A sad affair in cocker service provision

Dear Mother

I cannot fail to notice that on 11 out of the last 14 days the collie and I have not been walked until the afternoon. In addition on these days we have been left alone all morning without sustenance. This is unacceptable. Please provide an adequate explanation and 3 point plan for improvement to the service you are supposed to provide.

Clive


Dear Clive

Firstly, you can't count to 11 let alone 14. In fact, you can only count to 3 because you get 3 food events each day, 2 meals and 1 snack. So don't give me that lip.

Mother


Dear Mother

Technically we get 2 meals and a snack. In reality, you split what I regard to be one decent-ish meal into 2, and forget about the snack altogether. And where's my 3 point plan?

Clive


Dear Clive

Snacks are not your right, they are a privilege I occasionally give you. Like the Yorkshire puddings on roast dinner days, and the packet of gone soft gingerbread men I am currently - occasionally - giving you. Be grateful dammit or I'll give them all to the collie.

Mother


Dear Mother.

Perfidy. Why am I surprised?

Clive

There's something in my ear...

...and I just can't get at it. Seriously, it's driving me NUTS.

I have done a lot of scratching, some quite outstanding rubbing of ear on the ground, and have even submitted to being molested with scissors to trim my manly ear curls and it still

ITCHES.

I need a solution and I need it fast or it'll be the low road to the V E T.


Oh and Happy New Year by the way. Was it a waggy one for you?

A new start for training?

In order to really enjoy a dog, one doesn't merely try to train him to be semi human.  The point of it is to open oneself to the possibility of becoming partly a dog.  ~Edward Hoagland

Now I have no idea who this writer chap was but I like his attitude. I have been musing for some time as to the best approach to the dog-human training relationship and for me, this little phrase is a great starting point.

Before kitting yourself with a massive array of training equipment perhaps it would be wise to spend at least a few moments (or maybe even a little longer) learning what us dogs are actually about?


The human-dog partnership is a wonderful thing. Until, that is, you decide to rub our noses in our own mess, attach shock collars to our necks and squirt high pressure air in our faces if we bark. And we will bark, you know, we are DOGS.


So I make you a promise. I will study human behaviour and try to be more understanding as to why exactly it is you don't always feed me on time or let me sleep in the centre of the bed all night long, if you will study dog behaviour. We bark, we dig, we chase, we roll and you need to know why. 


It will be our little educational adventure. With quite a lot of rolling. In smelly stuff.


Seriously, you should try it, it's very liberating.  

When art goes bad...

I had a bit of a trying morning today. The collie did a lot of barking in my face on our walk and then Mum gave me pilchards to eat when we got home. Now, don't get me wrong, I LOVE pilchards. It was even the ones in tomato sauce which are the best. But after a walk - and this is clearly stated in our food provision contract - I get BONES to eat. Not pilchards, bones. Normally chicken, but anything is fine so long as it is raw, crunchable and in sufficient quantity. Without bones I am hungry and grumpy. 

Inevitably, I spent the rest of the morning hungry and grumpy so after a couple of hours I decided to do something about it. No, I didn't raid the kitchen and find my own bones. What do you think I am? Instead I decided on a soothing, even therapeutic activity.

I decided to do a self-portrait. Now, I read that you do a drawing of yourself without a mirror and it can reveal lots about how you see yourself. Since I love myself thoroughly, I thought this would be a great way to cheer myself up.

How wrong was I? Check this out...

What do you reckon? I think I need therapy more now than I did before I started.

I would like to make it clear that I do not look like this. Absolutely not. Yes, perhaps I managed to get an indication of my sumptuous chest hair, and yes, perhaps my paws are rather fluffy. But the vacant expression? Nothing like me.

Since I am not a quitter, I had another go, thinking perhaps a profile portrait would go better. Unfortunately it makes me look like an overweight poodle sheep cross.

I am disappointed, who wouldn't be? But it is obviously the system that is at fault. Next time, I will try an abstract approach.

I will capture my spaniel essence and pin it down on paper!

Hallelujah!

Nom nom...excuse me...nom nom...hang on...

oooh...crunchy bits!...nom nom nom.

Sorry was I supposed to be saying something profound?

I have the hump...

This is one of those mixed blessing things. Or silver lined clouds. Or maybe it's just plain WRONG.

As you may have noticed I have been campaigning hard for some time for more (or any) treats. I even found recipes and ingredients. My desires, needs even, have simply gone unnoticed.

Until today. Two unusual things have happened today.

1. A small black ridiculously fluffy thing *claiming* to be a cocker spaniel seedling has invaded our home. As a consequence of our apparently being "scared" of her (ha! as if...) she is in the nice room in front of the fire with mum while I am shut upstairs with the stupid collie whippet.


2. An aroma from the kitchen is stirring deeply buried memories from my brain. If I didn't know better I would say mum is cooking peanut butter biscuits!!!


Is it coincidence or is this treachery of the worst kind?


Will we (that is the dogs-who-are-actually-members-of-this-family) actually get any of the biscuits or are they just for visitors?


Have I got it completely wrong and they are just having satay sauce for lunch?


Hark! The oven beeper sounds!

Sitting on the dock of the bay...

Had a rifle through some old photos today and came up with this:

Now, for those of you who don't recognise this particular instrument of torture, it is a 'Pet Lifesaving Device'. Otherwise known as a handle you strap to your dog to fish them out of a particularly choice bit of water they have just gone to the trouble of jumping into.

My so-called 'family' bought this for me when I was a wee pupster and they took me on a canal boat holiday. Happily, the disgraceful item was the wrong size and they didn't have time to change it before we sailed off with a tally-ho or whatever it is boaty people say when...well, sailing off.

As I am here with you today, you can see that I survived the experience. Indeed I can report there was no fishing out of canals needed, with or without handles, and there was even time for a spot of sightseeing.

Here's me appreciating the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. Now, do I look like I'm about to hurl myself into a watery life threatening situation?

Oh, damn. Sorry, how did that get there? Bit of a groin shot. Sorry. Oh...my plums. I miss you boys, I really do.

Anyway. This got me thinking, and it turns out there is a world of oddity out there. Not only can you get these float thingys (what must they do to a dog's sense of balance in the water?) but you can get custom built top of the range techno fabric dog wetsuits!

Yes! It seems I may have underestimated the number of psychotic dangerous water sport obsessed dogs there are in the world. I'm an outdoorsy kind of guy, and I like a nice stretch of water, and I don't feel the cold, I really don't. But when I see a sentence beginning "Hunting dogs may break through thin ice" I start to fantasise about roaring fires, crumpets and a toasting fork. And a smoking jacket. I'd look ok in one of those.

So to all you dock diving, ice breaking, wave surfing (ok, you guys might be kind of cool), macho water obsessed dogs living life at the edge...

...I salute you! You put the 'O my god will you look at that!' in dOg. 

What the...?

Good God!

I've just found a Dog Treats Recipe Book saved on the hard drive of the laptop!

What the....?

I can't....

I'll be back...


Oh no, wait. That's old. Nothing new. Just getting my hopes up for nothing.

Still, have left the file open, just in case it catches some attention.

A license for Wild Swimming? Seriously?

Okay I am mystified. I didn't even know that swimming could be any other way? Well, yes alright I know you people have these weird things called 'swimming pools' that we're banned from. Quite frankly, I don't know why you would want to use them anyway when we are surrounded by glorious water! And I'm not making a sarcastic comment about the rain.

Now I look into it I find that there is an abundance of Wild or Outdoor Swimming organisations. What is wrong with you people? It's simple. So here is my guide to wild swimming.

See some water. Don't waste time with special kit or safety briefings, just head on in. As you see here, if you're lucky enough to have larger ears you can use them to propel you forward a bit faster.

Now swim! Just do it, that's what the wet stuff's for. Just a note, if you are advanced enough to do carry a ball, don't drop it. Seriously. You'll be gutted if it sinks and believe me, all balls are not equal when it comes to floating or sinking. It's the big con of the dog toy world.

At some point, you're going to have to get out. Sorry, but you'll start to rot eventually and that would be gross. Remember that ball!

If you're indulging in coastal wild swimming, I can highly recommend some post-swim seaweed love. Chew but don't swallow. Not unless you like throwing up in the car on the way home, in which case, fill your boots!

And if, like me, you are rather practised in the art of 'wild' swimming, why not take it further? Here's me walking water. A great option for enjoying the blue stuff without actually bothering with full body immersion.

No membership needed. What more is there to it...?

It's all about the tongue!

Well, it is today anyway. Tongues are great. They help you get food in your mouth, they cool you down. They can make you look pensive, inquisitive, or just plain happy. To be honest, they can also make you look ridiculous, but we're dogs and we Don't Care!!

So, here's a few of my favourite tongue shots. Just for you.

First off, my 'I may be hot and tired but this tongue says I'm still ready for more! Throw the darn ball again!" Damn I look good. Don't I look good?

This next one brings back memories. This is the "my tongue is gonna get me home" look that strikes at the heart of every knackered but happy pooch. By the way, don't ever call me pooch. It's demeaning unless you're a dog. Just wanted to let you know that. No-one mention the Dennis Healey eyebrows please.

And finally (I may be showing off a tad here but every dog should be able to celebrate his finer side) a classic pose. It's the 'could have been done in a studio it's so great but actually it was serendipity that I look this poised, this handsome and Gadzooks! Will you look at that amazing tongue!!' shot.

Hello to dog tongues everywhere.

Thank you and goodnight.

Move over Andy Warhol!

This is SO cool!

Pop art effect thanks to anymaking.com

I'm feeling a little flat...

Ha! Ha! 

Cooking with Clive!

Whilst doing a little browsing online I noticed there were lots of lots of suggestions for homemade dog treats. Imagine my surprise! So many people out there cooking their dogs lovely lovely treats!

So, I was thinking. I happened to overhear Dad saying that the no-salt peanut butter you'd mistakenly bought him recently was bogging. Bogging. And you'd mistakenly bought two jars. Sooooooo....

Peanut Butter Dog Biscuits

2 cups plain flour (whatever colour you fancy)
1 cup peanut butter (bogging stuff is fine, absolutely fine)
I cup milk (or even water - really just want to make it as simple as possible)
1 cup oil (whatever's lying around)

Oven onto 190 C / 375 F.

Mix  peanut butter, milk/water and 1/2 of the oil. Stir that gloop hard! Add flour and stiiiiiiir some more. Put some elbow grease into it! Add rest of oil. Probably can't stir anymore, too thick. Maybe do some mixing instead?

When it all sticks together, dump it onto a floured surface and get rolling. 1/4 inch thick is what we're after. Feel free to use cutsey wutsey biscuit shape cutters, but remember I don't care what shape they are, just don't stop until they're done!

20-30 mins in the  hot thing until cooked through and golden brown.

Please cook these. Please. We have the ingredients but I can't use the oven. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.

Not the response I'd hoped for

Her: Thank you for your letter, Clive
Me: Pleasure, Mum, pleasure.
Her: It's nice to see you empathising, Clive.
Me: Are you suggesting I haven't before?
Her: No, of course not. I just meant, publicly, as it were.
Me: Oh, right. So what do you think to a truce?
Her: Well, I was quite taken with the notion. Especially since you didn't ask for food. That must have taken a lot of control.
Me: I can have control over my stomach, when it's appropriate. It just isn't very often.
Her: Was it appropriate tonight to to take up your begging position at the kitchen door approximately 15 seconds after you'd finished your dinner?
Me: Er...
Her: After a special dinner of one of your favourite treats?
Me: Um...
Her: You stink after eating pilchards in tomato sauce, you know that right? Yet I give them to you anyway because you love them. And it was a whole can. A Whole Can.
Me: Ah...
Her:  You know I gave that to you because I was so pleased with your olive branch. So how do you think I felt to find you back begging again straight afterwards?
Me: .....
Her: Quite. Nothing to say to that. Why should I give you treats when they obviously don't satisfy you? It's just frustrating for both of us.
Me: Wait a minute...
Her: I think we should both take some time to think about this.
Me: Hang on...

Damnation!

Dear Mother

Where did we go? My baby. Where did we go?

Wise words, Mother, I think you will agree. Following the recent wet troubles that Wales has experienced, and the tales of near misses heard over the bar last night, I find myself in a reflective mood this morning. Our petty squabbles seem insignificant (though I must clarify that food itself is not insignificant, and never will be - this is me after all).

But I find myself wondering if a truce might not be possible?

I ask for little, only a reignition of our formerly loving relationship. A belly scratch here for me, a wiggly tail there for you. A few moments now and again to just be together.

Yes, we will tussle. Yes, you will never give me as much food as I desire. Yes, you will come at me with scissors on a depressingly regular basis. And yes, from time to time I will, inevitably, roll in something stinky. But we can overcome these difficulties. Perhaps with the Power of Love?

I wear my heart on my sleeve in the hope that we can walk a smoother path together.

Your furry first born,

Clive

Bring back the Treats Campaign Report #3

1. Being nice did not work. It was also a depressing endeavour when there was so little reciprocation.

2. Standing on the dining room table, digging up the flower beds and being sick on the carpet four times at mum's parents house was not particularly successful either. Haven't quite figured out why yet as these seemed to be excellent attention grabbing exercises.

3. I suspect Dylan has gone behind my back, broken the treat campaign picket lines and discovered a method of extracting treats which he has not shared. Twice this week he has smelt distinctly of salt and vinegar which means only one thing. Crisps! While it is possible these came from customers, Mum has them so well trained these days they don't dare feed us. So, I have only one conclusion. Mum has fed that Whippet without me. My heart hardens.

4. Future plans are still hazy. My genius plan of taking food off the baby has had to be cancelled as this seems a very unpopular approach. I can't even suck my cheeks in and look too thin as I have a shaggy coat right now and that hides my diminutive figure.

Ideas on a postcard?

Bring Back the Treats Campaign Report #2

We have been dumped by Dad at Grandma's with Mum and The Thing. Normally I would joyous to be here but this is a definite dumping. We are having no attention, rubbish walks, and food at irregular intervals. I can hardly be bothered being nice to mum in an attempt to encourage a better quality of treat.

I must say, though, you get an excellent view of the street here from the dining room table.

HA!

Bring Back the Treats Campaign Report #1

1. Being nice does not get you far.

2. Being nice leads to suspicious comments on the parts of others.

3. Others, who shall remain nameless, are ungracious and rude.

4. Being nice is much harder than I thought.

5. I'm hungry.

6. I got my own back by being sick on carpet four times in an hour.

HA!

An offensive with a difference

Yes, I have devised my strategy, planned it out and am ready to put it into action!

I, Clive, am going to reinstate our daily treat regime with a Charm Offensive!

Mum will have no idea what has hit her. I am loaded up with love bombs and am preparing to charge. This will be Spaniel love like she has never seen it before.

Ke-POW!

And our new treats are...

Nothing. Nadda. Zip. Diddly squat. The cupboard is bare, the online shopping basket is unused.

Not even a whiff of a carrot stick to brighten our evenings.

I remember days of plenty with tuna bread (homemade!) or bright red pilchard bread (so incredibly smelly!), peanut butter biscuits and delicious crunchy fish skin rolls (bought by the massive box full!).

The comforting ritual of the nightly retreat up to the flat after a busy rewarding day and a hard working session meeting and greeting in the pub. The rustling of the fish treat bag, or the ripely overflowing bowl of tuna bread, lovingly torn into chunks for our eager consumption.

The drawn out distribution, each piece savoured and remembered. The hankering looks for 'just one more piece'. The dopey smile on mum's face as she dips her hand back into the treat bowl...sigh. Finally, full tummies (well, obviously I could always fit in more, but I don't want to appear grasping), much licking of under carriages, and curling up on a stinky piece of laundry until bedtime.

What finer times could a spaniel live through? Incomparable to the cold comfort farm of our current existence.

So it is with both regret and steely determination that I announce my new campaign.

What do we want?
TREATS!
When do we want them?
EVERYDAY**!

**Especially before bedtime, but also:

•  in the morning if we are having a late walk and will therefore not be fed any time soon (another sore point), 
• whenever we go to the pub (a different pub, not our pub, I'm not stupid enough to think that will work!), 
• whenever we are out on expeditionary walks, 
• at every rest point during our triathlon training events, 
• whenever we feel weak from lack of food and need a pick-me-up (to be determined by us not parents),
• other times according to individual circumstances.

Waddya reckon?