Wet Sunday and an archaeological excavation ...

What happens in your household on a Sunday when it is so miserable and wet that you only get a short walk to the park and the paper shop?

When the weather is so horrid not even Gail wants to venture out on her new(ish) bicycle?

Well, in my dreams, Gail might just spend the day giving me belly rubs and feeding me treats. But of course the reality was otherwise.

She decided to have a tidy up, and this included her overfilled sewing box.

Gosh. Digging into this prehistoric and rarely opened item was like conducting an archaeological excavation into Gail's family history. See what was found:

Exhibit #1: The darning mushroom.

Chewed end, what chewed end? Hamish's work, surely?

Exhibit #2: The button tin

Not sure if this originally belonged to Human Grandad or Human Great Grandad (we think the latter).

Exhibit #3: The press-stud tin

This one definitely came from Gail's Granny, whose family owned a liquorice factory in Pontefract, Yorkshire. And yes, they did make 'Pomfret Cakes' too.

Exhibit #4: The needle case

Gail's first ever attempt at needlework, a school project from when she was five or six years old.  A shame the sewing skills did not progress much thereafter. It turned out she was more interested in science…

Exhibit #5: Duffel coat toggle

From one of the many duffel coats Gail owned between 1975 and 1990.

Exhibit #6: Tartan ribbons

You know where this is heading...

Hope your Sunday was more exciting!

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

I hope you didn't 'spandle' today?

Do you remember my friend the author Robert Macfarlane? I wrote to him a couple of years ago and he replied with the most splendid letter.

Well he has a new book, 'Landmarks', and of course Gail and I have been reading it.

It is all about "the power of language to shape our sense of place". At the end of each chapter is a glossary of lost or nearly lost words from around the UK.

Some of them relate to walking and Gail points out they are useful for dogs too. Which of these, I wonder, best describes how you or your human approaches your daily perambulation?

Scrimander (Yorkshire): to wander about, to take a devious or winding course

Spangin' (Scots): walking vigorously

Striddle (N. Ireland): to walk uncomfortably, with an unusual gait

Crabbsganach (Gaelic): awkward on one's feet, owing to their being sore

Flinks (Shetland): to ramble in a rompish manner, as a frolicsome girl might

Stravaig (Scots):to wander aimlessly, unguided by outcome or destination

Nuddle (Suffolk): to walk in a dreamy manner, with head down as if preoccupied.

Whichever fits you, please, pups and humans alike, when you return to the house, please do always remember not to spandle!*.


*Spandle (Kent): to leave marks of wet feet or shoes on a floor, as a dog does with its paw prints.

Duthie Park comings and goings

So we were late to the park on Saturday morning. I had allowed Gail a wee lie in and it was past eight o'clock when we reached the rather fine North entrance.

"Oh my goodness it's like Piccadilly Circus here today", Gail exclaimed as I checked the visitors' register and signed in.

Indeed, several of my pals were already racing around and I hastened off to join them.

On workday mornings Gail can be quite the bossy boots with the "come on Bertie hurry up don't dawdle we haven't got all day I need to go to the office" business , but, thank heavens, a more relaxed regime operates at the weekend and I had plenty of time for socialising.

Eventually I reached the far corner of the park, and saw that Gail was still chatting with another park goer, about, one assumes, something rather boring (most human conversations are like that).

On Saturdays we usually extend the outing with a stroll along the River Dee. This entails leaving the park by these southern gates and crossing a busy road.

So I sat patiently waiting for Gail so she could attach my lead and we could safely proceed.

Yes, you are right, I can be very well-behaved when I choose.

I was set free again when we reached the riverside path, although I decided not to run over and say hello to the two Westies near the park bench, as one them was off-puttingly yappy. (Sorry, Whitley and Finley, but it's true!)

And sometimes one prefers just sniffing around by oneself anyway.

I do enjoy my Saturday mornings.