Cricket Sunday

So Sundays are a lot of fun. Normally, we all get up as a family a little later, mom and dad will go to church (or not), and then in the afternoon- everybody comes over and I have so much fun with all my human friends who come over! Dad cooks meat, which I get a share of, which is great, and everyone loves me and wants to play with me. Sunday Roast Sundays are the best!

Since the weather has been getting nicer, we have also been doing outdoor activities on Sundays- flying kites, going for walks, and more recently- cricket.

Dad and his friends will put those sticks in the ground, balance a little stick on top of them and then throw balls and hit them back at each other for hours. Now this would be all well and good, except that I am not included. I have to be on the leash on the blanket watching, which is boring because I know I would make a great fielder! Its just crap. Anyway, so here I am on the sidelines watching, other dogs all over the park or the meadow, and I am strapped to the leash, what kind of crap is that?

Needless to say, cricket looks fun, and I am determined to play... someday...

Picture 1- I look on as Dad bats
Picture 2- A girl runs screaming from Dad's excellent batting...

Pooscapade

Well I finally got my aroma de chien all sorted out and perfect when I got the bath attack! It was awful! I haven't had a bath in a month or so, and everything on me was starting to smell good again. Then, the best thing happened when Mom and I were going for a run along the canal- I spotted (well, sniffed) a pile of new goose poo! Before my mom knew what was happening, I rushed into the bush, started rolling and rubbing my head in it! I smelled like a new dog!

Mom was disgusted, but really didn't notice that much. I was feeling great, smelling good, ready to go look for some ladies... when Dad got home. I ran, excited that he should smell my new parfume which is much better than any eau de toillette (unless something is in the toillette). Needless to say, I ran excited to jump on him, and ended up scraping against the wall leaving a trail of poo on it. Now, both Dad and Mom could see AND smell what had happened.

Instantly I was rushed up to the bath, mom even got in with me, held me down, and scrubbed me three times! It was awful, all that hard work. Dad washed the wall (he was dressed in a suit and tie because of his interviews).

Luckily, even with all the scrubbing, mom missed a spot in my ear! Dad now calls me stink ear, but they have let me have it there!

An Anti-Sock Manifesto

I hate socks.

I hate them because every time I see my dad or mom put them on, it means that they are going away. They only wear flip flops or slippers in the house, and they take their shoes off at the door, so that means if they start to put on socks, they are going to put on shoes, and that means that they are leaving.

It isn't all bad.

Sometimes they are going to take me for a walk, or to fly kites. Other times if mom puts on tennis shoes, it means we are going for a run! But most of the time, they are going to leave, and that means I have to be in my kennel missing them, which is terrible for a puppy.

Socks are to blame.

I guess the socks are what compels them to leave. When they put on socks they are different, they try to get me to go outside, to get me in my kennel, they give me treats (but not in an affectionate way, it is more guilty like they hate to leave- the socks make them do it) , they run around looking for coats, keys, wallets, whatever else humans need, and then they are gone. And all because of the socks.

So I will do something.

I have decided that since socks are the worst thing for this house- that I will chew them whenever possible. I will steal them out of the laundry basket; I will steal them out of the closet; when they are on the floor I will grab them; when Dad tries to put them on his feet I will block him; I will do everything in my power to end the evil of the socks.

So far its been an uphill struggle.

My plan, in effect, has allowed me to wage destruction on the socks- so far the casualties for the socks have been high- holes in the hell, toes ripped off, whole sock roles hidden in my kennel and under the bed, and the most I get is yelled at, occasionally.

What happens to the holey socks?

They get thrown out.

So join me fellow puppies, and help me wage war against the evil sock! Let them no longer take our parents, but rather stand up for them and protect them from those evil deeds of the wool! Eat them! Chew them! Hide them! We are no longer defenseless against their power!

Woof!

Squeaky Toy

Grandma Hanna sent me an amazing gift to our APO box the other day- a SQUEAKY TOY!!! Mom and Dad haven't let me have a squeaky toy because the ones in England have a little squeaker inside which they think would be dangerous for me. Grandma Hanna's squeaky toy, however, had no squeaker just squeakyness, so it was safe! I loved it for the whole hour of its life.

At first, I couldn't figure out what was making the noise, so I would make it squeak, then I would look around and bark at whatever was making the noise, so they would shut up so I could play with my squeaky toy. Then I realized I was making the squeaky squeak, so I started harmonizing with it, doing my whine/growl/howl/song thingy with the toy, barking when I wasn't squeaking it.

Then I thought to myself... what if it is squeaking because its alive? With this thought into my head, I tore into a panic and ran around the house with the squeaker like a mad dog scared and trying to kill it at the same time. Then all of a sudden, the toy started to wheeze, instead of squeak. Its death assured, I shredded it into pieces before my Mom thought that was enough for the toy!

It was so much fun!

If you want to see video of me harmonizing with the toy, follow this link:

Winston Gets a Squeaky Toy

Dad wants me to tell you that you can only view it with Internet Explorer, and that you must have Windows Media Player installed. Also, it may take a while to download, but its worth it!

Woof!

Lazy Days...

It is something called "Zero-Week" here in Oxford, and apparently that means that the dog gets zero attention. I have spent most of my time in the above position: finding sun where I can, moving around the house as the sunlight spots through different windows. I start in the office, then go downstairs to the dining room, then back upstairs to mom's office, then downstairs to the bay window- and that is all I do now. It is terrible!

Mom and Dad are being so boring! Dad leaves in the morning, comes back, makes breakfast, cleans up. Mom gets up, and starts reading or tapping on her laptop. They eat breakfast, then Dad starts reading too! Then both Dad and Mom start clacking away on their computers (not giving me any time on them, which is why I am blogging so infrequently!). Then Dad will go out and run errands, mom showers around 1, Dad comes home, they make lunch (barely giving me any of it), then Dad cleans up again, and mom goes back to reading. Only twice this week did they take a break to cuddle on the couch and watch movies with me! (Singing in the Rain- 2 paws up, but they should have had a dog in it and Little Miss Sunshine- I give maybe a half a paw, I really didn't understand it, plus I had a carrot to play with during the movie).

So now I just sit around entertaining myself, chasing my tail, chasing the sun, etc. Luckily now the dog door is open because the weather is nice, so I can come and go outside as I please, I think I have brought an entire tree's worth of sticks through the door to chew on mom's "good blanket"!

Woof!

I see flying people...

Well, its spring- and all the crazy furless humans are going into the sky. I just don't understand their obsession for flying in crazy colorful things so high up in the sky, its madness! Needless to say, I have only recently learned to look up and see things, at first, I didn't think there was much you could see up... I mean I know that birds fly, but when they're in the air, you can't catch them, so why look up? The only things that matter are on the ground, or in jumping distance where you can get to them.

This problem was compounded by looking through glass. I don't look through glass, I look at it. I mean, who would think that you could look through something? These two things combined, did weird things when I was trying to meet my friend Monty. Monty lives in a little bay window in one of the shops on the street we live on, its about 3 feet up, and has glass on it. For a while I was so confused, because every time we walked by mom and dad would get excited and would keep trying to show me the glass. But it was just glass, and nothing special, there were much more interesting smells around! But then I could also hear the glass barking... it was weird.

Needless to say, I finally figured it out, while sitting on my mom's lap looking out the office window. One day it got warm so they opened the office window, and I realized that I was looking out, not at something like the TV, that it was real. I got really scared, and ran downstairs out my doggy door to the place I recognized. I could hear my mom and dad laughing at me and calling my name, but I couldn't tell where they were coming from- I looked every where on the ground for them, but couldn't find them. Finally I looked... up, and there they were, where I just was!

I ran upstairs and looked down, then downstairs and looked up, it was a whole new world! It was amazing! I must say, I like heights so much, too, because I can see farther, and it feels like I am much bigger, from ground level everything is much, much bigger than I am, but from higher up, I am king! That is why I like to sit on the stairs and look down, and in the upstairs windows and look at the street, and in my chair and look out the window, it is great!

So now that I look up, and through, I can see all sorts of things I have never seen before: kites, hot air balloons, big birds, and even Monty in the window!

Grass Wolf (Scrunt) v. Caniwulf

Last night mom, dad, and I watched a movie called Lady in the Water- sort of a wierd fairytale movie by some guy called Shamylan. Anyway, in the movie were these crazy grass wolves called "Scrunts" (as pictured above), which, quite frankly, really annoyed me. I mean, what kind of dog is going to break the rules of nature just to attack some little girl? Seems stupid to me, I mean, unless the attack was to turn the girl from weak human skin job to a glorious dog fur creature, like a caniwulf, but that wasn't the case, the scrunt was just mean. I pricked up my ears and got into attack position every time I heard the scrunt thing growl or bark... Don't tell anyone, but it sort of freaked me out, every dog I know is very nice and didn't act like that meany-head.

Needless to say, this brought me into comparison with the caniwulf- now I believe the caniwulf to be noble creatures, of the woods who like their freedom, etc. Of course, there are horror movies with these things, and they are shot by silver bullets and are monsters, etc. But that isn't how it really is. Oh, and as far as I know, they don't eat kids, why would they eat kids? I think it is all just a horrible smear campaign by the left wing socialists of this country who hate all things different...

The scrunt, on the other hand, has a back made of grass, red eyes, and is able to lie flat on the ground so humans don't see him, he just looks like a lump of grass. He is a master of stealth, not moving unless he is absolutely sure that he can't be seen. Pretty cool, yes, but not when they are blood thirsty killer monster wolves!

But things brings me to my next point, the scrunt in the movie was a rogue scrunt. Most scrunts obey the laws of nature, which means not killing and maiming, etc. So now I think that both caniwulfs, werewolves, and scrunts all have a bad image in TV and books because of the rouge, lawless ones that are portrayed in them. Seriously, have you ever seen a werewolf, caniwulf, or a scrunt in real life?

No? Of course you haven't, they are peaceful creatures of the woods, obeying the laws of nature, I mean a few bad apples here and there have given us a bad image, but that is it! I mean, who are you to say that a few bad humans haven't left a bad image on us? But we are still your best friend after all...

Woof!

Winston Bengfort: Worldwide Phenomenon

You know, it's hard being a dog with such a large fanbase. I'm not bragging, either. I have Facebook friends from around the world, and even people who have never met me ask to be my friends. It's a lot of pressure on a young pup, but I try not to let it go to my head.

In fact, I make a point of being extremely welcoming whenever someone new comes to my house. I jump up and greet them. Sometimes, I even grasp their shirt sleeves ever-so-gently with my teeth and tug, so they know they are free to play with me on the floor. On Easter, while I was outside during dinner for some odd reason, I serenaded my fans from the garden. I'm a dog of the people.

With my friendly and fun demeanor, I figure I'm poised to be a star along the lines of a Gromit, a Clifford, maybe even a Lassie. To that end, I've been practicing my speaking voice. I often go to Dad and give him a titbit (that's how we Brits spell it) of information. He's getting better and better at decoding: for instance, the other day I told him "Ah roo! Roo! ROO! Yip." Which as you know means "Stop encouraging Mom to put me in the shower and run the water so I stop eating the drain guard!" He said, "What!? Timmy fell in the well?!"

He got that there was water involved. So I think the main thing I need to work on is training my Dad.

Mom's Other Pet

The other day, Dad and I were hanging out in one of our favourite spots: "Mom's room," which is the guest room. It's little and warm and sunny, and there's a bed in there perfect for reading or taking naps. (Dad and I having recently been enjoying the works of James Clavell.)

So anyway, I was just chilling out, half awake and half asleep, when what did I spot on top of Mom's dresser but her other pet! It wasn't a dog. It looked diabolic--big horns, and wearing some sort of strange outfit--and it was looking straight at me.

You can imagine my shock! I began to bark ferociously, but the evil little critter continued to stare at me. Worse, Dad didn't do anything except call Mom, and then they laughed and laughed at me! Finally, I got to sniff the pet. It was very strange, because it didn't smell like an animal. It smelled more like a towel or a carpet or something, I'm not sure. Odd indeed.

Anyway, Mom took some pictures of this strange animal and I interacting. Then the strangest thing of all--she stuffed it in a drawer! I hope she doesn't do that to me. Luckily I am much cuter and sweeter than this animal. In any case, I'm watching my p's and q's from now on--and watching my back. Woof!