Going home this morning. Watch this space.
There were tasty morsels in there. I just couldn’t find them.
HE STOLE MY BALL
but I got it back.
To be honest, I was knackered, a bit of snow food and a good roll and I was ready for home.
AND BY THAT I MEAN HOME!
Check out my new cool pink collar. Plus, apparently I did the carers a card and present. I am the best
Book to follow.
It is the last day and Lord and Lady B are on the way.
We started off by demonstrating “The Old Grey Whistle Test” to Blue Rinse. She was very impressed and I think Grey might now try training her to respond in the same way to a quick whistle.
After that, with the weather pretty poor outside, I spent some time being naughty as it was my last chance to do that before the Gestapo come back. Grey was having a quiet kip until I descended on him. I was pushed off which was a pity as the position was pretty comfortable.
Meanwhile, Blue Rinse managed to find a spider eating a frozen pea in the ski room. Had I known there was food lying around down there, I would have cleaned up and the spider would not have had a chance. Pity.
This afternoon I had a walk around the fields and managed not to lose the tennis ball despite making a big effort to stuff it down animal holes and drop it in fast flowing streams. Grey was up to the task and managed to get it back every time. When we got back, we found that plans have changed slightly and that I will not be going back until the morning. So there might be a blogette tomorrow if you are lucky.
TTFN
A couple of adjacent headlines in the Guardian a couple of days ago led me to think about the different expectations of life for dogs and humans, and in particular, the influence of breeding.
The main headline was “Queen has 90th birthday” immediately followed by “Prince Found Dead”. My immediate thought was that the Duke Of Edinburgh had died of over excitement about giving a lift to the Obamas in his Range Rover and remembering where the clutch was; or possibly that Charlie had fallen on his sword as he realised that he was unlikely to make it to Top Dog this side of his going completely mad. Apparently, insanity is the only bar to becoming monarch, which is a bit harsh but there you go.
No, it turns out that the Prince in question is an American “chanteur” and one that is definitely not a thoroughbred like our own Royal Family. Not only Prince but many other celebrities have been conking out recently in their 60s and 70s, whereas some of the toffs they are reeling out to give opinions about Brexit and the like are well past time but still apparently breathing and earning appearance fees.
So what do we observe about this matter in the dog world. Generally, it is accepted that thoroughbreds live shorter lives than the progeny of street children, or “mongrels” as the humans call them. In fact the difference can be as much as 100% with us pure stock with impeccable lines tending to pass on before the hybrids are even “half way to paradise” as Billy Fury used to say.
What do we conclude from this? Humans and dogs are different. “Woof woof”…you won’t hear a human say that so that proves my point.
Grey overslept this morning so I had to go up and nose away on his door until I got in to wake him up to see the beautiful start to the day – sunshine and about 10cm of snow all round. I was sent out for a quickie and spent ten minutes rolling in the snow. Click to flip through this morning’s sights.
This afternoon I had to look after myself while Grey went to Geneva to collect Blue Rinse. She was very pleased to see me and I was able to demonstrate my new “Old Grey Whistle Test” game (see explanation here) which I think she found impressive although I get the idea that she thinks Grey gas been a bit soft with me. I have heard the word “no” and “get down” and “go to your bed” more times this evening than in the whole week she has been away. Oh well, at least it will be good practice for when The Janitor takes over from tomorrow.
The story so far. Cold, windy and snow flurries outside and warmth, London Marathon and snooze opportunity inside. Grey and I have opted for the latter. Don’t fancy the prospect of a walk later on.
Around lunchtime, we had a Skype with the Janitor. She and Lord B were in Kent with a Lou (I think that is what she said) and they were about to have brunch. Very “home counties” if I may say so.. They are on the way tomorrow and get here on Tuesday.
It will be sad to leave this kennel but I expect I will get another opportunity in the near future as blue rinse is coming back tomorrow and she is gagging to have me here permanently.
This afternoon is was blowing a gale and cold enough to freeze your whatsits if you had any. It was also snowing on and off. I thought grey would back out and fall asleep to avoid the walk but to his credit, he togged up and we had a long session with ball chasing and mud probing before I pushed the ball down a hole and then forgot where it was. So it was back home for chunks and kip.
A demain mes braves, whatever that means. Grey suggested I sign off that way.
Last night, I tried to sneak in to the bedroom but I was firmly ejected so the night was spent downstairs. Grey appeared around 9am and he looked as cheery as the weather which was also grey and raining. He gave me the chance to pop out but I took one look at the conditions and stayed inside.
Lord and Lady B should be setting out to on the journey back. We tried to Skype them but got no response. It is Lord B’s birthday so he is probably being allowed and extra five minutes in bed. We will try again later. I have got him a new bag of tennis balls for a present. I hope he likes them.
Bernie came round to service his skis and I was intrigued by the work involved and the smell of the wax. So much so that I slept all morning while the chaps did their thing in the playroom. Then they had lunch, and now Grey is listening to AFC Wimbledon which is live on BBC Radio London. “Come on you Dons”
Wimbledon won 1-0 so Grey was cheery enough to take me for a walk in the pouring rain. I didn’t fancy it much but I tried not to let on. I found a few holes in the ground to stick my nose into and then Grey went to Carrefour to get some more dogfood. Despite the minute portions I am getting, the first bag has been used up so he got me some Pedigree Chicken chunks. I was rather partial to them and they went down even quicker than usual.
Grey then went out to dinner and I stayed by the fire just to make sure it was happy.
Grey is out this morning and I have had a look at his emails. I find he has grassed me up with the Janitor. I quote from a message he sent to her earlier.
“Interesting that you say Mollie is behaving herself. Well she was until last night. I came in from having had dinner with Bernie, and went to bed. M was asleep on her mat by the telly. An hour or so later, I went for a pee and must have gone back to bed without properly closing the door. Halfway through the night I woke up briefly and was aware of a black furry thing fast asleep on the goatskin mat by the side of the bed. She must have sneaked in during the early hours. Apart from a quick bark when she thought she had detected something outside, she was out blotto and no effort by me short of physically picking her up and throwing her downstairs could persuade her to leave. So I went back to sleep and we both woke up at about 8:45! So tonight I will have to barricade the door, but I fear I might have changed her expectations as to the best place to sleep. Either it is a hard and draughty spot by the telly, or a nice cosy niche on a goatskin rug. mmmmmm tricky choice so enforcement tonight may be blogworthy.”
Well, the truth is that I went upstairs to check him as he was making funny noises in his sleep. I thought we were under attack by aliens and went to see if he was safe. My barking sent the aliens away and I stayed by his side for the rest of the night just to make sure all was well. Some thanks I get. Well tonight, there will be no messing. He can sleep on the cold floor by the telly, and I will be upstairs…….must go now, I can hear him coming back from seeing his massage lady in the village.
This afternoon the weather was starting to close in so Grey took me up to Lassare for a thorough tennis ball workout. We found some snow and mud which suited me fine.
Got back and the miserable person made me wait until 5pm for my measly ration of dog food. I was famished and bolted it all down in a couple of minutes. I am posting this and then its the long kip while Grey is playing with his computer.
Nighty night. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Late start today. Grey was up at 8:30 but I didn’t stir until 9:00. No point really if I am not allowed to eat until 5pm. Grey had a nice breakfast of sweet smelling toast but I didn’t even get a crumb.
The sun was shining and I was allowed to wander around the estate while Grey was doing various jobs. He kept blowing his whistle to get me to pop back to the base station, and I was happy to do this as he had equipped himself with treats today and each whistle led to a reward.
This afternoon we went down the hill to play ball and look around Les Gets. There was no one about, and more to the point, no dogs to play with. So Grey took some pictures of empty shops and building sites and we came home. Bernie is cooking him a meal tonight so I will get a quiet night in. While he is doing that, have a look around the village as it was today.
Grey and I were reading the Guardian Online over breakfast (his, not mine as I am not allowed one) this morning and the conversation turned to tax havens which are in the human news at the moment. I asked what a tax haven was. Apparently most are highly desirable tropical islands where the sun shines all day, there is loads of money paid to people to do no more than sign bits of paper and keep their mouths shut, and all the food in the world. And they pay no taxes.
Sounds like paradise to me so I am a bit confused as to why so many people want to spoil the fun of the rich and devious, and stop them parking their dough into areas like the London property market via some idyllic island in the Caribbean. What better home for ones money laundered from crime or playing football than a nice three up, two down in Mayfair. Buy two or three more, and they could be knocked down and turned into a red hotel.
Which is, oddly, the opposite of what is happening here in Les Gets. Grey took me for a walk down to the town this afternoon so that I could lose another tennis ball in the river, and he wanted to check whether there were any signs of human life now that the season is ended. In fact, there was not a shop open except for three estate agencies. The only human life seemed to be one or two middle-aged males who had parked their Audis and were walking around with property brochures in their hands. The object of their interest was a few sites where hotels have been knocked down and big cranes and piling machines are building huge blocks of what are laughingly called “lifestyle apartments” complete with spas, saunas, agas and all the other nonsense that the non-doms seek in a ski resort. Then it dawned on me that possibly these people wandering around were potential tax dodgers potentially investing in property which is over priced and never likely to be fully occupied.
Could it be that even charming Les Gets could have become a square on the Tax Haven version of the Monopoly board. Grey seems to think so. He points out that all the shops are closed as there are no people in the ten thousand or more living units already built in Les Gets. At least one butcher, baker and supermarket used to stay open all year, but no longer. Even the betting shop and news agent was closed. Grey is not sure whether to cash in and sell his kennel for a huge profit (and then hide the proceeds in a network of offshore bank accounts) or wait a while until the value doubles again.
He was still muttering about this when we got home and I had a devil of a job to remind him that I was due for my chunks at 5pm. Finally they arrived and they gave me the strength to write this article. So what, you may ask, have tax havens got to do with dogs. Ah, that would be telling but I can reveal I found some treasure in the river which was pretty muddy and I am seeing Mossack-Fonseca in the morning to arrange a bit of laundering.
Woof woof. Trebles all round.
The humans in London are getting all excited because Bonker is coming to the end of his term as London mayor. He wants to move on to be the Prime Minister of an island on the edge of Europe with no friends because we will have told them to push off. Now I am a Labrador and it must be no co-incidence that my ancestors in Labrador, Canada are suffering from dropping out of a neighbourly club. You can read all about it here and a sorry tail (I mean tale) it is too.
Will the humans listen and vote to stay in the EU (see my views on Brexit) and not only consign the Bonker to the world of TV chat shows and newspaper columns, but elect someone to be London Mayor that will take the job seriously and provide kennels for all and dog poo bins on all London streets. To make a choice is difficult because, as in the US primaries, most of the actual candidates are jokers and could never be trusted with a dog bone let alone a responsible job. In London, leaving aside as irrelevant the Liberals, the Women’s Party, the Greens and the other minorities, the choice is between a rich daddy’s boy who went to Eton and who wants us to Brexit, and an ex-bus driver whose ancestors were immigrants of all things. Dear me, the humans are in a spin and may well not vote as the choice looks so un-appetising.
But I might suggest a solution. It is to apply the ‘AFC Wimbledon Stadium principle’. As you know, the grey one and his kids are long time supporters of a football club called AFC Wimbledon (won 2-0 last night). Don’t ask me what ‘AFC’ stands for but this club has done well from being formed after a get together with dog walkers on Wimbledon Common a dozen years ago. They now have soared up the football leagues and might even be promoted to League 1 this year. This noble club play their games in Kingston which by no stretch of a dog’s brain can be confused with ‘Wimbledon’. They would like to build one of those places where humans kick a ball around and shout a lot, and build it where they feel they belong, namely in Wimbledon.
They have found a good place which used to be a dog track. Imagine that, a dog track in Wimbledon! No strawberries and cream teas here on the lawns, but equally no whippet owners willing to travel down from ‘t’north to race their miserable skinny barkers which remind one of the canine equivalent of supermodels – all skin and bones and not like me at all.
Anyway I digress. The plan to build this football house has been approved by everyone who is anybody, and should now be under construction. However, Bonker for the first time ever, decided to “call in” this plan to the London Authority so that it can be reviewed by the Mayor. But Bonker will not be the Mayor so it is the attitude of the two main candidates which now becomes relevant. The bus driver, who is the MP for Tooting (what a silly name for a place!) is against this plan and wrote a letter to AFC Wimbledon asking them to stay away as he was worried that a football ground would stop people going to the hospital down the road! The Etonian had no known views beforehand but he has now been inundated with emails from supporters asking him to say that he supports the stadium plan. And bless him, he has written back to say that not only does he think it is a good idea, but also cocking a snoop at the bus driver who is known to be anti.
So here is the dilemma for the grey one and his kids, and Londoners as a whole. Vote for the Etonian toff tory daddy’s boy rich chump who will support the AFC proposal, or the hefty lefty ducking and diving, ex-bus driver but “not a tory” who wants to kill the plan and would have the power to do so. My friends and dear readers, life is too short to make judgements about people just because of their parentage, wealth and political party associations, bak Zac next month and lets get on with the plan to get back to the Premiership before the grey one conks out. And the way I am making him run up and down the Lassare road, that day may not be far off!
Woof woof, come on you Dons, you Dons….
UPDATE 21 April 2016
I only published this musing yesterday and today I am honoured that Steve Bell has used my thoughts for his cartoon in The Guardian which I read with the grey one in our tea (again) break.
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