Things going awry...

With other Spring travel plans having gone awry, Gail and I are making a quick visit to friends and relatives in England. Given the way things are in the UK, coronavirus-wise, this could be our last trip away from Scotland for quite a while.

The daffodils in Yorkshire were looking cheery, but there was such sad news when we reached Gail's brother and sister-in-law's house on the edge of the Peak District. I don't know if you remember my poodle cousins Percy and Coco? Percy had reached the grand old age of fourteen - a fine, long life for a HUGE, (and frankly rather bossy) fellow. But just one day before our visit, dear Percy had apparently suffered a stroke and his humans were forced to make the hardest but kindest decision on his behalf, and so Coco is now an only pup.

After seeing Coco, we made a brief stop in the nearby town of Chesterfield, and I couldn't help but notice that there was something amiss with the church spire. Gosh, I was beginning to wonder if the whole world was becoming a bit out of true, but Gail tells me the spire at least has always been like that.

We are now staying for a few days with Janet in Nottingham - she's one of my favourite people, as you know. The three of us went for a splendid walk across squelchy fields yesterday, but I still can't understand why we had to sit at an outside table for lunch at the cosy looking Cowshed café. It seemed all wrong to me...

"Muddy paws? Moi?"

Poodle cousins disappointed?

Oh dear, I do feel bad. I'm afraid I have failed to deliver on my promise to my poodle cousins Percy and Coco.

You see when I heard they were coming to visit Aberdeen for the first time, I told them we'd go to beach and there we would enjoy opportunities galore for daubing ourselves in the most exotic of seaside perfumes.

Well yesterday morning we searched high and low along the shoreline of the City Beach, but detected not a whiff of eviscerated seal, nor a feather of way past its sell-by date herring gull.





Even worse, after a while, Percy, who is not only HUGE but can also be ever so slightly patronising, said this to me: "Bertie lad, are you sure this really is the Aberdeen in North East Scotland, where it is supposed to always cold, wet, windy and dark at this time of year? How come the humans are enjoying morning coffee sitting outside at a café facing the North Sea? I do believe they are not even wearing their thermals. And their hands have not turned blue. Perhaps you are confused about your geography."

I did my best to reply in civil tones.

"Percy, old chap, you have been misled. It's always beach weather in Aberdeen in November..."

"Oh I think Bertie needs a walk...."

Believe it or not, I, Bouncing Bertie, have at times in the past come under criticism from my owner Gail, for acting too supine.

Humans are strange creatures aren't they? They insist on crowding together at Christmas, eating and drinking too much, all in the name of seasonal good cheer, and then instead of lapping it all up, certain of them start looking for excuses to escape for a while.

It seems that there have been occasions during Christmases past when Gail has uttered the words  "I think Bertie needs a walk" to general incredulity as I lie snoring quietly in front of the fire.

Well I'm pleased to report that this year I delivered on my side of the bargain in full.

Christmas dinner at Gail's brother's Peak District house had been a drawn out affair, with me, along with my poodle cousins Percy (he' s huge you know) and Coco excluded from the dining room.

Just as Gail was scraping the bottom of her bowl of Christmas pudding and rum sauce, and wondering if there was a slow eating contest she could enter Human Granny for (to assured success) I decided to vocalise my dissatisfaction at the general state of affairs.

Some people tell me my bark is surprisingly high pitched and piercing. And insistent.

But I am sure I was not mistaken in detecting a note of relief in Gail's voice when she was able to say, without eliciting raised eyebrows and knowing glances around the table:

"Oh look it'll be dark soon and Bertie is getting restless. I really do need to take him for a good walk before driving HGY back to Nottingham..."

Gail tells me you will want to see a picture of me somewhat reluctantly posing with Coco, HGY and the two grandchildren before we left on Christmas Day. So here it is.

PS in case you are wondering, Gail did buy me a wee Christmas present, and I now know that goose tendon treats are utterly delicious.

Usurped by Cousin Percy

I always thought I was Human Granny's favourite dog. At least I did until yesterday…

I knew that standard poodle cousin Percy was bossy. As well as being HUGE. But that he was such a suck up...

And no I don't want to pose for a group shot. I just don't feel like it.

Really, these Christmas family visits can be quite tiresome, can't they? Although I must say HGY did seem to be enjoying herself, merrily chatting away to her grandchildren, apparently oblivious to the fact that I was just a tiny bit hurt at being ignored.

Why Human Granny is nicer than the Queen

Today's title caught your attention didn't it?

I am hoping that Gail is right about disloyal subjects no longer being locked in the Tower of London.

But really. Did you read in the papers about the latest spat in our royal household? How poor Lupo, Prince William and Princess Kate's cocker spaniel puppy, was banned by the Queen from joining the traditional family Christmas gathering at Sandringham.

What cruelty!

I do hope the mother-in-law / daughter-in-law relationship will survive.

It made me realise how lucky I am here in Nottingham, being welcomed with open arms by Human Granny for an extended stay every Christmas. She even puts up with my huge poodle cousins Percy and Coco dropping in from time to time.

Now I understand Her Majesty was concerned that her precious (and reputedly bad-tempered) corgis might take umbrage at an energetic interloper. There was apparently an earlier incident between them and Princess Beatrice's Norfolk terrier.

Really, it does not inspire confidence when one's Head of State cannot keep the peace in her own palace. She needs to take control, and tell those spoilt and stuck up corgis to behave.

These days when I am faced with bossy or otherwise irritating newcomers, I turn the other cheek and walk away.

You would have thought that dogs belonging to one who is also the Supreme Governor of the Church of England would have been taught to do the same, wouldn't you?