Friday, 31 October 2008


Well, life has taken a turn for the worse. I am sorry to report that I have been forced to file an official complaint with Parents Plc. This is what I have submitted:

Dear(ish) Mother and Father

I feel it is imperative that I point out that tonight, Thursday 30th October, I was not fed an evening meal until 10.10pm. I was fed 'breakfast' at approximately 12.58pm (which I would like to point out would technically be lunch since it was 'pm') and therefore 9 hours and 12 minutes elapsed between meals.

In that time, I played with Dylan (extensively and energetically), I stayed home alone with Dylan while you 'shopped' (emotional trauma which saps much energy), I walked up AND down a mountain and I entertained customers.

I feel that today's feeding schedule has been woefully inadequate considering the Hard Work I have undertaken. I feel let down. I feel glum.

Please let me know what reparations I can expect (the tiny piece of pizzle I reluctantly accepted at close of pub time does not count) and what improvements you intend to put in place to ensure this Never Happens Again.



I await a reply and will now retire to bed. Their bed.


Tuesday, 28 October 2008

My Inner Puppy

Tonight I am feeling rather mellow. I must admit that recently I have been a little out of sorts. Yesterday was particularly trying. The darn parents kept going out and leaving me with just That Stupid Whippet for company. I got grumpy; there were words. I'll leave it there.

Today, though, I feel somewhat refreshed and my inner puppy has been out to play. This generally results in much bouncing, some really good clubbing of Dylan round the head with my paws (it's all in good fun, of course), lots of wagging and asking for belly rubs.

I have been sociable and confident. Mostly. There was that incident with the pumpkin, but I prefer not to think about that right now.

I like my inner puppy. It is a good thing. Fun, energising, relaxing. I'm not sure where you get them from, mine always seems to have been there, but I do think it is sad that not everyone has one. Do they fade as you get older? Can you get a lotion or potion that makes them stay? I would like to be able to summon it on command, but it is a slippery thing, ducking and diving.

I have noticed a pattern. No inner puppy = grumpiness. Inner puppy = happiness.

I must talk to Dad about the possibility of finding the cause of my inner puppy and how I can then patent it and sell it for millions.

Then I can have all the treats and toys that I desire. And deserve!

Saturday, 25 October 2008

Prison Break-out!

So. I guess you are all wondering what happened yesterday regarding the T.O.Y. event. I'm not actually sure how to report it.

The bare bones of the matter are this: at approximately 19.10 last night Dylan entered the pub carrying a T.O.Y. To be precise it was the larger of our two soft and honky long dog toys (we have a small one as well, which I seem to remember got it a bit tight one day and is currently awaiting surgery). Mum expressed intense surprise, but concluded that it must have been a rogue toy that had been hidden somewhere and not locked away in Toy Prison with the rest of our belongings.

She removed said T.O.Y. from Dylan and put it on the high shelf in the bar (which, by the way, I had to sadly conclude was not reachable - you should have seen the risk assessment on piling up miscellaneous items and climbing up ro rescue toys!).

Dylan left the pub in a high dudgeon. I resumed my blogging activity.

At approximately 19.14 Dylan re-entered the pub with Another T.O.Y. This time the cheeky beggar was mouthing my (personal use only) giraffe bone! I have had this since I was a mere pupster and it is precious to me. Naturally, I had to retrieve it from Dylan's jaws.

Unfortunately Mum noticed. She then decided the sudden appearance of Another T.O.Y. required investigation and went upstairs. We followed.

Shock horror! The Toy Prison Door was ajar! Actually it was open by a good 8 inches! There was a pile of toys spilling out all over the floor! Mum questioned Dad who claimed no knowledge of this event. I, of course, had been downstairs with Mum at the time of the Prison breach.

All eyes swung to Dylan who stood there wagging his tail in a stupid manner.

Much discussion followed. Mum said it must have been Dylan, and Dad seemed inclined to agree. Dylan was keeping very quiet. I said that Dylan was just not capable of such derring-dos. How would he have opened the latch?

And then I remembered something. A few days ago I had seen Dylan scratching away at the door. He was being very persistent. I put it down to stupid desperation for a toy and ignored him. After all, we had carried out a very thorough reccee of the door in the early days of the Campaign to no avail.

But. Is it possible? Did Dylan's persistence pay off? Had he weakened the latch? He does have long sharp claws, could he have gained leverage?

I am still leaning towards it being a lucky break, but every now and again I see the ghost of a smug smile of his face and I wonder. I really wonder.

Of course, there is no Hollywood ending to this story. The Toys are back in Toy Prison. We have cruel, unrelenting owners.

Oh and by the way "Rosie Posie" (if that's your real name). I have seen your comment and your tauntings are nought to me. I am stronger, far stronger than that.

Friday, 24 October 2008

Put those darn scissors down woman!

I was right. She has now attacked my chest, belly and (oh the shame of it) my nether regions with those damn scissors. At that point I started a major wriggling campaign and she let me off 'until another day'.

Ominous. Thankfully having half a haircut doesn't look too stupid. At least she did both front legs at once. I remember one time she did one paw and leg and not the other, and I looked like a right ninny. People commented. It was humiliating.

So it is Friday night. I have just finished my barking-at-the-neighbour-unpacking-his-car routine. Well, he was going about it in a very suspicious manner. I have not had enough food, having only had one proper meal event and one small snack. Oh and quite a few bits of pilchard bread during my haircut trauma this morning. So, by my reckoning I am due another complete meal. More lamb breast (lovely and meaty, with crunchy little soft boney bits...mmmmmm) would be fine, but I would also accept mince. I am a little fished out, to be honest, as that's what we've had the last two days. To be honest, I'll eat pretty much anything Mum puts in my bowl (or drops on the floor, I am an excellent hoover), though by preference I would up my rations quite substantially.

Sad news on the walks front. That Whippet is now allowed off lead again, having healed sufficiently well. He was a right pain in the backside yesterday and got very over-excited, which I told him in no uncertain terms (Dad says it was my fault but I think he was mistaken) and I hold him entirely repsonsible for the fact that we were both on-leads and walked along a boring lane today.


Clive has had to leave off blogging temporarily because it seems that a T.O.Y. is at large!!!

Naturally he has had to go investigate. He will return anon.

Thursday, 23 October 2008

A parcel arrived for me!

Not treats (sadly) but instead a new jumper. And no, before you ask, I do not wish to post a photo. I am in two minds about jumpers. It is a rare day that I actually need one, since I have such a magnificent naturally thick coat, but in this 'special' building with its 'special' heating system, it does get significantly cold in winter. And winter is on its way.

Most of the time, I am just hot and scratchy if I wear my jumper (just to clarify, I don't exactly get to choose if I am going to wear it, it gets put on me). I am an expert at extracting myself from it (either by using special secret spaniel jumper evacuation techniques that I am unable to share with you or by looking so pathetic and refusing to move that some nearby human takes pity on me).

On occasion, though, as the mood takes me and the weather deteriorates, I can be found happily - and very stylishly I may add - relaxing in my jumper, generally on the sofa or comfy chair. It stops me shivering and gives me a certain, how shall I put it, individuality.

This new jumper was tailor made especially for me by my human Granny. She has done a Very Good Job, I must say. It is dark blue with a turquoise trim. Manly. Spanielesque. And importantly, a one off. No other spaniel will be sporting exactly my sense of style.

On an altogether darker note, I am also 'developing' a new haircut. By this I mean that I have been at the receiving end of the scissors, but since this was confined to my head and neck, I suspect there is more to come.

I hate the scissors and I have used this to my advantage by training my Mum to feed me copious amounts of tasty morsels whilst she wields them. For this, I can just about put up with these vicious implements.

Anyone who thinks getting a haircut is fun is M.A.D.

Monday, 20 October 2008

Poet Shmoet

It has come to my attention that my last post has caused some small concerns. Phrases such as "going soft" have been bandied about.

Have no fear.

I am Spaniel enough that I am able to indulge in a little poetry when the mood takes me, and still be my own sweet tyrannical self. After all, was not Henry VIII an accomplished poet? And look what a leader he turned out to be! Very much in control of his household.

As for concerns about my hair, rest assured. I have more than ever and no intentions whatsoever of loosing it any time soon. It was merely a poetic turn of phrase. Plus, it rhymed.

Today we are all chilling out in front of the fire. We heroically stomped about the beach this morning in gale force winds, and I chased my ball several times. Once I've had a nap, I will be turning my mind back to the issue of No TOYS.

But just for now, I am full of food (beef mince, damn it was juicy) and feeling sleepy...

Sunday, 19 October 2008

In which I get lyrical

I have had an important communication from a land far away! I had to look in the atlas to see where this "Cyprus" place was, and indeed it is many miles from here. A small place, but obviously a place where intelligent and thoughtful dogs live. In my communication (entitled a "comment") I have received highly useful intelligence that may well get the Free the Toys Campaign back on track. I need to consider my options, based on this new intelligence, but I am confident that this marks the start of a whole new phase of the Campaign.

I may even be able to get that damn Whippet back in line.

I would also like to take a moment to thank my "Followers". I don't know you. You don't know me. But you Follow Me nonetheless, thus proving your worth and dedication. I thank you all. To celebrate this special group of people, I have penned a little verse. I hope you like it.

To my Followers

You follow me, I see it, I care.
You follow me here, you follow me there.
I like being followed, I like it when you're there.
Please follow me even if I've no hair.

Thank you one and all.

Saturday, 18 October 2008

Betrayel is spelt WHIPPET

Well, That Whippet now claims that not only has he been playing with Green Dog, but he has also had access to Tinkly Ball! My Tinkly Ball! Well, not the original Tinkly Ball that I loved so much when I was a wee pupster, because that one mysteriously disappeared on a road trip I took with Mum and Dad, but a replacement Tinkly Ball (though to be honest I never really took too so Dylan is welcome to it, except that I'm still not getting any toy time). And I really think he must be telling the truth because he's not played with Tinkly Ball for months so wouldn't have remembered it to make up a lie about it! I, of course, never forget a toy.

What in the world is going on?

I mean, I know he's not going out on walks still on account on that crater in his pad, but is that reason to give him privileges I am denied? Is it? We asked for toys this morning, and were told in no uncertain terms to "make do with each other". Which we did, until Mum came upstairs to see what was going on because she said we sounded like "a herd of elephants", whatever they are. We were only playing chase up and down the corridor. Then Dylan got a bit overexcited (like he always does) and started tearing around the pub and had to be sat down in a corner until he could breath properly again. Muppet.

To be honest, this whole Dylan-getting-toys thing has all but collapsed the Free the Toys Campaign Committee. Last night we sat down to talk about things and, well, it just got a bit heated. I admit I was wound up by the Tinkly Ball rumours, but Dylan just didn't seem to be taking it seriously anymore! Said since he was getting toys, he didn't see why we needed to keep on with our work! I was thoroughly disheartened and may have made a rude gesture at him.

On a much more positive note, though, the more relaxed rules about the sofa seems to be continuing. It seems that if I get off whenever I am told, I don't always get told to get off, if you see what I mean? I may have caused a little set back on the bed access issue last night by being reluctant (well, refusing, to be honest) to get off when told. The bedroom door has been shut again since then. But I am trying really hard.

Don't they know how comfy that darn bed of theirs is?

Thursday, 16 October 2008

Dylan is telling lies. I am sure of it. At least, he better be. He said that while Dad was taking me out for a walk yesterday (silly cut pad boy had to stay at home) he and Mum had a game with a T.O.Y.! He claims it was green dog, which is a fairly boring toy as it doesn't squeak or honk or throw very well. But it is a toy nonetheless! I definitely don't believe him.

Although. Although. Something odd happened tonight. I was lounging good and proper on the sofa, all paws to the ceiling and that kind of thing, when Mum came up from the pub. I prepared to launch myself onto the floor when she came over and gave me a great big hug! And then she gave my chops a tickle, and then I got a full on belly rub. And not once did she ask me to get off the sofa! Lovely, but also disconcerting.

Does this mean Boot Camp is off? Dare I hope? I have also had access to the bedroom today, though I haven't risked going on to their bed. Are we no longer in Disgrace? Was Dylan telling the truth?

So many questions!

Monday, 13 October 2008


Free the Toys Campaign Day 5

Days without toys = 7

Campaign Report:

Hypnotising Dad: Well, I have done lots of research, and found a suitably shiny medallion with which to put Dad under the influence but I have run into an insurmountable problem. It seems I need to be on a level high enough to dangle the darn medallion in front of his eyes. But that means getting on some furniture (the coffee table is particularly suitable) and Boot Camp rules mean that I am shooed off anything that is the least bit comfy or useful. 'Off Clive' is the bane of my life! Oh for a few more inches on these furry legs of mine! So, for now, hypnosis is off the agenda.

Blow doors off Prison Door: I was originally planning to just buy some explosives online, seemed like the easiest option, but Mum appears to have hidden all the credit cards. I'm really not a cash kind of guy, plus I'm not sure any of the shops I have seen in town are that kind of shop. Also, these two numpties who call themselves my "parents" haven't got a decent chemistry book between them, so its not as if I can manufacture some here at home! Sadly this exciting option is going the way of hypnosis.

Teleport Toys out: Absolutely out of the question. No way. I saw a clip of a documentary on YouTube that showed a creature being teleported and it was...I can hardly write the was turned inside out!!! I simply cannot risk such a horrible fate happening to my (sorry, our) toys. It would be nightmarishly bad. No way. No.

Chew through door: This is our backup backup plan, for when things get really bad and they are clearly not going to return the toys any time soon, and everything else has failed. Partly because it requires them to leave us for a substantial amount of time, which they don't do very often, but mainly because I suspect (in my 3 years of experience as a dog) it will get us into serious disgrace. And Disgrace is what caused the Toys to be confiscated in the first place. I believe the term might be "counter-productive".

So, I find myself in the grips of a moral dilemma.There is a new option, an opportunistic option created by my muppetish co-campaigner's leap from a great height of yesterday. This option is called "Sympathy". A simple title for a cunning approach. Beseeching eyes, as we have found, are not in themselves sufficient to wrench those hard parental hearts. But gaping wounds? A bit of oh Mum it hurts me? Woe is meeee! What would make me feel better? Well, obviously more biscuits would help...what's that? Peanut butter biscuits? Yes, well, they would be welcome. But what would really make me feel better, what would put the wag back in my droopy little tail, well...that would be a toy, Mum. Yes, a toy.

The dilemma is that Dylan is actually a bit too sore to leap around with a toy. I gave it a good go this morning, and gave him several clubs round the head, ran round him in circles barking my head off, tore up and down the corridor plainly inviting him to play, but no. He just lay there looking pathetic. Every time I got near his pathetic little paw he'd move away pathetically. So, do I make him lie to Mum when it's actually me that wants the toys? When toys might actually make his sore paw sorer? Do I have it in me to practice such deceit?

Of course I do. He's only a Whippet.

Sunday, 12 October 2008


Man down, we have a man down! Disaster has struck at the heart of The Free the Toys Campaign Committee! Dylan, foot soldier, sound board and fellow toy-lover, took it into his head to jump off a ten foot cliff on our walk today and cut off part of his pad! The blood! Eugh.

I am now alone in my quest. Dylan is prostrate at Mum's feet, being pathetic and occasionally holding his paw up in a stupid manner. His has an embarassing bandage and sock affair strapped to his paw. And he calls himself an "action kind of guy". If you can't tell, right now, I am shaking my head.

It's not as if we were even engaged in dangerous activites relating to the Campaign! Just tooling about the woods with Dad, enjoying the sunshine, sniffing out sniffs, being dawgs. It probably means a trip to the V.E.T.s but don't tell Dylan, he'll get even more drama-queenish. And that would be hard to take.

On the Campaign front, until this set-back I was hopeful that we were nearing the end of the tyranny. Dylan had put in some really solid "beseeching eyes" work last night after dinner, and reported back that Mum seemed to be near to cracking. I have been scanning the internet to find hypnosis instructions. Also, we overhead an interesting snippet from Dad, which I am sure - if I heard what he said correctly - we can use to our advantage. It went along the lines of "so long as they don't figure out how to pile stuff up and get to the shelf, we'll be alright'.

Now this alerted us to the possibility that, assuming they were discussing the Campaign at the time, not all the toys were in the Toy Prison! It is true that in the past toys have sometimes been kept on a high shelf in the pub. But, and I have to admit it's a big but, it's a very high shelf and we are not actually allowed behind the bar which would be the best location to pile stuff up (also not sure what 'stuff' Dad was referring to - is this a specific term for an item which is made for 'piling up' situations? Or are you supposed to use items we find lying around the place? Don't know.). I was hoping the Dylan and I could discuss this tonight, but he is now all "ooohhh, my paw" and "leave me alone Clive" so he's going to be no use at all.

I feel a little deflated. It has been 6 days without toys now, with the exception of the beach. They definitely won't let Dylan play with any at the moment because his "enthusiastic" style would hurt his paw. And if they don't let him, they're not likely to let me.

I guess it's down to me now. I just need to dig deep and not give up hope.

Friday, 10 October 2008

Campaign Day Two

Day 4 without Toys.

Okay, so things didn't exactly go to plan. In fact, I don't think Dylan even read the plan! Every time I went to put my paws on his back to hop up he got all ancy and mvoed about. Said I was tickling him, and it "felt funny". Idiot. Ruined everything! I didn't get anywhere near the handle on the Toy Prison door.

So, we have had to think again. Thinking is something I am good at, so I have done a thinking...thing. I call it a "Mind Meld". To be honest I'm not at all sure what one of those is, but it sounds good! It will help us decide what to do next.

I'm feeling really positive that one of these ideas will work. Dylan and I need to talk things through tonight (though why I bother to even involve him I don't know...) and we will start afresh tomorrow.

On a more positive note, we had a fab walk at the beach today. I was very worried that the Toy Ban would extend to the beach (it's the only time we are allowed toys on our walks) but thankfully we both got lucky! Mum obviously isn't so silly as to deny us on the beach. Dylan is sad though because his beloved kong is on its last legs. It is almost split in two. I had a good look at it when I took it half way through the walk (it's okay, I gave it back...well, okay, Dad took it back but that's not so different is it?) and it is definitely not long for this world. He will be lost without it.

Sadly, we were not fed before our walk (most remiss, though I understand there are "issues" to do with me having a tendency to throw up in a moving vehicle if I've eaten recently, but that was a phase when I was a puppy and I still deny that I threw up 8 times in the space of a one hour journey...). And our walk was in the afternoon so when we got home we were Starving! However, Mum did not remember to give us extra rations so I am now going to write her a note to remind her we are owed one whole meal. She is very forgetful.

I'm off to take Dylan through the Mind Meld options. One of them must be the solution to our desperate struggle!

Thursday, 9 October 2008

Free the Toys Campaign!

Dylan and I have been busy. We have officially formed the "Free the Toys Campaign Committee". I am in charge. Dylan is my foot soldier. After much debate, some initial reccees and more debate, we have conceived our First Plan.

Hope we don't suffer any casualties. Will have to wait until Mum and Dad are busy in the pub.

They'll never expect this!


There has been an incident. So much for Boot Camp, I suspect Dylan and I are now in Disgrace. Deep in Disgrace. We 'may' have had a scrap. We 'may' have not wanted to stop scraping. We 'may' have given each other a few little nicks and scrapes.

What is certain is that I didn't get any special birthday treats on Monday (3 glorious years since the day of my birth!). We are definitely not being allowed to commit any argy bargy whatsoever. And, and this one is a shock, so please excuse me if I falter here...we haven't seen a single toy for 3 days!

3 days!

That means no toys after dinner (a sacrosanct tradition). No toys of an evening when it is quiet in the pub. No toys. NO TOYS! Now, I am mature, I can cope. Really, I can. My main concern is obviously That Whippet, I mean Dylan. He is very keen on his toys. He mopes without toys. He loves being able to give his toys to me. Toys define him.

I am actually considering writing to someone about this. We are being forced to play with each other, for lack of alternatives. Yesterday, we had to make do with running up and down the balcony, wrestling in the living room, chasing each other in and out of the bedroom and mutual ear sniffing. Disgusting to make us resort to this. Does that sound like a happy and content dog household? No, I thought not.

It is hard to know where we go from here. Mum and Dad have given us no timetable for the release of the toys (I know where they are being held captive, but goddammit my paws can't open the latch on the cupboard door). We are being made to work very hard. 3 or 4 times a day there is training. On your mat. Give me paw. Roll over. Watch me. I'll watch them, I tell you. Everyday.

Everyday until the toys are released.

Free the toys!

Friday, 3 October 2008

I am victorious! She has crumbled before the might of the Cocker and pilchard bread is currently cooling in the kitchen. I am not supposed to know that, as she hasn't deemed to inform us, but how could she fox a nose like mine? It's about time as well, we had to make do with cheese last night! What a shocker.

Went on a brilliant walk with Dad today. All the way round the local mountain. Something wierd is happening though. Dylan and me had one of our 'conversations', which Mum and Dad hate, and normally when we do that they wade in and try and seperate us. But today, Dad just walked away from us. We were that surprised we just stopped 'talking' and followed after him. Didn't seem much point if he wasn't watching. He told Mum we'd had a scrap, though that is such an exageration - I was merely pointing out that Dylan was doing something I didn't like, and he was replying - but they seemed pleased to the point of smugness that we'd stopped once they stopped looking at us. I suspect Boot Camp rules.

I wonder if it is the garlic version of pilchard bread or the straightforward version? Do you know, we haven't had any of those tasty little peanut butter biscuits for a long time. We're definintely due some of those.

Oh! I nearly forgot! I have exciting news! Again, not something I am supposed to know, but I have good hearing and am an excellent conversation overhearer. I think, I'm not sure, but I think, that it's a very special day for me on Monday! Not Dylan, just me! I have absolutely no idea why, but I think it's an excellent idea.

A day dedicated to Clive.

Thursday, 2 October 2008


That's how I'm feeling today. Grrrrrr. And Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored. My people had visitors today, who we know and love (though they brought some other different people with them too) but they were all too busy yakking to talk to us. It was all "off Clive" and "down Clive". Yadder yadder yadder.

They ate food and didn't give us any. Okay, we had a so-called "treat" and had lamb for breakfast and dinner, but what about their food? Nothing fell on the floor. Nothing. And call that a walk? On-lead and it was doing that thing where there's loads of water in the air being blown around. I got soaked! And I couldn't run around to get it out of my coat. Miserable. Came home and then they opened up the pub. No-one interesting has come in. I'm still not allowed on the sofa, or in the bedroom.

I'm fed up.

Plus, I think we're out of treats. I'm sure I heard Mum say so. But she hasn't made any more has she? And no more treats have arrived from London, or anywhere else. I'm worried. What will we do without treats? And I think Mum's up to something. She's got this book, and when she reads it she keeps looking and me and Dylan in an assessing kind of way, and talking to Dad. I've tried to figure out what the book's about, but all I can ascertain is that it has words in it. Worrying.

All I can say is that if there's not the smell of pilchard bread baking before bedtime, I'm going on strike!