Keeping your human in order

Us pups are creatures of habit, right?

We know exactly what should happen when, and find it most disturbing when our humans forget the rules.

Take my morning walk, for example.

I know the drill, every step of the way.

Gail gets out of bed, has a shower, comes down to the kitchen, stops by my bed to say hello and give me a wee tummy tickle, then consumes her bowl of muesli and precisely and one and a half mugs of tea. After which she puts on her coat (and hat, and scarf and gloves, at this time of year), clips on my lead, and we're out the front door. Turn left and five minutes later we reach the park entrance and only then I am allowed off my lead and we complete our anti-clockwise circuit round the park, pausing now and then to greet all the other early morning regulars.

But sometimes Gail gets things terribly wrong.

Yesterday morning for example. We were only about half way to the park and Gail dropped hold of my lead. Incredible. It was as if she didn't realise where we were.

Well I can tell you, I stopped dead in my tracks and looked up at her, to let her know that she had made a serious error, and that she was still supposed to be attached to me at this point, whatever was she thinking of?

I am pleased to report that, on recognising her mistake, Gail immediately picked up my lead and from then on things proceeded according to plan.

I do hope nothing irregular happens today.

This is your morning call!

Do you ever worry that other residents of your road are missing out on a lovely fresh new Spring day by lying asleep too long?

I do.

Why else would I bark so enthusiastically as I trot down the street first thing every morning with Gail, on my way to the park?

And of course, encouraged by me, my partners in crime pals, Daisy Yorkie at No.4, Harry Schnauzer at No.39 and Heidi Border Terrier at No.41 (she has the most impressive vocal chords) all join in. Sometimes next door's Molly Springer Spaniel too. Only Jake Flat-Coated Retriever at No.8 always stays silent.

I think my neighbours are very lucky to have such a public spirited dog like me to wake them up!


PS My wire-haired fox terrier friend Butchy (Katie's older brother) has terrible news this morning. He is very, very ill, suffering from brain-tumour induced seizures, as did dear old Hamish. So I am a bit subdued just now, thinking about him and his family. Gail's face looked so sad when she read the news.

My park / Duthie Park

We've been debating, Gail and I, the title of my previous post, in which I declared that 'my park' had been invaded by Eskimos.

Leaving aside the matter of where the Eskimos disappeared to (we never found any), what Gail is objecting to is that I claimed the park as my very own.

Well let me set record straight, and tell you a little more about Duthie Park, to give the correct name, as it is such an important feature of my daily life.

Elizabeth Duthie, of the family that owned the Duthie Shipyards,  gifted the 44 acres to the Aberdeen Council in 1881.

When did you last hear of a modern day philanthropist donating land for public benefit and the enjoyment of city dwellers? (Gail says rants "these days we just have the Donald Trumps, buying up beautiful stretches of our coast, which were previously open and free for all to enjoy, but which in future will be accessible only to rich golfers).

Oh Gail, you do need to move on....Back to Duthie Park.

Well on dark winter mornings, it does feel like the place belongs just to us dogs and our faithful owners, out for the regular pre-work walk. You do also at this time of day see the occasional juicy-calved jogger, who I am not supposed to chase, and a few hardy fluorescent cyclists taking a short cut to the office.

On a sunny summer weekends it's a whole different picture: kids whooshing back and forth on the swings and vainly trying to descend the non-slip surface of the slide (a council 'health and safety' feature....), families noisily queuing up for ice-creams at the café, games of cricket (the players mostly brown-skinned south Asians dressed in some approximation to the traditional white outfit), picnickers surprisingly careless of their sandwiches given the number of unleashed dogs on the look-out, students lazily tossing around a frisbee, model boat enthusiasts making good use the large shallow pond, coach parties of old ladies visiting the Winter Gardens (I'm not allowed in the greenhouses, more's the pity. I did once sneak in. It's lovely and warm in the tropical house).

The park has a big grassy area with a bandstand in the middle, plus some beautifully tended formal flower beds, monuments, trees for peeing on, footpaths, ponds and fountains. Dogs are allowed everywhere except the Winter Gardens and do not have to be on a lead, although we are supposed to be 'under control'.

It's only a quarter of a mile walk from my house, so the morning circuit down to and round the park and back again is about a mile long and takes 20-30 minutes, depending on how many pals I meet en route and whether we call in at the paper shop on the way home.

Aren't I lucky to have such a nice place so close? Even if it's not, strictly speaking, 'mine'.

Snowy early morning

You've slept long enough and your hot water bottle is cold

It's a brand new day and time for your walk in the park

You step outside and wait for Gail to get all togged up

You check out unfamiliar objects

You spot some new friends in the distance

You join them for a conference

You learn their names are Ziggy and Rumpole

Gail admires the moon

You return home for porridge and coffee...

The simple things in life are the best.