No fox?

I am very cross with Gail.

Yesterday I overheard her telling our friend and neighbour Kirsty that she'd seen a fox strolling down the road, bold as brass in broad daylight, when she took me for a late afternoon walk around the block earlier in the week. 

GAIL SAW A FOX AND SHE DID NOT TELL ME!

I hope that when you are getting on in life, and have lost your hearing and a good part of your sight* your human will not take advantage of the fact to keep you in ignorance of certain very exciting encounters when you go for a stroll together.

Anyway, I insisted Gail take me out again, same route, same time, and introduce me to the new local resident and maybe get his photo, but I'm afraid all I have to show you from that walk is some of the flowers in our neighbourhood front gardens.

Which frankly is not nearly so interesting as a fox, but will have to do for this week.

Fuchsia

Japanese anemone

Sweet pea

Hydrangea

Dahlia

Potentilla

Happy Nature Friday friends! And thanks once again to Rosy and the rest of the LLB Gang. Enjoy their blog hop.

*Gail says: I'm afraid Bertie has reached the "He is deaf and three parts blind" verse of Rudyard Kipling's poem 'His Apologies".

Urban wildlife

So the other night, on my pre-bedtime 'comfort walk' around our Aberdeen neighbourhood, Gail and I spotted a fox, strolling down the street in front of us, bold as you like.

It was the second time we'd seen him in as many weeks.

As you know, we live in inner city area, albeit one with parks and green spaces nearby.

Can you believe that Gail criticised my reaction to this sighting, implying that what she described as my "ear splitting high pitched barking and frenzied straining at the leash" was somehow not acceptable behaviour.

Pray, what part of FOX terrier does she not understand?

photo from internet

Once again we are delighted to take part in the LLB Gang's Nature Friday blog hop.

FFHT April: A fairly typical Friday walk

Yes, yippee, it's Murphy and Stanley's FFHT time again! We're short and sweet this month.


Last Friday's walk 

"Sit nicely" Gail said, "while I take an 'arty' photo of you and the daffodils". But it smelled like a rabbit was somewhere in the vicinity so I had other priorities.

"Come, Bertie", shouted Gail, from a distance. But it smelled like someone had dropped a piece of burger just by the path under the bridge, so I ignored her, again.

"Oh Bertie, do hurry up", Gail sighed, "we haven't got all day. But it smelled like my adversary Jake had been round these parts quite recently, so I was loath to rush ahead. 

"Leave it Bertie!" shrieked Gail, too late, as I prepared to roll in some freshly produced fox poo.

To me, it smelled like ambrosia.

Although Gail begged to differ, as she wound down the windows in the car going home. 

Instinct versus rational thought

"What kind of a fox terrier are you anyway?"

Fellow pups, does this ever happen to you?

There you are, out on a walk near the river, happily bouncing around enjoying the freedom of being off the lead, when a fox crosses your path in broad daylight, right to left, and heads off into a thicket.

Obedience training forgotten, the prey instinct kicks in and before Gail can shout "come Bertie, COME, BERTIE NO NO NO!" you have disappeared into the bushes in hot pursuit.

And then caught up in the excitement of the moment, you race around in random directions, barking joyfully, and ....  you lose the scent.

For half a tail wag, you feel frustrated that Mister Fox has evaded your clutches. (Later Gail tells you he ran back across the track, left to right, slap bang in front of her, how could you have missed him?)

But soon you relax and return to Gail, thankful that you have a superior evolutionary strategy. You are a pet, not a working dog, and most definitely not wild creature dependent on your hunting skill to survive, and back home awaits a fire, a cosy cushion, and a full bowl of tasty kibble.

The ungrateful birthday boy

I'm three years old today you know.

When Gail told me yesterday we were going to 'Pet Comforts', our favourite Aberdeen pet shop by far, to buy me a fox for my birthday, I was so excited. Finally, a real live fox to play with! Surely a three year old wire-haired fox terrier is entitled to no less?

Slowly the truth dawned...


It turned out that this was what she had in mind.

Oh well, one can always pretend.

PS from Gail: as some of you know, Bertie was born on exactly the same day that my fourteen year old Westie Hamish died. So many fond memories. I make no apology for re-posting my last ever photo of the dear chap.