Easy Like Sunday Pawning

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Typical Sunday morning in our house:

3:00am          

Too hot to sleep in M&D’s bed what with Dad’s night sweats actually but I suffer it as best I can.

4:00am

Wind myself around Dad’s neck whilst he sleeps (he finds it comforting as I am just like a furry scarf, ideal for warm summer nights).

5.00am

Dad wakes up and tries to sneak off to the bathroom but I spot him easily (everyone knows we dogs sleep with one eye open). Quick as a flash I am in his spot and rolling around in the warmest bits whilst at the same time sticking my houndy nose in Mum’s eye (which is thankfully closed).

7:00am

After 2-hours of gamely trying, Dad finally gives up on trying to sleep on the 2-inch space left to him on the edge of the bed and even though I obligingly move over to allow him an extra inch or so he just huffs and puffs and gets up. Mum snores on.

8:00am

Dad brings Mum a cup of tea. I get two puppy-sized biscuit bones and a tummy rub. Bliss.

9:00am

Mum decides its pee-pee time (sighs) so I have to get up too.

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9:15am

Operation pee-pee completed with a weather and perimeter inspection carried out too. All is in order so I tunnel my way through my blankys (have to use my own bed as M&D are up now).

10:00am

Stretch luxuriously under a small mountain of blankys. I listen to Dad mowing the lawn and Mum vacuuming around upstairs before I settle in for a bit more shut-eye. Well it’s what Sunday morning is all about isn’t it – a bit of relaxation after a hectic week.

Till next time.

 

Love & leggies, Nutty x

 

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MUM – Step AWAY from the Knitting Needles!

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Words fail me…

Till next time.

Love & leggies, Nutty x

My Life with Dad in Pictures

It’s no secret that I have the best Mum and Dad in the world but you may not know anipals that Mum and Dad are not experienced at being owned by a dachshund. Indeed no, in fact I am not only their first ever dachshund but the only doggicles they have ever been owned by so bearing this in mind it is no wonder I am so proud of them and all the time they spend in my training classes.

So dear old Dad even though I do poke gentle fun at you in these bloggys of mine, please know I love you very much and appreciate everything you do for me.

Just for you Dad is our life together in pictures. Enjoy.

Until next time.

Love & leggies, Nutty x

Nutty 005 Nutty 014  Nutty 022 Nutty 020 Ice cream 1 Nutty 017 Nutty 029 Nutty 006 Nutty 022 Nutty 016 Nutty 002 DCIM100MEDIA DCIM100MEDIA DCIM100MEDIA Me & my Dad Nutty 011

Thanks Dad – love you – *paw bump* xxx

Training Dad

As you will know anipals, training humans takes quite a bit of time and energy if it is to be done properly.

Example: I can be sitting with Dad teaching him (once again!) the basic premise of the sooky and how to do it properly when waft in comes the smell of dinner. Now we all know that food smells of any kind signal an immediate cessation of whatever we are doing (even sookying) and muster at the feeding bowls waiting patiently until Mum dishes out. Does Dad remember this? Of course not. He carries on as if nothing has occurred and actually waits for Mum to call him before he will get up off his you-know-what and saunter towards the food. In fact sometimes Mum has to call him twice!

Now I wouldn’t want you to think Dad is particularly slow on the uptake, I would say he has the limited capacity of any other human being and he cannot be faulted for that. He does try his best to please and he never shirks training. Whatever the weather there he is, working the coat drill (on-off, on-off on – wait for it – off) and keeping an eye out when I go poo-poo in unfamiliar places.

Like most humans though, Dad does have the tendency to want to throw sticks for me to chase. Whilst this is fun the first time and maybe even the second, it does get a bit wearing after the 10th time. However Dad seems to like it so I trip off on my wee leggies to collect the pesticle stick and bring it back.

So the upshot is, whilst properly trained Dads are the most loyal and loving creatures on DOG’s planet, their monkey-mind means we must keep up the training anipals. This is why so many of we doggicles can be found whizzing through golf courses and along the beach of a breezy Sunday morning when we would rather be nestling on Mum’s lap in front of the fire.

Until next time.

Love & leggies, Nutty x

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The coat drill

The Killer

 Dear anipals – the following story was written by my human Papa (in Scotland papa is grandfather) who passed OTRB long before I was born but has had such an influence on the lives of his family and my Mum (his daughter) especially that I understand he is an important part of my doggy life too.

Papa dabbled in short story writing when he was a young man and this is one of the two stories which have survived him. We hope you enjoy it.

Love & leggies, Nutty x

The Killer

They were coming for him.  I could hear their heavy hob-nailed boots crunching on the gravel drive that leads up to the farm.  Yes they were coming and although they hadn’t said so, I knew they were going to kill him.  Going to kill Joe, my friend, and I couldn’t stop them…

Oh yes I had tried, tried to reason, to plead, to threaten the men who were coming for him but they just shook their heads at me and pushed me firmly aside.  ‘We don’t want to hurt you Johnny,’ they said ‘but we’ll have to if you don’t turn him in.’  But even in the face of their threats, I still wouldn’t give Joe away because I felt sure  he would never have given me away if the position had been reversed.

‘Don’t you understand Johnny,’ they said ‘he’s a killer and we know his kind will go on killing and killing.  We know this because we have experienced it before and we will find him, no matter where he is hiding.  We must find him, and find him soon before he kills again.’  They stalked angrily away but confidently sure they would find him without my help.  With them it was just a matter of time.

I first met Joe 3 years ago on a cold winter night.  He was hungry and alone, staggering with exhaustion up the path to the barn where he could at least sleep warm in the straw.  We took him in and fed him.  We looked after him and in a few weeks his strength returned to him, his chest filled out and his face grew more rounded instead of the gaunt, hungry look it once had.  He was powerful was Joe, and he certainly repaid us by the way he worked on the farm.  He didn’t want wages, just his food and his keep and he was happy.  We thought he would just stay for a little while to show his gratitude to us but he stayed for 3 years and in that time had become one of the family and now they were coming for him…

I could hear them turn away from the house and come towards the barn where we were hiding.  It hadn’t taken them long to find him or maybe they had seen me come into the barn – oh what a fool I’d been to come here.  Me who had been too loyal to my friend to give him away and done just that by coming here.  But I had to bring him food so what else can I do?  But it was too late to do anything now.  I had failed him as I am sure he would never have failed me.  As I looked towards him and signed for him to be quiet I whispered ‘Sorry Joe’ but he never uttered a sound.  I saw the big barn doors open and the two big men came in, bigger than me or Joe and they had rifles in their hands.  It took all my willpower not to cry out.

‘Johnny,’ the taller of the two shouted.  I signaled to Joe and we both lay quiet in the straw.  ‘Come on Johnny.  We know you’re in there.’  There was a pause then he said ‘We want to tell you we are sorry.’  I looked down from the top of the bales I was lying on.  ‘Do you really mean that Abe?’ I called ‘you’re not going to shoot Joe now?’

‘No.  We’re not going to shoot him now or ever,’ bit Abe said jerking his thumb at the other man with him ‘Bill caught the killer in the act.  Got him right between the eyes with old Betsy here and that was that.  We just stopped in to say we’re sorry before we head into the village to tell the folks to call off the search.  We saw you come in here with a sack of grub so while we are away get Joe out of that straw up there and both of you bring the sheep from the west meadow into the pens for shearing.  A man can’t do it alone, not without a sheepdog like Joe, especially a little man like you who is only 10 years old eh?’

They laughed as they walked away, the crunching of their boots on gravel faded away.  I felt very happy, not only was Joe safe but I could boast to my friends in the village that one of my big brothers shot the sheep killer.

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In Loving Memory and of Love Never Forgotten

Alexander McCallum (1934 – 2011)