Bertie is mystified...

You know, out and about in Aberdeen this week, I have been seeing this flag a lot.

Does anyone have any idea why?

PS from Gail: some of you have been wondering about Bertie's health, and if has recovered from his gastroenteritis. Well the short answer is yes his tummy troubles are better thank goodness, but the longer answer is that he has in general been very up and down these last few weeks, with low energy levels and also intermittent lameness. This is not the Bouncing Bertie I know. On Monday night this week he was very uncomfortable and developed a tremor, so on Tuesday I took him back to the vet. She examined his legs and feet, and did some blood tests but she couldn't detect anything amiss other than slightly elevated white blood cell levels which she attributed to residual infection or inflammation. She prescribed antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication and he seemed a bit better next day. Then on Friday I spotted an interdigital cyst on his front left foot (something he has had before) which would explain the lameness, except that it was a different leg, the rear left one, that was lame towards the end of last weekend's Balmoral walk, and I still can't spot a cyst or any other problem there, and neither did the vet. At least the tremor has not returned. For the moment he is getting short walks, frequent gentle paw washing in Hibiscrub antimicrobial skin cleanser, and wearing a sock to try to stop him licking the paw when I'm not around. His energy levels are still well below normal.  (After an unwise 3 a.m. symptom googling session on Monday night I began to wonder about Lyme disease as, despite Frontline treatment, Bertie does occasionally pick up ticks over in Torridon and they are hard to spot through his fuzzy furs. However, the vet thought it "not the first thing we would investigate" which I took as a polite reprimand for my attempt at diagnosis via early hours internet search!)  Anyway, he still has a week's worth of medication and we'll see how things go. 

Bertie enjoying a gentle late evening (9:30pm) stroll and sniff

Not the real Stade de France?

So when Gail told me she was a bit worried 'cos her brother Max is going to a football game at the Stade de France in a couple of week's time, I was, frankly, puzzled.

But Gail, I said, we pass by the Stade de France every Friday on our extended 'day off' morning walk. Surely there is nothing to be concerned about, except possibly your brother's sanity in wanting to come to Aberdeen to watch a bunch of overweight amateurs play five-a-side football on an artificial pitch?

Imagine how put out I was to learn that the ground pictured above is not the real Stade de France.

It seems that Max will be going to Paris in early July to see a Euro 2016 quarter final, and there are fears about terrorism at the tournament.

I think it would be nice if Max (and his wife Kathy, and their poodles Percy and Coco) came to visit Aberdeen instead and joined Gail and me on our Friday walk.

PS: Thank you to those who took part in the poll to decide whether or not my furs should remain in place. In the end the Outs shaded it by a single vote (a foretaste of the 23 June result, one fears?) No-one will be at all surprised to learn that Gail was attacking me with the stripping implement even before the final vote was cast…

Bertie post strip/trim

PPS: Hi to all our friends who attended the Blogville Awesome Retreat. Oh how we wish we could have been there too.

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

Scots not welcome...?

So I went exploring Human Grandad's nursing home, and inspected the decor.

Book lovers might feel at at ease here...

But one would be concerned about any Scottish residents with high blood pressure*.


After checking up on HGD's new place, I went back to see how Human Granny was getting on. She looked a bit lonely, sat by herself at the dinner table, so I kept her company for a while.

And yes, this is the lace tablecloth of the famous 'Hamish and the scones' incident...

*Explanatory note from Gail: The enlarged black and white photo on the wall of Dad's nursing home will be familiar to UK based readers. It is the England football team celebrating their football World Cup victory in 1966, an iconic image for any English football fan alive in the 1960s. It is less popular in Scotland....

Tassie and the Tartan Army

You can learn all sorts of things from the friends you see in the park of a morning.

Meet Lhasa Apso ‘Tassie’, she of the playful demeanour and piercing bark. (Gail, why are you saying “pot, kettle, black”?)

Some weeks I see Tassie every day and some weeks not at all. She tells me this is because her Dad supervises the deck crew on an oil field diving support vessel, and when he is away offshore, for up to a month at a time, her exercise regime with 'the wife' is more relaxed.

Well it seems that this week, Tassie is going to be alone with 'the wife' for a different reason. Dad is off down to London for three nights with his Tartan Army pals, the main event being of course the England versus Scotland football match at Wembley on Wednesday night.

It surprised me to learn that Tassie’s Dad, whose normal parkwear is a well worn sweatshirt and track pants, is quite the snappy dresser when following the Scottish football team.

Apparently he has just purchased some brand new Timberland boots, beige in colour, because, to quote directly “ye cannae wear auld trainers wi’ a kilt”. Gail asked politely which tartan his kilt is made from. He seemed uncertain of the clan, but told her it was a purple plaid and that he hoped it would still fit around his expanding girth.

I guess this is the look Tassie's Dad is aiming for:


We also learned from him that airport security is a problem for the kilt wearer, as not only the belt, but also the sporran and the kilt pin have to be removed before you pass through the scanner, and all skean dhus are confiscated, including those made from plastic.

Worse, the Scotland fans are not allowed to take bagpipes into Wembley Stadium, also ostensibly on grounds of security, although Tassie confides in me that the real reason is because the English have no equivalent noise producing instruments.

Well, Gail and I shall be watching the football on the telly on Wednesday night, shouting and barking for our respective teams, and maybe looking out for Tassie’s smartly clad Dad in the crowd.

A household with divided loyalties

Bertie versus the Wii...

You’ll never guess what I’m being blamed for now. Just because a certain person is a very bad loser.

Let me explain.

Down in England last week, we paid a post-Christmas visit to one of Gail’s godsons.  Look, here he is, Daniel, the handsome chappie in the Argentina football shirt.

 

No soon as we’d entered the front door, than Daniel challenged Gail to a game of football on his new Wii computer thingy.

I don’t suppose it will come as a big surprise to you that my dear lady owner has hitherto not devoted too much time and effort to developing her expertise in this area. Unlike her twelve year old godson….

Now I will admit that this was my first opportunity to see a Wii in action too, but, in contrast to Gail, I naturally cottoned on pretty fast. As I see it, the game involves the humans waving their arms a lot, often very rapidly, to test whether the nearby terrier can either (1) grasp the moving human hand in his mouth or (2) take advantage of the fact that the humans are otherwise occupied and the field is wide open for toe chewing or ankle nibbling.

So by my criteria, I totally wiped the floor with the opposition. 

Daniel's version is that he won ten-nil.

And incredibly, Gail had the cheek to suggest her poor performance was due to being distracted by my embarking on a limb-grabbing rampage mid-way through the game…

Yeah, right Gail. Like you weren’t already eight-nil down when I first sprung into action.

About a former Aberdeen 'Top Dog'

I think we can all agree on the identity of the current 'Top Dog' in Aberdeen.

 But today it is timely that I tell you about an earlier Aberdeen 'Top Dog', although, as you will see, he is not a dog at all, sensu stricto...

Rather, this one, known by the local press as 'the former Aberdeen FC manager' and in other parts of the world as 'Sir Alex Ferguson, boss of Manchester United, most successful English football club ever blah blah blah', is a mere human being, albeit one with, I contend, an impressive set of terrier-like traits .... e.g. stubborn; tenacious; loves chewing; possesses unlimited energy and determination; refuses ever to submit; throws terrible tantrums when thwarted; is not lacking in self-esteem; possesses both bark AND bite; speaks a language incomprehensible to most of the human race; is always able to dig a hole and keep digging - need I go on?

So, to mix my metaphors, why was this 'Fergie' chappie such a big cheese round these parts?

YOU MEAN YOU HAVEN'T HEARD OF GOTHENBURG 1983 ??!!!!
Where Sir Alex (then plain mister) led underdogs Aberdeen to a 2:1 victory against mighty colossus of European football, Real Madrid, in the final of the European Cup Winners' Cup.....

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN THESE LAST 28 YEARS?  (Not Aberdeen, clearly! And don't ask if the team has won anything since....)

Have there been other notable events in Sir Alex's past?  Well there was the famous incident when he kicked a football boot at David Beckham from across the dressing room and grazed the star player's face. What other human old enough to collect his free bus pass could have conjured up such passion, power and accuracy...?

OK, I can see you're getting bored. Why am I telling you about this today (or at all), you are asking.

Well tomorrow, Saturday, the 'former manager of Aberdeen' will be at Wembley Stadium, where his current team Manchester United are playing Barcelona in another big European football final.

And I for one, shall be barking my support for the team managed by the old honorary terrier, following the grand tradition of Manchester United supporters hailing from anywhere in the world but the city of Manchester.

Gail, now where are my prawn sandwiches....?

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...........??

New disciplinary measures - I blame FIFA

Well, awfully sorry MaxMom in South Africa, but I've gone right off this Soccer World Cup thing.

Gail has been watching far too much of the football on telly. Obviously, this cuts into "me time", but that's not the half of it!

No, the real problem is that she has instituted a FIFA-inspired disciplinary regime.

For trying to jump up on Gail's lap when she's eating, or if I nibble at the tablecloth, I get shown this:

I think the idea is that I am supposed to retreat to my bed.

In your dreams Gail.....

So I ignore the caution and start snapping at Gail's ankles, or maybe chewing her trainers. Only to hear the words 'RED CARD BERTIE - THAT'S YOU OUT IN THE GARDEN MY BOY!'

'DON'T IGNORE ME BERTIE I REALLY MEAN IT!'

And she slams the door shut and leaves me all lonely and cold out there...

'Unity in Diversity' Bah, humbug!

I say! Please let me back in.