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 words...it 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.
Clive
Monday, 13 October 2008
Sunday, 12 October 2008
Medic!
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.
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!
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!
Disgrace!
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!
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.
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
Grrrrr.
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!
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!
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