A tale of five houses in England

So I've been away in England for a few days with Gail, visiting various friends and relatives.

First stop was Gail's friends in Cumbria, where we were warned that Dora, their Jack Russell terrier rescue dog, might need putting in her place.

I duly obliged by marking my territory in the kitchen of this rather grand country establishment immediately upon arrival, and all went relatively well thereafter.

Then it was further south to Derbyshire, to the lovely farmhouse where Gail's brother and sister-in-law live, along, of course, with Coco my standard poodle cousin (who is thankfully not as bossy as her late brother Percy). 

I'm pleased to report we had time for a brief diversion to inspect Gail's nephew's recently purchased and very pleasant new home. No animals here (as yet?) but an ever expanding collection of cars which Gail's brother somehow omitted from his photos of nephew and aunt. He also omitted my legs and the lower half of my body, not that I'm being critical of his camera skills or anything...

Onwards  to Nottingham, where I couldn't wait to enter our friend Janet's modest terraced house, as I just knew there would be the warmest of welcomes along with loving attention and plentiful belly rubs. 

I'd have happily stayed longer, but after three days of blissful existence with Janet, Gail said we had one more visit to make, to her friends from prehistoric times university days, who live in Pocklington, a pretty market town in Yorkshire.

Two cats, Jack and Jess, also reside here, one is apparently rather neurotic and it goes without saying that both are very annoying. Although Gail seemed to think it a good thing that I'd tired myself out trying to chase Jess (the non-neurotic one) round the garden, as I subsequently slept soundly all through the night and for the duration of the long drive back to Aberdeen. 

Gail and I are now safely home after six days Down South, both tired but happy to have re-established contact with friends and family, and (maybe) their pets.

Bertie demonstrates the WFT beard swirl

Gail tells me that we are about to set off for England for a few days, to see friends and relatives for the first time in over 16 months. Apparently there is a heat wave Down South and I am supposed to be grateful she just spent an arm and a leg getting the A/C in her car finally fixed, especially for me.

I think I'm worth it, don't you?

Blog service may be interrupted over the next week,

Distant friends

Gosh it's been ages since I saw my nice pals in England. More than a year in fact. So when I asked if we are going to visit Janet in Nottingham soon, or perhaps meet up with Janet and Helen for a walking holiday in Northumberland again, Gail just sighed, sat me down in front of the computer and said "sorry Bertie, this is the best we can do right now".

Fellow pups, have you ever taken part in one of these 'Zoom' calls?

Such a disappointment. 

For starters, there is no connection, other than linguistic, between 'doing a Zoom' and 'doing Zoomies'. Rather than having a wild time racing around the garden in circles, one is supposed to sit still, stay awake and pay attention to faces flickering on the MacBook screen.

It seems Janet did attempt at one point to engage my interest by growling at me through the screen, but by then I had drifted off...

Now Gail is always telling me that in this time of lockdown restrictions one has to focus on what one can do, and not what one can't.

But it's hard isn't it? I mean Janet is, among her many talents, a world beater when it comes to playing tug-of-war with a terrier-like level of commitment, and this is not an experience that can be replicated in the virtual world. 

Likewise, I'll never forget the wonderful time I spent as a puppy, licking the berry-flavoured moisturiser off Helen's feet...

Oh I do hope we can go down to England and see some of our lovely friends in person before too long.

Home alone bored...

We were having such a lovely time over in what I shall now call the Costa del Torridon, I really don't understand why Gail had to drag us back to Aberdeen, where I find myself sitting bored at home waiting for her to return from work and entertain me.

Well today I have set myself the task of selecting my favourite eight photos from our recent four day jaunt across Scotland. There are loads of pictures to choose from, but as Gail has given me a free paw in the selection, you can rest assured they will all be featuring your truly front and centre.

Here I am, sitting nicely aligned with the Glenmuick Church in Ballater. We stopped there on the way to Torridon, and I scored big time 'cos the cheese scone Gail ordered in the nearby café turned out to be yesterday's so she gave me half of it, as I don't at all mind dry scones (especially cheesy ones).

On arriving at the cottage we took an evening stroll. This photo was taken at around 10 pm.

And here's me being, well, just being me, standing amongst some bog asphodels ( the little yellow flowers), although it has been so dry lately that the poor asphodels were missing their bog.

I have to say I was not so keen on sitting on this memorial bench, just up the road from our cottage, even if the temperature was over 25ºC. Please someone find a comfy cushion to cover the hard Torridonian sandstone.

You might wonder what's been happening on the hillside behind the bench. Has some dog been destuffing a monster toy? No of course not - look closer! The cotton grass is abundant this year - despite the lack of rain.

For variety, I have here included a photo of me asleep at Gail's feet, in the front garden of the cottage, taking a break from all the strenuous "sit nicely Bertie" business.

So  I was fully recovered, and on top posing form when Gail spotted this photo opportunity at Grudie, on the way home to Aberdeen.

Finally, knowing I was shortly to be cooped up inside for a few days, I gave my ear flaps a good blast of sea air on the beach at Nairn.

OK. I'm bored again now. What's next?

P.S. It turns out that what's next involved Gail and me and going round to Yvonne and Neil's house to watch the TV. There were a lot of men in red or yellow shirts running around kicking a ball and it all culminated in much jubilant shouting.

FFHT: Bertie gets Cross with St George

It's Murphy and Stanley's FFHT time again, and as usual the set phrase is highlighted in red …

In a Flap about a Flag

As my regular readers will already know, mine is a mixed race household. Although I live in Scotland, Gail (my human carer) was born south of the border to English parents, and brought up in the fine city of Nottingham, and she still identifies herself as English. Whereas I am, of course, a proudly Scottish pup.

Tensions first arose in the summer of 2010 when I was just a few months old.  The football (that's ‘soccer’ to my US friends) World Cup was taking place in South Africa. England had qualified for the competition but Scotland sadly had not.

“So Bertie my young pup”, said Gail, “in the absence of your national team, I assume you will be cheering for England along with me. After all, they will be needing all the support they can get*. Look here, I have a flag for you to wear for the first game. I’m afraid this was the only one I could find in Aberdeen. It is rather large but I’m sure we can tastefully arrange it over your wiry wee frame.”

Well.

I reacted as any self-respecting Scot would to being draped in the flag of the Auld Enemy.

Unfortunately, the harder I tried to get it off me, the more ensnared in this dreadful piece of fabric I became.

I had all but strangled myself before Gail managed to dissociate me from the Cross of St George and was able to snatch a photo.

I am pleased to report that a certain England fan learned her lesson and has never again committed such an atrocity upon my person.


*This prediction proved to be accurate

Can I confide in you please?

Oh I have been getting so many lectures this week.

"Now Bertie, you won't be doing that when we visit Granny and Grandad's will you?"

"Bertie you must remember to be very quiet because my father just hates yappy dogs."

"Bertie you must realise that the human grandparents aren't used to puppies and they won't understand the difference between a friendly nibble and a nasty bite."

"Bertie, your Granny won't want her pale coloured summer trousers decorated with a pattern of muddy paws."

"Bertie, if you see a plate of scones temptingly laid out on a lace tablecloth*, DON'T YOU DARE GO ANYWHERE NEAR!"

And finally:

"Bertie, when we're in Nottingham, I am afraid that we won't be able to devote much time to your blog, so you'd better warn your pals that they may not be hearing much from you over the next week or so".

So I admit I am just a little apprehensive about this visit down south to England.

We head off later today. Wish me luck!

*Reference to a notorious incident...

In defence of my record at puppy class...

It has come to my attention that Gail has been going around saying some very unfair things about my behaviour in puppy class.

Now is the time to set the record straight! Let me make clear the following points:

1. Unlike EVERY SINGLE OTHER DOG IN THE CLASS I have never pee'd or poo'd on the floor of the scout hut where we meet every Thursday evening.

2. I am really quite co-operative at doing stupid exercises like weaving between poles, despite the fact that, being of superior intelligence, and unlike certain other dogs present, I fully recognise that these things are totally pointless.

3. Provided that my mouth is continually crammed full of tasty treats, so that I have no teeth free to bite at other dogs or their handlers, I behave impeccably.

4. That Daisy Dachshund needs to learn that some dogs find her very irritating and I think I am providing her with valuable life lessons, at no extra charge.

5. It is my understanding that teachers like kids who will speak up in class, and I am SO MUCH BETTER at doing this than the other puppies.

6. Obviously, I am the favourite of Mr and Mrs Munro, who run the class. Why else would I, more than any other pup, be so often singled out for their special attention, scooped up and cuddled very tightly in their arms, etc. etc.

7. Last but not least, taking me to puppy class has surely given Gail (who, I believe, was herself a bit of a goody two-shoes at school), new insight into a different approach to the learning process...

And all this despite still no black pudding.

PS Why oh why oh why did I ever allow myself to be persuaded to support the ENGLAND football team...........??

England, football, and a childhood memory

Well friends, Gail is taking over my blog today, to participate in the 2010 Soccer World Cup 'Unity in Diversity' celebration. I must warn you now that there's lots about football (soccer to my American pals of course) and England (a country I haven't yet visited) and ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, NADA, ZILCH ABOUT DOGS!

Over to you Gail (just this once).

I suspect that I am almost alone amongst the dog blogging 'mums' in having a long standing interest in football, as I was brought up in a fairly sports mad family in the English Midlands and as a teenager wasted many a Saturday afternoon standing on the terraces at the City Ground watching Nottingham Forest.....

The first football game I explicitly remember was the 1966 World Cup Final. I was seven years old and must have already seen other games as by then I was certainly familiar with the rules. My family were on holiday on the Isle of Wight (a small island off the south coast of England) at the time. Mid afternoon, we were having fun at the beach when we remembered the game was on. My older brother abandoned a half-built sandcastle, my mother put away the binoculars through which she had been watching the transatlantic passenger liners cruise past, I licked up the last of my sixpenny (pre-decimal) ice lolly, Dad, who had been enjoying his customary swim far out to sea, hastily returned to shore, and we all headed back to the guest house, to find the other holidaying families in the lounge, gathered around the black and white TV.

The game, England versus West Germany, was already in progress. What's the score, my brother asked. Most of the faces were glum but a Scottish lad called out, in unmistakably gloating tones, 'one-nil to Germany'. I remember this moment so clearly, not so much for the score, but because of my innocent seven year old's shock that a fellow British citizen should be pleased England were losing. Of course England went on to a famous 4-2 victory, but it is sad that my strongest memory of the day is my first ever encounter with the anti-English prejudice that still lingers in some quarters in what is now my adopted home of Scotland.

It is interesting to look at a photo of the victorious 1966 England players

and compare it to a picture of the team taken earlier this year before an England game.

So much has changed in this country in the last 44 years.

Few English families now spend their two-week summer holidays swimming and building sandcastles on our chilly beaches, and those transatlantic liners have long since been replaced by jumbo jets. Schoolchildren are no longer tortured with complicated sums involving pounds, shillings and pence. Does anyone still buy a 'black and white' TV licence?

And we truly are, these days, like South Africa, a 'rainbow' nation (and not just because of the weather...)

Finally, I leave you with this video clip I found on Youtube, because I think it shows, more clearly than my words can express, the excitement and euphoria that football can generate. It's 2008. Liverpool, one of our top club sides, famous for their passionate supporters, are about to play at home in the Champions' League and the entire Anfield stadium is resonating to an ecstatic rendering of the 'Merseyside Anthem'. The picture quality's not great but the atmosphere is electric. Turn up the volume and imagine you're there...