A Series of 'Unpawsionate' Events

Part One

“I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman.”

Shakespeare (Julius Caesar Act IV)

This past week two separate events afforded fresh insights into the incredible world of canine intelligence. Our dogs, Lady and Gimli, taught our family valuable lessons. Let me share these with you so we can all learn together...

I don't know what your philosophy of puppy-raising is - does the name Pavlov ring a bell? Joking aside, we follow the general principle of Caesar Milan, The Dog Whisperer. Dogs thrive in a pack. Each pack has a clear chain of command. I, for example, am pack leader, the Alpha Male.

Whilst in a bad mood I may perhaps growl warningly at my wife, who then may bark out irate commands at our two wonderful children. They in turn may yelp with delight as they squirt Zorro and Wotsit the now startled cats with water-pistols. Get the idea? In a declaration of superiority over the canine species the cats then sit just out of reach on the garden fence grooming themselves in a show of mock feline innocence. This drives the puppies insane.

What follows is a frustrated furry frenzy of barking, yelping, whining, jumping, spinning, back flips and more (The only creature to escape this chain of suffering is Fluffy the emperor scorpion who maintains arachnid dignity under her shelter in the vivarium.). In our pack the dogs are the lowest of the low. Nevertheless, life has a habit of using the humble to teach the great...

Event One - Out of the mouths of babes Puppies.

Recently, Gimli started playing a game with me. For convenience sake I keep the dustpan and brush next to the bin in the kitchen. The brush handle seems to hold hypnotic power over the unwitting puppy who trots happily with it into the back garden. I then retrieve the dust-brush noticing fresh evidence of enthusiastic attention from Gimli's teeth. Once returned to its proper place the game soon re-commences. Lady? She has not been idle either.

You may have read of our puppies digging prowess in The Great Escape feature on this blog in which they put into practise the military doctrine of Escape and Evasion. This time Lady, no doubt influenced by watching a recent episode of Indiana Jones, has dedicated her paws to more academic pursuits. Archaeology, to be precise.

And thus a number of archaeological 'dig' sites have appeared in the back garden at what seemed to me to be random intervals. Not so. Under the cover of darkness (no doubt to prevent discovery by rival academics) the puppies Lady and Gimli have excavated the remains of a civilization dating back to around 44BC (around the time of Julius Caesar). What they have unearthed is nothing short of astonishing. Phd's, professors chairs, peer adulation in journals and public lecture tours will inevitably follow their momentous discovery. History books may well have to be re-written.

It took me a while to realise what was happening. Gimli was not simply chewing the handle of the dust-brush in a playful manner as I had supposed. No, he had been using the brush to carefully and skilfully remove earth from around priceless artefacts! All of his canine instincts were honed into a tool of meticulous precision and care as he and Lady unearthed treasures galore. It was when the dogs began to lay their discoveries at my feet that realisation dawned.

The Romans invaded an occupied Britain and built Hadrian's Wall to keep the Scots out because they didn't like the taste of MacDonalds, or something like that (I think they preferred pizza??). Legionnaires would sometimes keep dogs to hunt with and even take to battle. Lady and Gimli stumbled upon remnants of a Canine Empire that ran in cahoots with Rome. These are their artefacts. What artefacts?

Pieces of pottery from canine water bowls. Leather leashes. Pieces of blanket used to protect Roman hounds from the vagaries of the British climate. Statues of canine gods used when baying at the moon – fairies on rocks, frogs and toadstools. What an insight into the ancient canine empire! Only when the final relic was unearthed that I realised which empire it was.

The gnarled, twisted, bearded figure now resting gently in my hands was the symbol of the mighty Canine Gnoman Empire! Countless figures in his image found all over Europe and beyond. Revered by dogs as their ultimate Alpha Male. His name? Chewlius Caesar...

Who knew that such astounding discoveries would come out of the mouths of puppies?

TESCO - Every Little Helps

On Tuesday I became the most hated man in the local Tesco (like Pick 'n Pay or Walmart for foreign readers). It wouldn't surprise me if I am banned from the place! Why? I was waiting for a payment to make its presence known on my bank account. I needed to buy food and stuff but the only cash we had was about £2 in small silver coins and around £6 in coppers. So what was I supposed to do?

Anyway, I walked to Tesco and decided that to save people with laden trolleys from waiting behind me for a cashier to count out all the change I would instead go to one of the six self-checkouts and our the money into the receptacle and let the machine count the money instead. It would also save the embarrassment I always feel when paying with lots of coins. It was close to the end of lunchtime and I was the only person in the queue. A self-checkout becomes free so I scan and pack my items (I bought all £8 worth). Now to pay. Pour the silver coins in. Machine counts them – takes a little while but not that long. So far so good.

Over my shoulder I notice a queue forming despite other self-checkouts being empty. Then I overhear the Checkout Assistant saying to a customer that only ONE of the six self-checkouts is now accepting cash. (Whose fault is that? Not mine!) I glance over my shoulder to see her pointing in my direction. I also notice that the queue is getting longer. Looks like mainly lunch-break off ice workers with food and drink in a rush to get back to work. They are all looking at me with blank expressions. Hopefully this wont take too long...

Ok, time to use the copper coins. Pour some into the receptacle – most fall straight through into the the money-back basin. Machine accepts about 4p. Not a good sign. People in the queue look in my direction with fresh interest. I still have £6 to pay. Maybe I should pour the coins in more slowly. The machine makes a click and a thunk each time it counts a coin. I count - it takes 4 or 5 seconds to accept each coin. Definitely not good. I have about 350 coins to go. Quick glance. Queue getting longer. A few frowns. I get into a rhythm, few coins at a time but it's going incredibly slowly. I start to feel stares – unfriendly ones. Quick glance over the shoulder. Frowns now replaced with glares. Open hostility. Even the Checkout Assistant's eyes flash daggers in my direction. This is not helping. How could things possibly get worse?

I accidentally drop a whole bunch of coins. Now I have lots of attention from other shoppers too as they pause pushing their trolleys and look in my direction ( you know how people instinctively look around when they hear falling money). There I am stamping on coins to stop them rolling too far like a tapdancer on speed and then scrabbling around on the floor trying to pick up coins and keep feeding the infernal machine with as much dignity as possible. I tell you, Mr Bean would have been proud of me! A passing Tesco employee picks up a few coins and returns them to me with a glare. I keep feeding the machine – now I start talking to it telling it to hurry up. Only 200 coins to go.

I can feel the pressure from the queue needing to get back to work. One lady leaves the queue, storms past me to the next self-checkout, slams her sandwich down, glares at me and hauls her purse from her bag and pays with her card. How encouraging. Come ON you stupid machine why must you be so SLOW! I turn around and offer the ever-lengthening queue a rueful smile by way of apology. By the look on their faces I could tell that they had all the charm and understanding of a lynch mob. You could see them visualising me hanging from the closest tree.100 coins to go.

The Checkout Assistant feels like spitting feathers but maintains her professionalism – just. I keep talking to the machine like a person wrongly allowed back into the community. More clanking as the machine reluctantly counts the coins. A well-dressed man drops his basket and walks of the store, murmuring something unrepeatable under his breath as he passes me. I don't expect a card from him this Christmas. Only 50 coins to go. I keep feeding the machine and talking to it. Friendly men in white coats who want me to go for a little ride with them will arrive at any moment.

At last the few remaining coins clank through the mechanism. Retrieving the receipt and picking up my shopping I decide not to turn and wave at the queue. I decide that the fewer of them that can recognise me the better. I leave with multiple daggers embedded in my back.

'TESCO – Every Little Helps' – except little coins, that is...

A Long Fall To Freedom

Today we mourn the loss of a treasured friend, a loyal companion and entertaining personality! Last night, our diminutive gold-fish, Voetsek Jr., accidentally took his own life.

I regret, with shame, that I may have had a hand his fate. In the past I have casually let him watch DVD's that have not been rated 'safe' for goldfish. Undoubtedly movies like Free Willy, the Great Escape, Finding Nemo, Flipper etc lodged in his brain and made their way to his Brave Heart!

And so, in the Spirit of Adventure and Freedom, our golden friend launched himself like a Polaris Inter-continental ballistic Missile from the murky depths of his gold-fish bowl. His trajectory took him sailing over the landing bannister then plummetting like a shiny rocket toward the bottom of the stairs.

One can only imagine the thoughts of joy and elation as he sailed through the air. Free at last!

But then he landed. The soft yielding carpet took his young life as he lay there, his whole life flashing before his very eyes. I am sure he died bravely. He was the type.

It was a long fall to freedom...

Voetsek Jr. now takes his place in that stellar constellation within our hearts of Brave and Inspired Pets that have moved from this life to whatever awaits them...

We ask that you respect our wishes to mourn his passing privately.

Please honour Voetsek Jr. by ensuring that YOUR pets only watch pet-appropriate media, lest they too aspire to unreachable heights!

Yours sadly,

Mark

The Great Escape

Yesterday Lady and Gimli (our puppies) committed a daring escape displaying the finest traditions of the World War 2 POW genre. Being British dogs may have something to do with it. Perhaps the bravery and sacrifice of wartime canines has been passed down to succeeding generations in oral-barking tradition. Who knows? The language of 'Bark' remains shrouded in mystery to us humans. ..

What is not in doubt is the knock at the door last evening by our dear neighbour to inform me of our dogs most recent exploits in her garden. (We had just returned from a most enjoyable New Years Day visit to family near Oxford.). I was left standing in the front doorway apologising profusely and feeling waves of embarrassment flooding over my reddening complexion. At the same time I couldn't help feeling a sense of misplaced pride at the impressive ingenuity and vision of our beloved pets in managing somehow to get next door. This was only marginally greater than the the urge to 'kill' the pair of them.

I have come to realise that this was no spur-of-the-moment action. Behind the innocent façade of the 'puupy-dog 'act with wagging tail and beguiling looks lurks a far more cunning beast. Meticulous planning and deception was involved. How so? Let me tell you.

The last few weeks I have had a smug self-congratulatory smile on my face. When we moved into this property I deliberately laid down wooden laminate flooring in anticipation of having pets. A mild wet winter in England is most conducive to muddy puppy paw prints. A carpet would have been a nightmare to keep clean, but my wooden flooring simply wipes clean with almost no effort! (Can you see me smiling as I use the micro-fibre mop to clean the floor – congratulating myself at my great foresight?) Little did I know that the dogs were taking advantage both of me and my good humour right under my very nose...

Back to the puppies. Why wait to go on a walk with your Master to explore the world of a thousand smells around you when you can do it yourself? The only problem is the wooden force-field running around the garden keeping you from the smorgasbord of olfactory delights. Pole-vaulting? No, they soon realised that pole-vaulting over our fence was slightly out of their reach. The mechanics are too difficult for a dog (Besides, they are scared of heights!). A more down-to-earth approach is required for puppies. Wait... digging! We're good at that!

They must have heard of the great Tunnellers who escaped Stalag Luft IV by tunnelling under the Perimeter fence. Perhaps they could use a similar approach to their own confinement. The human tunnellers would secrete the sand the had removed from the tunnel in bags in their trouser legs. As the walked around the POW camp they would let the sand fall onto the ground and shuffle it into the sandy camp floor where it simply mingled with the existing earth. The Germans never noticed. Ingenious!

Lady and Gimli took this plan one paw further. They cleverly turned me into an unwitting accomplice. This is how it worked. They would go out into the garden pretending to be playing or chewing on a bone etc. What they were actually doing was far more cunning. One of them would lie near the door pretending to sleep or gnaw at an object playfully. What they were really doing was standing guard whist the other dog was excavating under the neighbours fence.

As soon as a human approached they would issue a coded bark and the Tunneller would simply run up to the human, tail wagging and innocent-eyed. It worked every time. Often they were even rewarded with a treat! The dogs took turns being the look-out or the Tunneller Soon their system was running like clockwork.

Disposal of the sand. Simple. Get your paws as muddy as possible and run through the kitchen into the living room depositing as much dirt as possible on the way. Then all you have to do is wait. Sooner or later the Human HIMSELF will come along and dispose of the evidence with his mop. Jolly decent of him!

And so, I have the past few weeks become the unwitting ally to the adventurous puppies whose plan reached D-Day yesterday. Forty minutes after we humans left for Oxfordshire the puppies decided that the mission was green for GO and finally broke through into the neighbours yard. Weeks of meticulous planning and effort instantly rewarded! What joy! What elation! A whole world of undiscovered garden with fresh smells and adventures.! Fresh green grass under their paws! Canine heaven!

After starting a new tunnel in the middle of the neighbours lawn (I wonder what lies on the other side of his fence?) and having resisted his many attempts to send them back the way they came darkness began to fall. The puppies became hungry. Soon hunger overcame their desire for liberation and they decided to return to the land flowing with treats and delicacies. (This simply happened to coincide with our arrival). They enjoyed being fed and fussed over, satisfied with their Unilateral Declaration of Independence.

I, and I suspect they, will never forget New Years Day 2012. It was the day of The Great Escape...