Wheelie Wednesday bedtime story

We were having a bedtime cuddle last night, Gail and I, and she told me a nice story.

It was about when she was a wee eighteen month old human pup, way way back in the dark ages (May, 1960). Her Granny gave her a little wheelie dog. See him the picture, with Gail sitting on top. At least she tells me that's her, although to be honest, you wouldn't know, what with wearing a cute dress and all...

Well from then on, she always wanted a dog. Maybe even one shaped a bit like a wheelie. But her Mum and Dad, said NO, not practical, have a guinea pig instead.

Arthur was a much loved guinea pig, who lived to be eight years old, a fine chap apparently*, albeit a bit limited in the unconditional love stakes, and not a great walker.

Most readers will know about Gail's first 'real' dog, Hamish. He was such a grand fellow and I have much to live up to. But wheelie-shaped he was not.

And now Gail has me, and as she cuddles me one more time before tucking me up for the night with my hot-water bottle, she tells me I'm just perfect and that we're going to be wheelie wheelie happy together.

Sweet dreams.

*How can you tell, with a guinea pig?

Sitting pretty - unintended consequences

This 'sit' business, then.

Gail says 'sit'. She shows me a treat. I'm all excited. She says 'sit' again. She tries to push my bum against the cold tiles (the indignity). I execute an ungainly backwards somersault. Perfect control of the back legs is some way off.

After a few more goes, I realise what she's on about. She says 'sit'. I adopt the required posture. I'm given a tasty bit of cheese.

Brilliant!

So if I'm sitting down, I get a treat, right?

Well all yesterday, I tried sitting down, unbidded, at random intervals. Sat there looking hopefully at Gail with my cute little face. But NO TREAT!

Someone please tell me what's gone wrong?

Oh, I know where to look for advice. Gail tells me I have two wise Aunties, Martha and Bailey, the Bonnie Basset Babes. Let's visit their blog.

Martha and Bailey are telling everyone to relax this weekend. I hadn't realised there were modes of existence (Gail, I hope you're impressed that I'm using big words, just like Hamish did) other than 'all action' and 'fast asleep' but apparently this 'relaxation' is what you're supposed to do on Saturdays and Sundays.

So I thought I'd give it a go.

Call me Houdini...

So I figured out how to use the dog flap all by myself.

What's the big deal?

Gail here: The big deal, young Bertie, is that it took about a week of pushing, prodding, cajoling, bribery, eventually, to be honest, flat out bullying, before I could persuade Hamish, already age three, to go through the flap. And there you are, 9 weeks old today, I didn't even show you that we had a flap, and next thing I know, you've found your way into the back garden. I can see that I'll to have to keep a VERY CLOSE EYE ON YOU, my canny wee laddie! Oh and by the way Bertie, hows about we just focus a bit more on the poo thing for now....please?

Opinionated already...

Hi! I'm Bertie, aged eight weeks and 5 days old. Only one day in my new home and I'm already expected to be getting the hang of this computing lark!

But you know what? That whole geek thing doesn't appeal just yet.

I so much prefer eating (where did it all go?).

And playing with my new toys..

And having a nibble of Gail's slipper..

And who knew that cameras could be such fun!

When I get tired, I just want to cuddle up against my hot water bottle..

PS. Can you believe that Gail tried to make me do a poo outside in the hail this morning? I don't think so Gail. What do you mean "Hamish wouldn't have minded"? I really don't see what's that's got to do with anything!