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HOLIDAY EDITION: The Human's Story

We're on our holidays! Yay! We've come to Pembrokeshire to explore their glorious beaches and to get our fill of Castles dragons and leeks. We've rented a little cottage with a cute little enclosed backyard being one of the reasons I picked this particular cottage. When we arrived I had an urgent spot of work to do and left Roobarb to explore, secure in the knowledge that all was safe, enclosed and tickety boo. Looking up a short while later and realising I hadn't seen her for a while, and it's not that big a place and she's not especially ninja like when it comes to bare floorboards and tap dancing puppy claws, I started calling her. I was mostly concerned she was trampolining her way around all the bedrooms upstairs which is supposedly out of bounds for dogs (never going to happen). With no response or noise from upstairs I hollered a bit more, directing it to the back door (poor temporary neighbours!). I heard a distant Roobarb squeak that suggested a level of distress and headed out to the back yard. Where she wasn't. No siree. SHE was in the neighbours yard. And somewhat distressed she was too. My immediate assessment of the situation involved looking at a chest height wall on my side and a c8 foot drop the other side to the neighbours yard, and thinking 'how the hell did you manage that?', while registering blood on her face, followed by the realisation that there was no immediate rescue opportunity other than to go next door and advise them that 'my dog has thrown herself into your back garden. Can I have my dog back please?' So next door I rushed, obviously more concerned for Roobs than about how ridiculous I was going to sound. I knocked on the door. A dog started barking inside, and I could hear Roobarb squeaking out back, but no answer to the door. I knocked again. Still no answer. So I started heading back, panicked mind racing. As I was reaching our front door next door's front door opened and a voiced called out, so I rushed back 'oh hi, I'm so sorry, we've just arrived next door ...' I did a slight double take before continuing. The women, in her 60's (possibly younger if she's been down the mines since young and having had a hard life), was dripping wet. And naked. Absolutely starkers with the exception of a rather small towel that was literally just about covering the main frontage. It was like something out of Royston Vasey, but I had no time to process. 'My dog seems to have fallen into your backyard, but I can come back when it's more convenient....' 'No no you better come in ....' And so I went into this strange naked lady's house, whereupon I was treated to a fuller eyeful as the towel displaced as she closed the door, and full reverse nudity due to wholly insufficient towel acreage in the first place. I headed straight out the back to find Roobarb very much pleased to see me. Grabbed her, and headed back through, stopping for a surreal but pleasant chat with the naked one who was obviously very concerned about Roobarb and advising me of which vets I could take her to to get checked out. The dog, you will be glad to hear, is none the worse for wear following her latest escapology adventure, barring a small graze by her nose. I however, still can't believe she didn't break her neck in the process, and have seen things that can never be unseen.

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SLEEPING HABITS

I am a caged animal. At night the Human still makes me sleep in the cage (she calls it a crate but we all know it’s dog jail). A while back I thought I could break her but she has remained surprisingly steadfast on this topic. Exceptions to crate sleeping are during the day, obvs, when I can sleep just about anywhere I bloomin well chose but generally consists of dozing on the back on the chair in the bay window so I can growl and snarl at anyone walking past who looks the slightest bit annoying), and a short early morning snuggle on the Human’s bed some (ok, most) mornings. And there are some mornings, when she doesn’t go to work, that we get an extra long lie in. And sometimes don’t get to go out until quite late. On these days I worry a little that the Human is ill. Sometimes she has to take tablets. And then I worry about who would take me for walks if she was really ill, or not here anymore. And who would feed me. Id like to think I’d rise to the challenge, south London streetwise kid, growing up alone. Or maybe one of the local fox families would adopt me and show me their wily ways. The Human reckons that foxes family would be grossed out by my insistence on eating or rolling in their poo, and I do quite like cuddles, and the sofa, and trips to the seaside and all that would stop so, even though the Human annoys me by locking me up every night, I do hope nothing too bad happens to her.

Anyway, on the sleep front, the only other time I escape the imprisonment is when we go away and I get to sleep on the bed with the Human. I think I can chalk that one up as a success. In the early days she tried carting the jail around with her and putting me in there at night. I kicked up a right proper stinker of a stink, thank you very much. The first time there were also sorts of weird creaks and groans, and gurgles and hoots and shrieks from inside and outside of the house (the Human called it ‘nature’). And at another (Human Grandma’s) House I had just about resigned myself to my fate and was trying to be good and fall asleep when Human Granddad tripped over the cage and dropped something on it and swore, that I maximised my opportunity to channel seven types of inner demon and made such a racket that ever since I get to sleep on the bed with the Human when we are not at home.

The other week I had a sleepover at the boyfriend’s house (he's cute. Pedigree Tibetan Terrier. Obviously slumming with halfbreed yours truly, but I like to think what I lack in pedigree I make up for in noise, cuteness, jumping uppiness and general adorability and attitude). All totally chaperoned I can assure you. No hanky panky here. Plus the boyf totally knows who’s boss. I believe there’s a romantic saying in Human world ‘what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine’. It’s meant to reflect equality and sharing in a relationship. Well Bertie knows that is NOT how it works with us. What’s his is probably something I want, and what’s mine is also something I want. I will wrestle that fur ball to the death if needs to be to ensure ultimate possession remains with yours truly. OK, maybe not the death, but I can wrestle him into submission without breaking a nail toy, food, bone, stick,(love a stick!) - that sucker is mine.

So at Bertie’s house it’s time for bed. My Human has told Bertie’s Humans that they should put me in doggy jail for the night. I heard her – what a bitch! Anyway, I looked at them, cranked up the puppy dog eyes, looked forlorn and lo and behold it came to pass that they did NOT put me in the slammer, I was in fact allowed to follow them upstairs. Alright, alright, if you want to be specific, I bounded up the stairs nearly concussing Bertie in the process and hoofed it into their room where I proceeded to leap onto the bed and wrestle with Bertie for an hour before one of the Human’s got annoyed and told us to pack it in. Bertie got down and curled up in his own bed which meant I was left all on my own luxuriating on the bed between the humans, stretching out, making myself at home enjoying all the benefits I am denied by my Human.

It was GLORIOUS.

Not only was I getting one over on the Human who wanted me in the drunk tank for the night, but I was getting one over on Bertie too – he’s there on the floor and there’s me, living the high life in bed with his Humans!

AND I’m off on another sleepover there tonight. Life is good. I’m quite glad I’m not living with a fox family to be honest.

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THE HUMAN DIARIES So we're at the emergency vet. The car has been haphazardly abandoned at the side of the road. I may or may not have locked it properly but am confident that the pool of dog sick in the passenger footwell will put off any would be car jacker. They'll be alerted to the pool of sick in the footwell by the other pool of sick on the passenger seat. I smell of sick. The dog has paddled in the sick and tried to eat it. She's now sat on my lap retching every now and then, trying to cough up whatever is stuck in her throat. Serves me right for smugly commenting over breakfast that we hadn't been to the vet since before Christmas.

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Someone's on cloud 9. Happy doggo

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Sharing is Caring

Or 'If it's not your, it's just not yours'. Or 'Little Dogs should know their manners if they want to play with the big dogs'. I must not get it Freddie's face and be offensively annoying to the point that his only option is to reprimand me 'boxer style'. And I must not try and steal Freddie's treat, once I have eaten my own, because his only course of action is to reprimand me 'boxer style'. And while we're at it I must not give the impression that there are treats that I am trying to steal off him, even though neither he nor I have any treats, because, you've guessed it, the only course course of action left to him is a reprimand 'boxer style'. The human has made me aware that Whilst I have been the one at fault I have caused Freddie to be told off and that is not fair. I am sorry for my behaviour Freddie. I would hate it if I could not lick you face in future. I will learn this by repeating ten times. I must not get it Freddie's face and be offensively annoying to the point that his only option is to reprimand me 'boxer style'. And I must not try and steal Freddie's treat, once I have eaten my own, because his only course of action is to reprimand me 'boxer style'. And while we're at it I must not give the impression that there are treats that I am trying to steal off him, even though neither he nor I have any treats, because, you've guessed it, the only course course of action left to him is a reprimand 'boxer style'. The human has made me aware that Whilst I have been the one at fault I have caused Freddie to be told off and that is not fair. I am sorry for my behaviour Freddie. I would hate it if I could not lick you face in future. I will learn this by repeating ten times. I must not get it Freddie's face and be offensively annoying to the point that his only option is to reprimand me 'boxer style'. And I must not try and steal Freddie's treat, once I have eaten my own, because his only course of action is to reprimand me 'boxer style'. And while we're at it I must not give the impression that there are treats that I am trying to steal off him, even though neither he nor I have any treats, because, you've guessed it, the only course course of action left to him is a reprimand 'boxer style'. The human has made me aware that Whilst I have been the one at fault I have caused Freddie to be told off and that is not fair. I am sorry for my behaviour Freddie. I would hate it if I could not lick you face in future. I will learn this by repeating ten times. Repeat, repeat etc, etc

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Caring is sharing

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Teenage Dirtbag

“Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby, I'm just a teenage dirtbag …” So Saturday afternoon's little jaunt out to the common, in a nutshell, involved me sending the Human into apoplectic meltdown caused through a means of selective hearing and a taunting trot, when I ran off to the pond and wasn’t coming back in a hurry.  Or as the Human called it ‘being a little teenage shit’.

And by selective hearing I mean my systematic and sustained refusal to acknowledge any level of communication (calling, coaxing, shouting, screeching etc) from the Human.  There was the ‘I’m too far away to hear you’ selective hearing, as well as the ‘I can’t see you coming towards me, shaking your treat bag shouting ‘Roobarb Come!’’ selective hearing, and the ‘I’m too busy eating this pile of stinky yumminess to hear you’ selective hearing [note from Human: It was shit.  She was eating shit.].  All of which I cunningly overlaid with a hop skip and a jump out of hands reach every time she thought she had outsmarted me.  As if!  The high jinx continued for somewhere in the region of 20 minutes, which the human intermittently filled by pretending she wasn’t really trying to regain control over her delinquent pupy.  This she did by telling everyone on facebook what a shit I was being.

Of course when she did finally nab me it was curtains for the off lead walk that day.  There was instead much purposeful striding across the common attached to the lead, with no time to sniff everything in existence, or to even think saying hello to any friends (which obviously means bum sniffing).  Small price to pay for stitching up the Human though, and she knows that I would still be out there frolicking to my heart’s content had I not been duped into throwing myself at a different Human for a cuddle.   I hadn’t quite registered that they would be in cahoots, but I’ll know for next time.

My second Dirtbag moment was, again, up on the common on Sunday and had the added advantage of embarrassing the Human in front of friends. So we walked up to the common with my mate Bertie and one of his Humans.  Bertie’s not really allowed off the lead much yet, and I had been totally taunting him with the fact that I am allowed off the lead ALL THE TIME (recent privilege revoking incidents aside).

Waited til the Human was busy chatting to the other Human and full on scarpered to a delicious noxious smelling dead rat, and threw myself at it with the sole purpose of Rat Rolling.  It’s a bit like Rick Rolling, in that its all about enjoying the virtues of something well passed its use by date and ensuring that its then inflicted upon poor unsuspecting victims (and for those of you thinking ‘don’t be stupid, you’re an 8 month old puppy, what could you possibly know about Rick Rolling?’ well, I’m an 8 month old puppy writing a blog – literate, with access to the internet. Who’s stupid now?!).

I particularly like getting the full benefit of the scent thoroughly massaged into the back of my neck and around the ears, and down my back, and sides, and when that it done I like to start all over again. You really have to be quite determined to ensure that you are applying enough downward pressure to soak up as much stink as possible.  You have to commit, or it will have worn off before you get home.

Its always fun to watch the Human as it dawns on her that I have found something more powerful than the offer of treats, and her recall training won’t produce results.  She was suddenly moving faster than Ive seen her go in quite some time, and seeing her reaction when she realises I have been  burying myself in rat remnants was priceless.  And I didn’t even mind that Off Lead privileges would be revoked.  Again.

The photo is of me and Bertie, he’s cute right?.

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The Human just posted this on her Facebook. Harsh.

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TO ME TO YOU - THE HAIRCUT

Are you shitting me!?!? I've been scalped!.

“You really need a haircut” she said “You’re a tangled mess” she said “You are a mud sponge” she said “It will be fine” she said “you’ll still look cute”

Liar! I look like a chuckle brother. I can never go out again. “I hate you. You’ve ruined my life. You’re not my real mother!”

And I slammed the door and have been playing thrash metal at full volume since then.

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A POO DUNNIT

The Human took me round to some friends of hers last night for a party. I quite like going round there coz I can hang out with Millie. Millie's a bit of an old lady dog, and the Human is always telling me off for bouncing too much when I'm round Her. Sometimes she growls at me (Millie, not the Human), and she won't let me play with her squeaky stick, but on the whole she's alright, for an old bird.

There were quite a humans around, what with my Human, Millie's Humans and this other pair of Humans. They also had what I took to be a small human, although she spent most the evening crawling on the floor pretending to be a dog, so there was a degree of confusion on my part there.

Things were going pretty well to begin with, but at one point the kitchen door was closed and access to the kitchen and garden was completely cut off. Millie was absolutely hopping mad, what with it being her house and everything, and I had to confess to maybe being responsible as my Human is entirely obsessed by the idea that I can't be trusted round food. I take offence at this on many levels (floor level, table height, work surfaces etc). I can totally be trusted round food! And to demonstrate I made sure to leave no mess, no crumbs, no nothing, when I inhaled the mini Yorkshire puds and roast beefs that were left conveniently close to the edge of the table, which I could fortuitously reach by jumping on a carelessly left chair.

Anyway to demonstrate our outrage at the long term (it was at least 5 minutes) kitchen exclusion, Millie and I hatched a payback plan. I will forever love her for #poogate. What follows is a rough approximation of the Humans' reaction to the#paybackpackage

Lady Human (owner of the small dog/human): um, is that a joke turd or has someone taken a shit in the hallway? <all humans gather in hall examining the evidence> My Human: that's a real shit alright. It's massive! <my Human gets kitchen roll and begins the clean up> Millie's Man Human: I doubt Millie did that, but I can't believe so much poo could come out of a dog Roobarb's size. My Human: well, she's definitely got form, but it doesn't look like one of her poos Millie's Lady Human: it doesn't look like Millie's poo either, the type of food she's on just doesn't produce than sort of poo My Human: nor Roobarb's, in size or consistency. I mean that is one massive shit Man Human (other owner of the small dog/human): Isobel??

Oh how we laughed. And they still can't tell for certain which one of us produced the masterpiece.

#poogate #shitsandgiggles

HUMAN EDIT NOTE: For clarity, in case anyone thinks there was any active question over responsibility in this Poo Dunnit I would like to highlight a few things.  1) The burden of proof in UK courts is with the prosecution to prove the guilt of the accused to a standard beyond reasonable doubt.  2) Roobarb has a prior rap sheet for similar incidents when access to the outside world is cut off, the other animals or people in this tale do not.  3) Roobarb had the means and opportunity to perpetrate the offence 4) Roobarb had no alibi for the time in question, nor presented any mitigating evidence. I've told Miss Marple she can stand down.

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THE 9 STAGES OF A BOXING DAY WALK

From clean and pristine and back to clean, via much mud, pond weed, rolling in nastiness, mixed with huge quantities of cockapoo crazy 

26 DECEMBER 2016

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THE CHRISTMAS EDITION

So this Christmas thing is fun. A tree arrived in the lounge recently. A tree!! In the lounge. What the ... !?! And it had all sorts of sparkly things and lights attached, and half a flock of robins.  There are birds in a tree in the lounge.  If I'm dreaming you may NOT wake me up.

There is a lot of firm voiced 'leave!' from the Human. I think she means business. So as long as the birds stay where they are and don't start any funny business I'm happy to keep my distance and just keep an eye on things.

The food is nice though – lots of interesting smelly things in the house and in the pub. With the advantage that having grown I can now just reach the work surface if I stand on my tippy toes. So far my concerted efforts have bagged me an empty bacon packet (still plenty of lovely licky-ness), several Christmas cards, a couple of biros (nice and crunchie), a packet of antihistamines (neither me nor the human are quite sure whether I actually managed to chomp any before they were swiftly taken out of reach), a loaf of bread (bread is very very chewy, I think glue must be a core ingredient. It all got very stuck to the roof of my mouth and the Human had to come a help me. I may have been making some strange distressed noises that attracted her attention, so the loaf got whisked away too). I am particularly attuned to the sound of a mince pie. I can hear the mince pie packet crinkle from a dead sleep at the other end of the house and mince pie crumbs (and cheese crumbs) are my fave. I liked it when one of the Human’s friends spilled her wine and I got to lick it up before the teatowel made it to the floor – may have got a little tipsy and had to make a particularly vigorous doodle dash around the house to work off the effects.

I’m liking the smell of mulled wine too, although I now know to pay attention when she says ‘NO! Hot!’ and pushes me away. I may have burnt my nose a little. The Human had no sympathy on that one.

I have also been introduced to the ridiculousness and humiliation that is the ‘christmas jumper’. I have a brown (brown!) knitted one with a hood which has reindeer on the back and knitted reindeer antlers attached to the hood. I look like an idiot, like maybe I got dropped on my head once and now need special help with things (although the Human did actually drop me on my head once. She said she was sorry, although I wouldn't be her friend for at least 10 minutes. Didn't stop her treading on my tail the next day though did it?!). Quite frankly I hope that everyone is quietly judging the Human for putting me through such a trauma, although most other humans I meet when wearing it seem quite amused. Stop it!!! It just encourages her!!! And to top it off she bought it back in October. So it's way too small for me, what with me being a puppy I've been busy growing since then. If the jumper makes another appearance I'm calling the RSPCA.

On the whole though I don't. Ind this Christmas malarkey - I'm going to ask the Human if we can do Christmas again some time. Maybe make it a regular thing every year.

ORIGINAL POST 20 DECEMBER 2016

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ROOBARB GOES TO THE VET

8am this morning, dropping Roobs off at the vet: Human: I'm really sorry, she's likely to cry. Or bark. Or howl.  Vet: that's ok, we're used to it.  Human: she can keep it up for a long time.  Nurse: we've got a few back there. She can join in the singing.

...5pm collective Human: that's Roobarb crying isn't it? Nurse: (through slight grimace) yes it is Human: has she been like it all day? Nurse: yes she has. It's a good job she's cute.

ORIGINAL POST 30 NOVEMBER 2016

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WHEN ROOBARB MET AXL

Ace weekend. 

Went to Kent

Met Axl. Barked at him Encountered the Bob Cat. Barked at him Found the litter tray. Had a snack.  Smelt of cat shit for the rest of the weekend Went for a walk on the beach.  Ate bird shit.  Barked non-stop for 2 hours when left with Axl and the bearded human,while the human was off galavanting with the other lady human.  Jumped all over whatever furniture I could find Barked at the cat again Stayed in the hotel, no cage. Behaved myself.  Protected Axl, the human and the human's friend from all male humans by barking at them. Especially those wearing hats. Or with beards. In hipster Margate of a cold windy day, there was a lot of barking involved. They are bloody everywhere.  Barked at the big male human with the beard and hat that came in the house and wouldn't leave. Will try harder next time. He was resistant to my menace.  Went to a restaurant. Barked when the human went to the loo Shredded lots of paper on the floor of the restaurant. It was fun.  Came home.  Had a bath.  Still smell a bit of cat shit.

ORIGINAL POST 27 NOVEMBER 2016

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DAY 108

Apparently the first 100 days for a newly elected US President is when they have their most influence and can affect the most change. It’s downhill from there. Don’t worry this is nothing to do with Trump, I’m a dog, what do I care?! Whilst I’ve learned a few choice words from the human recently on the subject, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to affect me directly, at least not in the short term. If it all goes to shit and the human can’t afford my Lily’s Kitchen fish skin chews then you better believe I’m wading in on the debate.

Anyway, I figured I would round up a summary of my first 100 days in residence and see what I have achieved and influenced in that time.

1. House training – check! The human is now pretty good at opening the door for me on an ‘on-demand’ basis. So not only is she well trained, but she is also very current with all this On-demand stuff I keep hearing about. Number of indoor wees in the last 100 days: Less than 10 Number of indoor poos in the last 100 days: 3 and they were all protest votes of some sort. Sorry, I know, I said I wouldn’t get political.

2. Eating habits – check! Despite the initial hunger strike I attempted in the very early days, I cannot lie – I like food. Any food. Anything I can put in my mouth in fact regardless of whether it can be classified as a food stuff or not. Sticks? Chew em up and spit em out I say! (Preferably scattering all chunks and splinters as wide as possible, because that means the broom comes out, and well, that’s just a barktastic game!) Random plastic things found on the floor? Chew up and spit em out! Items of underwear from the laundry basket? Well I must confess to having a good old sniff, rip and chew, and then snuggling down for a kip with a nice pair of bloomers.

And I have discovered some lovely little delicacies. Aside from my boutique (soon to be available in wider stores) Duncan’s Doggy Deli staple I can now confirm I like apple, carrot, cucumber and cheese and chicken and basically any sort of treat or chew offered. Celery on the other hand can do one! Fishskins, tuna and anything suitably stinky scores highly. Then I like lick, cough over or sneeze on the human immediately, especially around the face, and one in the eye scores me bonus points, and possibly extra food to ‘freshen the breathe’. Win win. I also like pretty much anything the human is eating, although I still haven’t managed to break her into giving me any. If the US presidency is anything to go by, I may have missed my window there.

3. Sleeping – swings and roundabouts on this one. The human can probably claim a win on the night-time sleeping. I get caged every.single.night. HOWEVER my persistence has started to win out. I start the whining and crying somewhere just after 5am every morning, and I mean EVERY morning. I have this inner clock that just clicks in. My favourite time is 5.03, and by 5.15, 5.30 at the absolute latest, the human is guaranteed to relent and take me outside for a ‘nature break’ (as natural as you can get in an inner city slum, sorry, south London des res. I’ve just come back from Cornwall – I know inner city deprivation when I see it). And here’s the sneaky thing. I discovered that if I woke her up and it had a 4 or earlier on the clock, then I absolutely categorically got put back in that bloody cage. BUT if it had a 5 on the clock then I was more likely to get cuddles, and over time, big bed snuggles. She doesn’t even fight it anymore – as long as there’s a 5 on the clock, I can do the biz and then just trot on through to her bedroom and a quick hop skip and a jump and we are in duvet heaven! Oh yes indeedie.

4. Human training – Still needs work. The absolute core basics are there with feeding, toileting, walking, and treating (ok – she’s good on the treating – she doesn’t even make me work hard for it, I mean, how hard can ‘sit’ and ‘paw’ really be?! I only don’t do it every time because, I am not a performing monkey!!!) But there are things I need to work on over the next 100 days; letting me ride shotgun for ALL car journeys, stopping baths and feet washing (I like to smell of all the things I encounter in the day, it’s like finding a few crumbs in your beard and remembering the great meal ‘ah yes that frozen tuna kong was delectable!’), stopping the incessant brush brush brushing, and finding and burning all the themed jumpers and clothing articles, which includes that bloody santa hat that arrived this morning! I totally saw it before she hid it away. I’m not stupid you know! You can’t fob me off with, Oooo, treats …..

ORIGINAL POST 16 NOVEMBER 2016