tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131615392024-02-20T20:47:22.301+00:00Adam-On-Sea (and saddle + sidekick)Frank the whippet and Downland bikingAdamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-50872506225139756452012-12-20T11:23:00.002+00:002012-12-20T11:28:40.340+00:00The spaces where Murphy is not<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-eRR7BfY44zhoHFvEG4EDqC3RwCsfGzP3qfwHN6jQVLXcY1MFTzrYg6enaBMY8PTXSdhIOxjAtWxfialhKdkyo4lfuZ9Djn4DGOgq7x_N7wgGtBthH4yFYXKsc2XI9VD8NuLj1g/s2200/WhereMurphyIsNot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-eRR7BfY44zhoHFvEG4EDqC3RwCsfGzP3qfwHN6jQVLXcY1MFTzrYg6enaBMY8PTXSdhIOxjAtWxfialhKdkyo4lfuZ9Djn4DGOgq7x_N7wgGtBthH4yFYXKsc2XI9VD8NuLj1g/s2200/WhereMurphyIsNot.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-75865821158624647022011-05-20T14:09:00.003+00:002011-08-24T15:25:34.329+00:00The Meany of Frank<div class="WordSection1" style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the book Owen Meany the tiny and mysterious protagonist makes the narrator endlessly practice flinging him skywards to dunk a basketball. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At the end of the book, when the same, now effortless action is speedily employed to dispose of a ticking bomb seconds before it kills people in an airport, the reader suddenly realise what the odd Owen Meany is on the earth to do – and that he's known it all along, one way or the other.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div></div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">When Frank killed His first baby rabbit in friston Forrest yesterday, in front of three of us on bikes, I had a similar realisation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">I tussled with emotion.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">He runs at his fastest when he's chasing rabbits and squirrels. And I love to watch him run. So I've never dissuaded him, for the good it would have done.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">But although I knew it was a possibility, he's never caught anything before. And I sort of assumed he wouldn't do anything with it if he did, more than a nuzzle a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">But he picked it up and shook it like he's been doing with that toy rope in the garden for months. Exactly like that. Exactly like Owen. It was practice. Shook it dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">As we peddled on, after I'd made him drop his prize and tried not to be angry, happy or too much of anything with him, there was silence. The death of anything is not nice to witness, and a young rabbit with all its innocence and cuteness, I've realised, is a loss a soul feels sharply. It's not at all nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">The fox might have got that rabbit, I said to Adam.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Or another dog, said Adam.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Frank looked for the next.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div></div>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-15039722080061289072011-04-30T09:03:00.001+00:002011-04-30T09:03:23.863+00:00Frank taking the lead on first bike ride with him.<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtBEG46ysRjAVFAAeKBqWqfYjxsTWWaEp2HS0eVKQo3ZQ55v8_rtRarh7jjJkrBGvrasjwLIAX5zJ51j4ZYQgh8anyuxpEfe_4SOBe8Y1QmJvIawOSrIFXBndq5KJH6E7erK6kg/s1600/image-703864.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtBEG46ysRjAVFAAeKBqWqfYjxsTWWaEp2HS0eVKQo3ZQ55v8_rtRarh7jjJkrBGvrasjwLIAX5zJ51j4ZYQgh8anyuxpEfe_4SOBe8Y1QmJvIawOSrIFXBndq5KJH6E7erK6kg/s320/image-703864.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601299658117078594" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-18380945104175854702011-04-28T08:35:00.000+00:002011-04-28T08:36:07.106+00:00Eye or IQ test?<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHpK-nQ0iKsT_hSkllVPp9RVJzNDZVlc_gcdOd4h1StaprZ7QSiIJE79SDTK4fP2U6dIwQWuzKs2_RCzgsXPPICBhPJsYv8I2DiyLBSP4QWw_Z-CIpEstdFc9x3OazC-6qOzwEA/s1600/image-767106.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHpK-nQ0iKsT_hSkllVPp9RVJzNDZVlc_gcdOd4h1StaprZ7QSiIJE79SDTK4fP2U6dIwQWuzKs2_RCzgsXPPICBhPJsYv8I2DiyLBSP4QWw_Z-CIpEstdFc9x3OazC-6qOzwEA/s320/image-767106.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600550457975577890" /></a></p>Frank's taken to chasing things which aren't rabbits or squirrels, on the off chance. It's an interesting development. <p>Does it mean he's obsessed, blind or dumb?, we wonder as he belts off towards a small dog (or sometimes distant large dog) - avoiding the inconvenient truth, as is our parental privilege. <p>Real rabbits, identifies correctly (often with our proactive assistance), our whippet chases at startling speed, blind to the world, ears back, long neck horizontal and wide smile. It's majestic. But rare. <p>And on occasions when he actually realises a dog approaches Frank does not belt. He advances with prances or runs away. <br>If I'm jogging he more often loops around bigger hounds I pass. He's an undeniable whimp or a docile playmate. Not an obsessive, fearless hunter. <p>With this latest development however, mid sprint realisation inevitably dawns and he slows to a prance or, much more hilariously, scampers full circle and whizzes back past us for cover. <p>Retreat!!!!<br>Fuck me Dad. Did you see that rabbit turn into a Great Dane?!Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-71317046869371425252011-03-30T09:47:00.000+00:002011-03-30T09:48:45.436+00:00You left the loo door open so it's not my fault<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpXqoVYuRGnYnLq6wmDlFEKyE3fTUOh1OG-4p6VuHukgbqIzk9QAyNeaEflr_1ffZCbJInAJjBVyLJxbJ6KJfX2jF7RsuO8yvYfHpPnxGtSeotroXZ8AsXeCZ2cQDp81Tpuh1Kg/s1600/photo-725437.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpXqoVYuRGnYnLq6wmDlFEKyE3fTUOh1OG-4p6VuHukgbqIzk9QAyNeaEflr_1ffZCbJInAJjBVyLJxbJ6KJfX2jF7RsuO8yvYfHpPnxGtSeotroXZ8AsXeCZ2cQDp81Tpuh1Kg/s320/photo-725437.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589807708640926210" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-66914150868589449162011-03-06T11:12:00.000+00:002011-03-06T11:13:26.956+00:00CurryNothing good comes of going running with the runs.Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-87705757139111625392011-03-02T18:38:00.001+00:002011-03-02T18:40:05.319+00:00Jog of shameIt got too much for Frank at about three miles. He yanked me towards home, and did not relent.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>He pulls often. I'd like to say he's improving at walking to heal, but it would be a lie.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Today he was pulling as his master, clad head to ankle in tight, middle-aged-man's black lycra, 'jogged'.<br />
<br />
</div><div>Jogging, for me, is a matter of precision judgement. If I pace myself extremely carefully I'll last up to an hour. But it's an equilibrium. One over exuberant fraction of distance and the implications are often devastating within the context of my own personal war with the road.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Frank's intervention was proving costly.<br />
He was making me work harder, both by running faster and pulling him back to stop him making me run faster.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Earlier as I'd attempted a hamstring stretch Frank licked my face, unaware of the approach of this new, unappealing version of going for a walk.<br />
<br />
'Why are you wearing that?,' he pondered rather obviously via tilted head.<br />
'You look stupid. Really.<br />
'I know Jess says you don't. But you do.<br />
'At least you're in the house.'<br />
<br />
I should have known not to take him with me them and there.<br />
<br />
'Aghhhh, Stranger, STRANGER! I don't know who this person holding my lead is... aggggggh!!!'</div>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-3919718670889985942011-03-01T20:54:00.000+00:002011-03-01T20:56:19.157+00:00Rugby colours<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFU0vfCy68v3RLOpAPlX3FoRC2bEHHMqQYEFgfddXdAry4YigHhjBf4KyFXYZRyMuv6ZUMWsgVZFwu3GXvibPwMOcAFaZAa-WwoK1UIIfSjrKYCwLGQmqoDfIfaQDJawZjxqrSg/s1600/photo-779158.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFU0vfCy68v3RLOpAPlX3FoRC2bEHHMqQYEFgfddXdAry4YigHhjBf4KyFXYZRyMuv6ZUMWsgVZFwu3GXvibPwMOcAFaZAa-WwoK1UIIfSjrKYCwLGQmqoDfIfaQDJawZjxqrSg/s320/photo-779158.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579218266375573250" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-34502898158301337452011-03-01T19:18:00.000+00:002011-03-01T19:19:53.694+00:00Beachlife<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMX2qBCnOirg0XPre2qBnUHH8JZVClrvd456XNnxPPBJP1z449xGc2ED8ANtuQAuSk1y7Ee5zL7XnM03FrqBwtkbNHq5B1CWePlc7WLtgQJLkh6eZPsCzam-zrFKRoyIFpPt4vGw/s1600/photo-793695.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMX2qBCnOirg0XPre2qBnUHH8JZVClrvd456XNnxPPBJP1z449xGc2ED8ANtuQAuSk1y7Ee5zL7XnM03FrqBwtkbNHq5B1CWePlc7WLtgQJLkh6eZPsCzam-zrFKRoyIFpPt4vGw/s320/photo-793695.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579193419089713026" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-23175027366193008352011-03-01T19:17:00.000+00:002011-03-01T19:19:57.897+00:00Bone appetite<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiw7SPff8LKHEXbYRh1FDkFg1mYGdKAWbtCrXqCDV3vHUbQgELeV2InJ1Xfq1hGNA7mibYHeJLXn1fqtiE3XSShHOqW1xltLu1kiRRqhM9y_B9aOYjP10w76XaQ2mJ80H3SvXO1w/s1600/photo-797904.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiw7SPff8LKHEXbYRh1FDkFg1mYGdKAWbtCrXqCDV3vHUbQgELeV2InJ1Xfq1hGNA7mibYHeJLXn1fqtiE3XSShHOqW1xltLu1kiRRqhM9y_B9aOYjP10w76XaQ2mJ80H3SvXO1w/s320/photo-797904.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579193432970490386" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-13725913598989131162011-03-01T19:16:00.000+00:002011-03-01T19:17:30.812+00:00Parklife<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZHcim2MnrjO9qCBoYmOHdv18weW4lI5zYUxbr9wUtlBnnStqmt9N1IEFzMBz8XPpLbN2aogS0GZfCnJC8KTLmYNaKjktwMYbhSgfZsXcKJtZmYaJYpmtZM8n0bj4sC2RuqoWhg/s1600/photo-750813.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZHcim2MnrjO9qCBoYmOHdv18weW4lI5zYUxbr9wUtlBnnStqmt9N1IEFzMBz8XPpLbN2aogS0GZfCnJC8KTLmYNaKjktwMYbhSgfZsXcKJtZmYaJYpmtZM8n0bj4sC2RuqoWhg/s320/photo-750813.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579192802074783698" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-9934144530082610562011-02-24T08:27:00.000+00:002011-02-24T08:29:13.921+00:00Parklife<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOXspQkEyVXDwNaD1HdGMduSOkO_S4tkQlkKJUS6T6lKX8f52LP-SE_VsXu8oFaHN2XL9RWG5y2bmxmj3MkhJqdNjk52j7H3ne62HpnNg-okV41kUzIlREc9-D3ynF72hYjuP5g/s1600/photo-753921.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOXspQkEyVXDwNaD1HdGMduSOkO_S4tkQlkKJUS6T6lKX8f52LP-SE_VsXu8oFaHN2XL9RWG5y2bmxmj3MkhJqdNjk52j7H3ne62HpnNg-okV41kUzIlREc9-D3ynF72hYjuP5g/s320/photo-753921.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577170319192910578" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-23168132664581157962011-02-19T22:16:00.000+00:002011-02-19T22:16:30.057+00:00Obedience king<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">A man looked at me today as though I was a good person.</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is somewhat against the run of things.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I should say; a good dog-owning person, rather than a good <i>actual</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> person. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Nonetheless, I wasn’t sure what was happening.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Frank was to thank. No really.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">You see there was a child, on the prom.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And he wanted to say hello, like he does with all people of a height where assessment indicates a free face lick is in the offing.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I didn’t see this parent’s horror as he pranced up, but I’ve seen many others.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For once though, voice and gesture firm, he responded to me. Correctly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And the man, who in my mind is telling friends as we speak, looked up as we walked past, me between him, child and dog, and smiled.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Said thanks.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thinks I can do that when I want.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Har har.</div><!--EndFragment-->Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-78190900815425248302010-12-29T21:04:00.000+00:002010-12-29T21:04:44.318+00:00To meat or not to eatFrank and I now walk to work and back every day.<br />
This is a good thing.<br />
<br />
I feel fitter, and Frank chases more squirrels.<br />
I compensate by eating and drinking more. Frank compensates by eating less.<br />
<br />
We're still struggling to find food he likes which is not food we like; namely hot, tender, preferably marinated, meat. And to this end I continue to initiate discussions with other whippet owners in the park.<br />
<br />
To our horror we discovered that Lupin's otherwise charmingly down to earth owners make her a batch of steamed vegetables to accompany daily menus of the meat we like, mostly steak.<br />
<br />
It's no bother, said one.<br />
One batch lasts a few days.<br />
<br />
The expense? I fought not to exclaim. Jess is better at hiding her emotions and simply laughed as if she were being told a farcical fib.<br />
<br />
I'm not buying frank real meat, he can eat elbows and feathers like the others. Or he'll go hungry. He's a dog, and he must learn. When he's hungry, he'll eat. All of which I said or thought or repeated.<br />
<br />
He heard all of it. And ate nothing for 24 hours.<br />
I panicked, as he knew I would, and bought a chicken.Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-6563620363738745852010-12-24T14:38:00.000+00:002010-12-24T14:39:29.204+00:00Dear Santa<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvsXkDw_nAR6Cl7C3RYKoGotSP_bc_jtKLjY2_hmsmO4LHYDMCWeadNgrZpL5jMTFUBEd708vRbkHWMrqarXSbD4XpzQyyi5HfJxyY7xBVIG9QvbnjXJULRM82ZJfDq05tlw_JQ/s1600/photo-769205.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvsXkDw_nAR6Cl7C3RYKoGotSP_bc_jtKLjY2_hmsmO4LHYDMCWeadNgrZpL5jMTFUBEd708vRbkHWMrqarXSbD4XpzQyyi5HfJxyY7xBVIG9QvbnjXJULRM82ZJfDq05tlw_JQ/s320/photo-769205.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554258453179306498" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-88492806237331241202010-12-15T14:55:00.002+00:002010-12-15T15:03:42.168+00:00The Day Frank Went Bonkers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKG1ReftjPSP5nytf94XnWJCxSscxN7leXP7S_9Bhfua8r9cMZBEZz37_iOnJG1Tm37e14FKqKnAtGx1xOXfmirra1PSynzaoWRAdwTjy3zSg_cxING_46h0234CqKDaCCf-veLg/s1600/photo-737091.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550923700528281170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKG1ReftjPSP5nytf94XnWJCxSscxN7leXP7S_9Bhfua8r9cMZBEZz37_iOnJG1Tm37e14FKqKnAtGx1xOXfmirra1PSynzaoWRAdwTjy3zSg_cxING_46h0234CqKDaCCf-veLg/s320/photo-737091.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrt0PFcsA9yFpf2u64gCCViOCn8o9orVjUVux0OnN6bbn_oXvH8siBxXOd_8QdalLElFlngg4DfGxvrdSolyLyZL0m83THEEbsI4IfLphyphenhyphenRVUIgB3qLVqpclh3mDE7ocumRqwfog/s1600/photo-753893.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550923770317928626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrt0PFcsA9yFpf2u64gCCViOCn8o9orVjUVux0OnN6bbn_oXvH8siBxXOd_8QdalLElFlngg4DfGxvrdSolyLyZL0m83THEEbsI4IfLphyphenhyphenRVUIgB3qLVqpclh3mDE7ocumRqwfog/s320/photo-753893.JPG" /></a> <br />
<br />
I'm fuming.<br />
Usually, where the dog is concerned it's delight, love or laughter.<br />
Today it's fury.<br />
<br />
I have no evidence. It could have been Murphy, Nancy or Sid. But really, I know it was Frank.<br />
<br />
As I toiled this afternoon, upstairs in the office, down in the kitchen Frank knocked over a plant pot, threw the clump of soil around several rooms, then laid into the carpet and then, more violently, the newly exposed underlay.<br />
<br />
Finally, and not until the soil and underlay were everywhere, he pissed on the lot. And Murphy's bed.<br />
<br />
Mischief complete inside, when I angrily evicted both hounds into the garden (to begin clean up) I looked back a moment later to see Frank disappearing into the neighbour's yard, after scaling the wall and tiptoeing along a thin rear fence.<br />
<br />
Please can I have my dog back?<br />
Your ball?<br />
No, my dog.<br />
<br />
I smacked him on the nose. More than once.<br />
Dad claims this is ultimately a necessary evil with dogs who step out of line.<br />
It felt horrible.<br />
Frank sulked. For a split second.Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-40692803322491354362010-12-15T09:03:00.000+00:002010-12-15T09:04:02.436+00:00Parklife<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-G6vCZfmW_TlcTlJsrCRpfOdKh9XJhYMtVVfhceOPaJtcKE89WtIuZVabGVZe4aWdfsQ8__sYlGMVq6qWeWKAGfcvM3LngklixBM_WXQXlMZCGkfBQAbd4aK3SaEUST1XEYz0A/s1600/photo-742437.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-G6vCZfmW_TlcTlJsrCRpfOdKh9XJhYMtVVfhceOPaJtcKE89WtIuZVabGVZe4aWdfsQ8__sYlGMVq6qWeWKAGfcvM3LngklixBM_WXQXlMZCGkfBQAbd4aK3SaEUST1XEYz0A/s320/photo-742437.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550832242372660642" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-76222144388206452302010-12-14T20:46:00.001+00:002010-12-14T20:48:52.637+00:00Separated at birth<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTN3yC2Oo_eNajp3yN1M4qr-MuqltdTC4oJVK0raNkQ44NJxfrAuH9XsQc8FFIr3f5-0nhLJ5en_RlOZpGR2YWbJaBiaXcjkPYjb70JmZs9GkQ0pt4nfJIVOK7LIoM-3vnP2zIWg/s1600/photo-708184.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550641822211617778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTN3yC2Oo_eNajp3yN1M4qr-MuqltdTC4oJVK0raNkQ44NJxfrAuH9XsQc8FFIr3f5-0nhLJ5en_RlOZpGR2YWbJaBiaXcjkPYjb70JmZs9GkQ0pt4nfJIVOK7LIoM-3vnP2zIWg/s320/photo-708184.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dobby</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYW4YBpOAYvBdYzRQAEXGbYPRvKJ7_waSCw5tsEoL8q5RfctvggZEwTokNOv6FvS7Z_3dgOkL4-icBINSCQQtedf1vJSYkDYFbhwfQlvbOzMW7ewyUWAvghP3HCNEAhP-KpSoj8A/s1600/dobby1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYW4YBpOAYvBdYzRQAEXGbYPRvKJ7_waSCw5tsEoL8q5RfctvggZEwTokNOv6FvS7Z_3dgOkL4-icBINSCQQtedf1vJSYkDYFbhwfQlvbOzMW7ewyUWAvghP3HCNEAhP-KpSoj8A/s320/dobby1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frank</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-86975453680954502952010-12-12T14:03:00.002+00:002010-12-12T14:04:52.986+00:00Wash day<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEpx5D1fSe1xtDvkO5mreYZXz0Cy36jgho_LKfTcTc7hB9aGIDqrg3nOJ0XAMJnchauA9SKd-VyLOMRAxVVr17uu-pvcHkc-s9ushQCB4Cx8ytuhYkF66ntqscOGY_6YluKE_jw/s1600/photo-798529.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549796108006779730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEpx5D1fSe1xtDvkO5mreYZXz0Cy36jgho_LKfTcTc7hB9aGIDqrg3nOJ0XAMJnchauA9SKd-VyLOMRAxVVr17uu-pvcHkc-s9ushQCB4Cx8ytuhYkF66ntqscOGY_6YluKE_jw/s320/photo-798529.JPG" /></a></div>There is little as soul-enhancingly comical in our lives presently than the dismayed sight of Frank post shower.Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-78936362885081649422010-12-12T13:57:00.001+00:002010-12-12T13:57:31.622+00:00Jess and Frank<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEith1qWZ54lYoYdlBOs-rK8AUGWPXXqx6F_jW2Sx9v7JINwAHMyQcIo5jTvm4VMx_AcbN1ZYi0Mu3mvoiPozeVJmI3c0AfoR8xd7MpKRpTItwCSosMmEwuwEPxUc6lso-lphhrdQA/s1600/photo-751623.PNG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEith1qWZ54lYoYdlBOs-rK8AUGWPXXqx6F_jW2Sx9v7JINwAHMyQcIo5jTvm4VMx_AcbN1ZYi0Mu3mvoiPozeVJmI3c0AfoR8xd7MpKRpTItwCSosMmEwuwEPxUc6lso-lphhrdQA/s320/photo-751623.PNG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549794616674231250" /></a></p>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-71767635152383869732010-12-12T12:58:00.005+00:002010-12-14T20:54:59.728+00:00What the hell is this stuff?<div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The temperature plummets outside, the wind whips up and the air grows whiter. It's wild. No weather for Whippets.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39_fFDJUl3c9McBwBucvIJlU58B0vL94mqBhFzgBirnpt7pZhpY6YVPETVBhp6ssVViRRR5wQzbEniQdlDeyNUXdwtiznr3FTWeuN8dFf59Zmb8zceGf1aiHugyPpKk9a1WrJww/s1600/photo-756357.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549779169117079330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39_fFDJUl3c9McBwBucvIJlU58B0vL94mqBhFzgBirnpt7pZhpY6YVPETVBhp6ssVViRRR5wQzbEniQdlDeyNUXdwtiznr3FTWeuN8dFf59Zmb8zceGf1aiHugyPpKk9a1WrJww/s320/photo-756357.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the hell is this?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiM5QysedTjqPu65pzKuwTbGOgsPfq2PJs0sZyLwClNyzXW4gehxaYUYsyKo8ghEPpBUQQIDu-MJ0jnFP2Hk6vnK-RrLKfT9boYN2LlcWzzHugKhe4EyesUzlE1XycmT3uSc1DIQ/s1600/photo-731082.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549779497021652498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiM5QysedTjqPu65pzKuwTbGOgsPfq2PJs0sZyLwClNyzXW4gehxaYUYsyKo8ghEPpBUQQIDu-MJ0jnFP2Hk6vnK-RrLKfT9boYN2LlcWzzHugKhe4EyesUzlE1XycmT3uSc1DIQ/s320/photo-731082.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Nell on the Downs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39_fFDJUl3c9McBwBucvIJlU58B0vL94mqBhFzgBirnpt7pZhpY6YVPETVBhp6ssVViRRR5wQzbEniQdlDeyNUXdwtiznr3FTWeuN8dFf59Zmb8zceGf1aiHugyPpKk9a1WrJww/s1600/photo-756357.JPG"></a></div>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-70003807177091012812010-12-11T17:06:00.004+00:002010-12-12T14:07:38.896+00:00Rabbit puzzle<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10VYZgLrnvdXSKhngQQojQBpMaAxTxeaUoUV4l4YwGky6_8QVlAyPAfdM8SE47gBVZszjG8w0ltusi9pRY7j-p_jHazWGWNCbocv6DNSiY1tCsBj4gI-AOh5PW_e8Fa8JTiKfAg/s1600/photo-703689.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549463700121297938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10VYZgLrnvdXSKhngQQojQBpMaAxTxeaUoUV4l4YwGky6_8QVlAyPAfdM8SE47gBVZszjG8w0ltusi9pRY7j-p_jHazWGWNCbocv6DNSiY1tCsBj4gI-AOh5PW_e8Fa8JTiKfAg/s320/photo-703689.JPG" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
<br />
Last night Frank had a dream.<br />
He crept into our bed, put his head against mine, and shared it with me while we both slept.<br />
<br />
I saw him standing in a field of wild baby rabbits.<br />
His coffee cake icing colours were complemented by pastel greens, grays and blues and we dreamt in soft focus.<br />
<br />
He pranced deliriously, then ran and hundreds of bunnies scattered like a zip opening.<br />
He stopped to look at me for a moment, both of us smiling.<br />
<br />
To my knowledge he's never seen a rabbit. But I think he instinctively knows, like Shane Warne did when he was first flung a cricket ball.<br />
Ah, I've been waiting for you. This is why I was made, I just know it.<br />
<br />
Earlier in the week a part of the rabbit puzzle slotted into place when he discovered squirrels in Gildredge Park.<br />
<br />
Initially there was confusion. Initially there is always confusion.<br />
<br />
But where as cat encounters have variously ended in cuts to Frank's hard to miss nose, squirrels presented him with an entirely different instinctual conundrum.<br />
<br />
I don't think I want to play with it, Frank pondered, head tilted in curiosity at the creature.<br />
I don't want to sniff it's bottom.<br />
I don't even want to frolic.<br />
<br />
But I am suddenly quite hungry..?<br />
<br />
It was written across Frank's expressive exterior about as enigmatically as graffiti.<br />
<br />
Fuck me, I want to sodding kill it.<br />
He looked at me for a split second, and we both knew there was nothing to be done.<br />
<br />
He ran at the pea-brained rodent as fast as he'd ever run at anything, faster even than his favourite Frisbee Jess cack-handedly lobbed over a park-adjoining garden wall last week.<br />
<br />
Squirrels can give a nasty nip, I'm told; and aren't prone to letting go either.<br />
But there was little fear of success on Franks side, even when the squirrel put in the species' signature pause into its otherwise rapid departure, just to keep things interesting.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxf2dSEh-Pjj-z61dUGEZoVUSVC1YK5Lkaz5uwiWNafzhMWsz3RrCd-m6fGyVNi4ynGwSkj577aE241ENrXgRUO7vZ390VGAKGOeuzvIFzKwFGJQ-eowSmXS2fbv6NYhwReeVkQ/s1600/photo-707970.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549794425441209186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxf2dSEh-Pjj-z61dUGEZoVUSVC1YK5Lkaz5uwiWNafzhMWsz3RrCd-m6fGyVNi4ynGwSkj577aE241ENrXgRUO7vZ390VGAKGOeuzvIFzKwFGJQ-eowSmXS2fbv6NYhwReeVkQ/s320/photo-707970.JPG" style="cursor: move;" /></a><br />
<br />
For all Frank's speed he is yet to learn anticipation, even to the extent where the lolloping Murphy (pictured), can corner him in the garden with ease. And the animal dropped its shoulder a couple of times, altered course and was up a tree for some just-out-of-reach taunting, lickerty split.<br />
<br />
I'm just going to hang around by this tree for a bit, Dad.<br />
No reason. You go on.<br />
<br />
Maybe he thinks rabbits will be easier to catch.Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-70818584617174006062010-11-08T23:01:00.002+00:002010-11-08T23:01:10.321+00:00Dogs in burberry blankets<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Amongst the things I didn't know about Whippets before inviting one in for 15 years was that they get cold, because they're skinny and wimpy. They actually need clothes.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">This news arrived to an audience of regret and disbelief on my part and profound joy on the part of Jess who'd been desperate to Google Brightly Coloured Wooly Whippet Warmers since it had dropped below 10.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">If you know Jess, and I'm sorry if you don't, you will know that written into her DNA, next to the strand which says breathe often, is one which says there is no such thing as too much colour.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">(...Our sofa is aubergine. The cushions which litter it are variously pink, hot pink, orange and pink, brown and pink, red and pink, purple and pink, off pink and pink and yellow. They feature motifs from the abstract to cup cakes, Chiwawas, floral union jacks, owls and flowers. A lot of flowers. Amongst the other items visible from where I sit are a pink flower pot with a yellow chilli plant in it; a pink and orange clock; pinky purple flowers with LEDs inside them draped over the telly; a headless, legless paper mache mannequin which has been covered in multi-coloured, multi-patterned tissue paper; a purple throw; two benches, painstakingly hand-covered by Jess in thousands of stamps; a light blue, spotty table cloth; a black board wall with a pink clock on it, endless plastic flowers in shades of pink; bright green, orange and pink candle lanterns and, another, multi-coloured, clock made from solid square blocks, each its own bright tone. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Frank and I are always the dullest things in the room, by a long way.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It works, in the inexplicable way the universe is both chaotic and uniform. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It is madness and beauty in one. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I am not involved in its creation or maintenance and it is far better for it.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When Frank walked in for the first time, eight weeks of age, he looked rightly startled.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And at six months, those same eyes, still struggling to adjust, looked at me this week, saying, Adam, stop her from adding that to our basket. Please. It's pink.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>Actually, I want to choose, he continued.<br />
Neither of you two are up to it.<br />
<br />
Everything Jess owns is pink, and I've no idea what your shit looks like because it's not allowed out of the loft. I can only imagine it must be worse.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Not pink, I said, speaking up for the dog.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And not burberry.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And god, not whatever that is. Not that.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">What do you mean we'll have to have the wax jacket with the wooly inside then? There must be other options.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Whippet Warmers-r-us (or similar), in its own way, was polarising the English class system before our eyes. This winter our dog, it seemed, was to present as posh, chavvy or pink, or remain naked and quivering at the Wreck.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">You chose the only breed that has to be dressed up like a doll, Jess thought, as I moaned.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm fucked, Frank muttered.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Even Rossco will laugh at me, and he looks like a sheep on the outside.</div>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-67794541819727795332010-11-01T22:59:00.003+00:002010-12-14T20:54:13.402+00:00Heal fail (like he always does)<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What happens when it gets dark?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This is a question we are asking ourselves with the sudden arrival of Daylight Saving, for the first time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, damn, the seasons. We just didn’t really think about that in May.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
The park is out of bounds, unless you’re one of the neighbourhood’s 12-year-old smokers, so where do all the dogs go?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">No time like the present to revisit that Walking To Heal failure of a couple of months ago.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Right boy, we’re going for a walk on the lead, I said tonight, aware of doubt in my voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It’s like the usual walk, but without the good bit in the middle. Not so much as a chuckle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Heal. Heal. Heal. Heal, heal, heal, heal, heal-heal-healhealHeal. Frank, HEAL. Heal. Heal. Frankie…heeeeal. Heal? HEAL! FRANK, STOP pulling you little sod. Frank. FRANK!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">By the corner at the end of our road we were making somewhat artificial progress.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Through no fault of his own (rather a considerable reduction in lead length), Frank is walking closely and looking up at his master, eyes bulging.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">End of the next terrace and I’ve given up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Frank, heal. Heal. Hea… please? Oh, common. Frankie?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Look, I say bending down and waving a treat in front of his not insubstantial nose in the way the obedience trainer had shown us during our first and only visit. Treat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He responds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I guide him around to the start position (on my left) and he hovers just above sit, hoping I’ll not notice. No, Frankie, sit!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Have you </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">any</span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> idea how cold this pavement is?, he projects, before momentarily touching the ground with his bum, snatching the treat from my fingers and standing bolt upright again, looking crossly along the street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ok, heal now boy, I say, taking a step. He’s off, yanking at the lead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Cumon you old git, it’s freezing and my arse is cold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Frank, come here; heal, heal. Treat?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Another one?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’ll get piles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ok.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I leave the treat in front of his nose and begin to try and walk, stooped, along the road. Discomfort and boredom overwhelms me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Frank jumps at my ascending hand, before giving up himself and continuing his pursuit of the thing just ahead of us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Occasionally, as we continue, he walks alongside me for a few paces by accident and I immediately reward this with a completely unmerited treat and accompanying enthusiasm. I’m not sitting down again, he says.</span></span>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13161539.post-1243661166478506372010-10-30T10:56:00.004+00:002010-10-30T11:40:09.305+00:00Poo chase<div>Today Frank belted in from the garden, as part of a game he had devised, carrying poo between the toes of one paw. He grinned widely.</div><div><br /></div><div>How long will it take them, he pondered, bouncing off the new sofa and me in a tour of his territory... how long, how long, how long?</div><div><br /></div><div>About half an hour.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can smell poo love, can you? I asked Jess.</div><div>Not really. What's that on your collar? </div><div>Um, you've got poo on your collar.</div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>So began a nasal comb of the entire ground floor, in search of the remnants.</div><div>Apart from me, and a smear on the throw, the rest of the poo had been left in quantities big enough to smell but not see.</div><div><br /></div><div>Frank followed me around, licking my ear. Warmer, warmer, hot, hot, really hot, cold, he whispered. This is more fun than I hoped.</div></div></div>Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00524983180398761429noreply@blogger.com0