Wire-haired fox terrier problems (1)

This is the first of what I intend to be an occasional series of short posts dealing with life problems affecting (but surely not unique to) my own breed.

It has come to my attention that in certain human circles the phase 'first world problems' is used, often dismissively, to indicate someone might be complaining about an issue too trivial to merit a sympathetic response.

Let me assure you that 'wire-haired fox terrier problems' in no way belong in this category.

Today I want to address the topic of what to do when one is out on a walk and finds one's progress impeded by a small but prickly twig caught uncomfortably in one's wiry furs.

I am pleased to report that the solution to this particular problem is fairly straightforward.

What you need to do is first to stop in your tracks, ignoring all calls to "come Bertie COME". Then you adopt a stance which indicates slight discomfort, and gaze up at your human with a pathetic, pleading look.

Pretty soon your human will approach you and, at minimal inconvenience to yourself, will grab hold of said twig and gently but firmly (this may take them a bit of practice) extract the offending item from your furs, allowing you to continue unencumbered on your walk.

The speed of the response will, obviously, depend on your human's level of training and general alertness. For example, it took several 'twig in furs' episodes before Gail learned that I was not just "making a fuss about nothing"…

As if.

By Gunthorpe Lock.

Too much woolly thinking?

I expect some of you have been wondering, whatever happened to the Shetland wool jumper Gail is supposed to be knitting for yours truly?

And thinking that if a certain person does not get a move on, then it will be summer already.

Well I guess we can cut Gail some slack on the timing issue, given that what most of the world would deem winter wear is entirely appropriate for our Scottish so-called summers too.

But a recently overheard phone conversation between Gail and a friend gave me new cause for concern:

"It's boring knitting something straightforward isn't it? I like a bit of a challenge, to keep my brain in gear while I'm on unpaid leave from work to look after my mum. So I downloaded some 'pattern generator' instructions from Ravelry and the first thing you have to do is measure your dog and calculate the number of stitches appropriate for his size. Then I decided it would be nice to have some decoration across the back and I found some instructions for a child's cardigan and took the Fair Isle design from that. Only it needs six colours and I have only four so I had to rethink it a bit".

Now all this would be fine if we were talking about someone whose knitting output has, over the past thirty years, amounted to more than one hat, one doggy sweater and one bicycle seat cover. But we are not.

To compound my worries, I then caught Gail watching a YouTube video titled 'Five ways of casting on'.

Like, call me an knitting ignoramus, but this is pretty basic stuff, is it not?

Well finally, earlier this week, Gail swung into action with the needles and yarn, and amidst much cursing, she at last succeeded in casting on the 70 stitches using some fancy schmancy technique suitable for edging a ribbed collar.

A few rows later...

Er, Gail, are you sure you got your sums right? That will have to go over my head you know.

What's that they say about not giving up the day job?

A couple of days on, and things are looking a bit more promising. The colours - totally natural, no dye involved - are quite manly aren't they?

Unfortunately progress has again stalled 'cos a certain person underestimated the amount of yarn needed so an emergency order has been placed with Julia of Hand Knitted Things.

Maybe it'll be ready for my 6th birthday...

The best birthday present.

So Gail comes bouncing down the stairs this morning.

"Happy Birthday Bertie! I can't believe you are five years old already. And guess what, I have the BEST EVER birthday present for you."

I wait politely, slightly surprised (based on past experience), that she has actually remembered it is my birthday. Given that Gail is also the world's least imaginative present giver, I have no great hopes of scoring the sort of birthday bonanza that many of my blogging pals might confidently expect.

"Bertie, can you imagine? Human Granny is coming out of hospital today. She is going to a rehabilitation facility now for a few weeks, where they will try to get her walking again. isn't that just brilliant news? Not so long ago we were thinking she wouldn't survive her illness."

"Better yet, I think you might even be allowed to visit her once she has settled in. Won't that be fun?"

Well of course I am thrilled that Human Granny is getting better and that I might see her again soon.

But it's not so very selfish, is it, to hope for something just a wee bit more, er, tangible in the way of a gift on one's fifth birthday?

I give Gail my best expectant look.

"OK Bertie, and now we are off for a walk to the local Co-op store. I think a celebratory meal of liver and bacon is in order for tonight, don't you?"

That's more like it.