The vagaries of women

Here is the scenario.

You are taken to the forest, in fact frog marched to the forest, encouraged to run around, cooed over when you wriggle gloriously on your back in a pile of pine needles, and then rewarded on your return home by a wonderful bowl of food.

Why on earth would you then be reprimanded for decorating the homestead with memorabilia of the wonderful experience you as a family have just shared? I speak of course of the flora and fauna of the forest which, by no deliberate act of myself, becomes attached to my flowing locks and hitchhikes home.

I just don't understand the contradiction.

I certainly don't think it is reasonable behaviour to drag me up onto a table and, whilst muttering in a most negative way, hack off said flowing locks that "harbour dirt and detritus".

Dirt and detritus? These are not words that need to come into contact with my ears.

I am a fitness goD!

Honestly, it's true. I am six and a half years young and have never been fitter. I am lithe, supple and have great stamina. Speed is merely a glossy facade behind which pretend athletes hide (like certain collie whippets, for instance).

In fact, I am now fully signed up to a Triathletes training program! Or at least the canine equivalent, which probably involves more running after than bike than biking itself (I am not stupid enough to run just in front of the bike like He does, barking his head off annoyingly) and perhaps less swimming. Don't get me wrong, I am fond of a bit of a swim, but I'm more of a lazy Sunday afternoon in the sun swim in the river guy than lap after lap type pool swimming. Plus I'm not allowed in many swimming pools. Apparently, they don't like the hair in the filters.

Haven't they ever heard of doggy paddle?

So you can expect training reports on a regular basis and I fully expect that my food intake will be increased according to the extreme level of exercise I am now undertaking.

What's to go wrong eh?

Turns out there are worse things than collie whippets

I honestly would not have thought it possible, but it seems to be true. Don't get me wrong, I still have no time for That Whippet, but I find myself on occasion siding with him against IT.

IT is new. IT is everywhere. IT seems to have an obsession with my ears (well that one I can understand, they are after all fantastic ears). Just as I have settled down for a comfortable snooze on the sofa IT arrives, dribbling, burbling nonsense (all the time, really, it just spouts gibberish), staggering like a drunkard and reaching out with its wet little hands to paw me (paw me...get it? ha!).

Now I have always had an affinity with the small people. I know where I am with them. I sit, I give paw, I am adorably gentle. That is innate in my small people friendly soul. I am reliably informed that IT will one day become a small person. Personally, I just can't see it. IT's not cute, doesn't tickle me nicely under the chin or throw my ball.

On the other hand, IT takes up space on the bed where I used to be, gets fed before me (possibly the worse crime of all) and has significantly decreased the amount of me-time I get with the parents.

Oh and this one is almost unutterable, but I will be brave. IT has meant that not only am I attacked by the dreaded clippers, but I was abandoned with a complete stranger who locked me in a cage and then attacked me with the dreaded clippers.

I believe the parents went to a nearby pub while this heinous crime was taking place. There is no justice in the world that can right this wrong.

Things I have learnt in my absence...

1. Do not wage war against the person who feeds you.

2. Do not wage war against the person who controls your access to the internet, and therefore your blog.

3. Some kinds of 'diet' are apparently not temporary.

4. Clippers are very scary things and not worth the chicken titbits that accompany their use (I never thought I'd say food wasn't worth it, but on this occasion I have been felled by these buzzing nightmares).


Officially, Mother and I have declared a Truce. This, apparently, is what you do to end hostilities. I prefer to see it as a tactial maneouvre. I am playing a Very Long Game.

My goal?

As much food as I desire and abolition of all 'diets'.

From the Front Line...

...sssssh! Don't shout, I am reporting this in secret so that the powers that be around here (aka Mum and Dad) don't censor me. Yes, things have got that bad, and all out war has broken out.

Since the mutilation of my undercarriage, the inadequacy of walks in the days that followed and the appalling changes in diet (i.e. not enough food), relations have broken down. Mum has been unmovable on the subject of food supplies and so I have taken it upon myself to supplement my pathetic diet.

Night raids on the kitchen have so far been quite successful, my high points being an entire loaf of bread and a rather fine pack of weetabix. I now go in there whenever I can in order to chance my luck and fill my ravenous stomach. Of course this has led to much stomping around by parents, and an increased likelihood of the door being firmly shut. I am having to get sneaky. I have found a wonderful camo outfit on the net and am weighing up the merits of wearing it for stealth, against the fact that I find wearing 'clothes' demeaning.

Mum and Dad tried to distract me by taking us on a trip to the Cotswolds, but while it might have had its enjoyable moments, it didn't for one instance take away the enormity of the task at hand.

I Must Be Fed More.

Captain Clive, over and out.


Ssssssssssssssh!

Nag Nag Nag

'Don't lick there'...'don't jump up'...'no running around'...blah blah blah....

This is soooooo boring. I'm not allowed to do anything fun. I haven't been out for a walk since Monday. I felt too depressed yesterday to write, it hurt when I sat down and I couldn't get up on the bed unassisted. Embarrassing. I felt so low that Mum took advantage of me and made me wear my fleece because I was shivering. I told her it was only because of the shock of my loss, but no, she insisted I was cold and needed it. Grrrrrrr.

Plus, I'm sure my food rations have been cut AGAIN. Mum says I'm still on a diet to lose weight (what???? I'll be a skeleton if she has her way) has now been upped because 'done' dogs put on weight more easily. Even less food. Great.

My life is hardly worth living.

Oh, and I have decided I have a bone to pick with Dad. He's a bloke, right? He has...bloke's bits. So, here's my question.

How in the name of everything manly did he let her do that to me???????????

Hmm? Dad? Oh, nothing to say eh? Funny that. Realllllly funny.

I have been violated!!!!!

Shock. Horror. The most fell deed imaginable. Betrayed by my own mother!!!!

Please, if you are of a squeamish nature, I beg that you look away now. And no, Bran, there are no photos.

The truth is...I can hardly bare to say it. Here goes...

I have been unmanned! Yes! I, Clive, am two peas short of a pod! Or should that be two pods short? Well, however you like to put it, I am no longer the man I once was. My short and curlies have been shaved as well so I look like an overgrown puppy whose pods haven't even shown up to the party yet.

The Shame.

I really thought, at the grand age of 3 1/2, that I had gotten away with it. That Whippet had been unmanned since before he came to live with us, and to be honest he's such a girl anyway he'll have hardly noticed any difference. But me! How can I strut my manly stuff now?

The worst of it is I've hardly had anything at all to eat since 7pm yesterday evening. Mother seems to think a tiny bit of roast chicken when I arrived home will be sufficient, but she should know better!

I am overcome by feelings of loss. I will retire.

Adieu.