jess. Stupid skins.

I went into the living room to talk to Alfie, “What do you reckon happened Alf? How could he have made such a mistake?”

“No mistake stumpy, there just weren’t any cards for you.”

“Don’t be daft, course there were. Why wouldn’t there be?”

“Cos you’ve got a face like a monkey?” By this time Alf had rolled onto his back and was laughing his thick head off. He soon stopped laughing when , with a growl, I clamped onto his leg.

I don’t know why I didn’t get any cards, maybe the postman is incompetent, maybe it’s a conspiracy and the postman threw them away because all postmen hate dogs, or maybe nobody loves me afterall.

Christmas is coming

Puppy fans,

As you know, if you’ve been reading Bones’ Diary for a while, I am still a fairly young dog and this will be my first winter. I enjoyed spring and summer immensely because the sun shone and it was wonderful to be alive;  autumn was great because the leaves were scattered on the ground and I had fun scattering them further. Although I moaned in a previous blog about the weather, I have no reason to suspect winter to be anything else but brilliant. Life is grand and I love being a dog.

Some of the houses in our street have changed in the last few days: all of a sudden there are little lights all over them that flash and twinkle when it gets dark. Although I think Flash and Twinkle are the sort of dumb names that skins give to cats, I don’t let that distract me from this amazing sight as I sit on the arm of the sofa with my head behind the curtains. What is going on?

Alf tells me that christmas is coming, who is christmas? Why is he coming here? Does he want a fight? Alf laughed and said that christmas isn’t a who but a what, it is a special time of the year when skins get all excited and put on weight. Jess muttered as she lumbered past that christmas is also a “who”, she mentioned Father Christmas. I looked at Alf, “who is Father Christmas?” He told me that its someone who is also called Santa Claus who comes down the chimney. I was horrified: anyone comes down our chimney they get their butts chewed. Alf said that it would probably not be the real santa, but Jess in a red suit and fake beard, she’s the only one the suit would fit. I was confused: “What? How’s Jess going to get on the roof?” Alf smiled and said “that, my young Bones, is the magic of christmas.”

The postman looks tired, he has to carry all the extra cards that skins send to each other at this time of the year. Knocking the door with strange boxes that dad rushes upstairs with to hide. Dad hates shopping so he orders everything online from a big river called amazon. Skins buy each other presents to represent what these three wiseguys bought for baby Jesus when he was born in a shed. They were gold, frankenstein and mirth. Hardly presents for a baby but what do you expect if you invite gangsters to a party?

From what I understand of it, christmas is a special time when it’s supposed to be peace to all skins. I hope this year that someone listens to that message and really gets it this time. I heard that since Jesus was born there has only been a few days of peace, when there was no wars going on  in the world at all… in the last 2000-odd years? Oh come on! Enough!!! Skins are constantly killing each other…..why? Is it because they can’t agree what is the best way to worship their God? Is it because of a line on a map? Is it because someone spilled someone else’s beer? All of the above yet not just because of the above. Skins are at war because they are too stupid to enjoy peace (I mean, what would they do with their time?) and someone somewhere else is making a fat profit out of others’ misery, pain and death.

Time to stop?



Happy Birthday Aunty Teresa

It’s my aunty Teresa’s birthday today, I would like to wish her a very special day. She’s my dad’s sister, he reckons she’s his “much older” sister but to be honest he looks older than her. Don’t tell him I said that! He claims to have had a very long paper round.

Bones is a bad, bad boy

I’m not a bad dog, I’m actually a very good dog but sometimes my actions get misinterpreted by others…hardly my fault is it?

Dad was angry with me yesterday, I think he’s ok with me today but how long that will last I’m not sure. The thing is, he got involved in something that was really none of his business and paid the price for his interference. Me and Alf were fighting on the sofa and Jess joined in and grabbed my back leg; that was it, a free-for-all!!!! It was a real knock em down and drag em out scrap – each of us wheeling one way then the other, snapping and wrestling. Alf is quite strong and Jess has the bulk but I am small, fast and aggressive so it sort of evens out.

Dad told us to stop but we carried on so he strode over and grabbed Jessie’s collar and pulled her away, then he pointed at the windowsill and Alf disengaged, which left me trying to bite his tail as he left the battlefield. Dad said “that’s enough Bones” and went to grab my collar; unfortunately I was still in fighting mode so I turned and sank my teeth into his hand! He wasn’t best pleased.

His giant hand snaked under my chest and I was lifted off the sofa and carried to my playpen. Some of the words he used were not familiar to me but Alf has advised me not to report them on this blog. Basically he told me to stay in isolation until further notice. What is his problem? I didn’t even break the skin.

When mom came home she took us out for a walk, Jess didn’t want to go because sometimes she likes to go on her own private walk with mom after we’ve been out. She thinks she’s better than the rest of us! Anyway, me and Alf went down the fields where we met his girlfriend Ellie and her mom. We had a great time running around together but when it was time to go home I found a ball that another dog had left behind. That means more playtime!

I ran around the field with this ball in my mouth, totally ignoring my mom calling to me. Alf and Ellie were already on their leads and were waiting to go home. Alf was shouting at me to stop being naughty and come back -no way pal you’re just after my ball! I kept running close then veering off as mom and Ellie’s mom tried to grab me. Alf was getting angry, he was tired and wanted his dinner but my tank wasn’t even half empty yet; as the song goes: “…ain’t no stopping me now…”

Then mom played the trump card: she reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone and said “I’m ringing your dad!” She wouldn’t, surely she wouldn’t do that. Would she? She did. From where I was standing I could hear him: “WHAAAAAAATTTTTTT???????” Mom put the phone away and said to Ellie’s  mom “He’s not happy.” I pictured the ogre pulling on his shoes and coat, rummaging around for his keys, his eyes ablaze with fury. Hmmm, perhaps this game isn’t fun after all. I dropped the ball and cantered over to mom and let her put my lead on. She rang him back and told him not to bother coming down.

We got home and he came downstairs with a face like a wet weekend, the stupid cats sat at the top of the stairs grinning, waiting for the fireworks, but none came. “Bones, I am not happy,” he said (tell us something we don’t know grumpy drawers), “you’re getting to be a pain lately, I’m sending you to see Maria.” I sat there looking up at him and cocked my head to one side like Alf does when he’s thinking. Who is Maria? He said no more about it, Alf shrugged but Jess wagged her tail.

Jess later told me who Maria is. Apparently when Jess was a puppy she was completely insane, just charging about all the time destroying every thing she could get her teeth into. She also used to bite dad every chance she got, nobody else – just dad. Eventually, after trying everything he could to get her to be a good girl, he took her away. They went a long way in the car to a place called Worcestershire to meet a lady who could do magical things with dogs. A couple of weeks later he came and picked her up and she had become a really good girl. A couple of times after that she had been to stay with Maria when mom and dad went on holiday and really loved it there. You can take a look at the link I found here.

This is to happen to me then? Yeah we’ll see. This Maria has never, ever met a dog as cool and as switched on as me. I’ll run rings around her. I’ll tear lumps out of her. Bones Rules!!!!!!!