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.

Donkeys on a diet

In recent times, one of our favourite local walks with Human Grandad  had a starting point he always referred to as "at the donkeys".

Gail and I went along there yesterday to see how the donkeys were faring in HGD's absence.


There they are in the field, but what is that notice on the tree?



Oh deary me, it seems the donkeys are on a diet. I hope they like carrots better than Gail and I do!



PS I so wanted to title this post 'Big Asses' but Gail feared it would attract the wrong sort of internet readership.

Paragon, model lad or prig?

A couple of weeks ago, we had Gail's friends, German teacher Margaret and her husband Jeffrey, round for dinner. Home made steak and kidney pie! You can imagine what super-canine restraint was involved in my sitting quietly beside the dinner table and not begging for a morsel.

Well a few days later, we received a nice 'thank you' note from Margaret in which I was described as a 'Musterknabe'.

Readers who knew my predecessor Hamish the Westie may even remember that he used to go with Gail to those German lessons round at Margaret's house. 

Well since I have never  been allowed to study German, I did not immediately know whether being called a 'Musterknabe' was praise or an insult. 

Google Translate, and Gail's big fat German dictionary, came to the rescue!

So apparently I am either a 'paragon', and 'model lad' or a 'prig'.

I think we can confidently discount the latter.

I am trying my very best to be good, as Gail and her family deal with the sad loss of HGD. As far as I can tell, they are doing OK, and I am enjoying all the extra cuddles.

Der Musterknabe

PS from Gail: Thank you so much to all those who left such kind comments about my father on my previous post. 

R.I.P. HGD

Oh dear, I am so sad to have to tell you that my beloved Human Grandad passed away peacefully in his sleep in the early hours of Sunday morning (16 March).

Gail and her mother and brother had all spent time with him in his last few days, although I, Bertie, was not allowed.

My very important role just now is to be available for cuddles and to ensure Gail is regularly walked.

I am sure my blog friends will understand if I'm not visiting too often over the next couple of weeks.

with Human Grandad last November on his 92 birthday