The House is Empty!!

They took my stuff!!!! My pillows, my couch, my bed, my other bed, my chairs, my rugs, my desks, my sun spot!!! They took it all!!!



I'm a little stressed out and confused by it all. I spent yesterday being very cranky and barky as the movers took all of my stuff, wrapped it up and put it into their big truck. I was one very unhappy pup. Plus they made me wear my handle all day long and alternately put me in my kennel and on my lead so I wouldn't be underfoot (I tried to stop them as much as I could, but they wouldn't let me!


So now the house is empty. And when I bark, it echoes... it is really sad. My space pod travel kennel is still here and some suitcases with mom and dad's stuff. But we are sleeping on the floor- which is awesome! Now when dad is sleeping, I can just walk up and lick his face, and when he turns away and tries to stop me, I can just walk around and lick him from the other side! muwhahahaha!

The kennel and I

Dad is leaving to take his GREs in about an hour. And although that might mean a fun time with mom, she is extra busy this weekend too... going to a friend's birthday party (without me) and hanging out with Chelsea, who I like, but they won't bring me. And doing her stupid paper.

What can a dog do?

I guess it is just the kennel and I this weekend.

Blog Participation

People, you must particpate in the blogosphere!!!! I have noticed a significant drop-off in comments on the blogs... and frankly it saddens me. I mean, do you know how hard it is to type with paws? Yet I try to do a blog at least three times a week, you could throw in some brief comments, let me know how you are, respond to the post, tell me how cute I am, etc! I mean... look at me, I am techno-dog for nothing!

 

So did everyone manage to watch the video? If you are that lazy, please feel free to comment with a yes or no to that question! If you can't comment on the blog, for some reason; feel free to email me: winstonbengfort@googlemail.com!

 

Good news, too... Luke and Adam are coming to stay for 10 days!!!!!

The Best Worst Week Ever... Retrospective Part 3 of 3: The Clink

Take a look at all these pictures, what do they have in common? That's right, no me. Why? Becuase I was unceremoniously dumped into the clink for the rest of the week, adn therefore making the week the best worst week ever.

Everyone went to the Trout, but did I get to go along? No. Dad did take me to the Trout to drop the car off then we walked home together. I even behaved great- Dad let me off the lead and I came when I was called, and sat next to him while runners went past! We walked a whole mile, and I was tired out. But then they put me in the kennel, and went to the Trout again without me! I like the car, but I didn't get a second ride in it.

At least they came home that night...

Next day I went to the dreaded Lakeside Kennel! I fought as hard as I could to escape back to the car, I thought I was just in for another fun car ride, but no- I got left. Because I was mad, I ate all my dog food, which impressed my parents (talk about backfire). The lake is nice, but I want people attention!

They came back the next day, and I gave them what-for. But then on Saturday, the left again! After a nice relaxing morning and a walk, I got stuck in the kennel at noon for what I assumed would be a couple hours- NOT! They weren't back until like 7 at night! Of course I was fine, I had food and water and a dog door, but still.

The next day, same thing. Early in the morning, bags were packed, and I was stuck in my kennel. When mom and dad got back- no Nana and Nanee! What is that about? I guess Dad and Nana had to duke it out for Alpha Male, and that is why they didn't come back- someday I'll have to do the same thing I suposse...

Well, it was the best worst week ever, and I really enjoyed meeting my grandparents- hope I see them again soon!

The Best Worst Week Ever... Retrospective Part 1 of 3

This week was the best worst week ever. I am an Oxford dog- so notice that there is no comma between best and worst, making them two adjectives that describe week- no; this was the best of the worst weeks- meaning that it wasn't the worst week ever (as in the it was the best at being the worst week), but rather a week so full of highs and lows for a puppy that I didn't know if it was the best or worst week ever. I have decided it was the best worst week, making it one of the worst weeks because everything bad happened at the end and everything great happened at the beginning, and I am a puppy and puppy memory and mental state really relates to things that have just happened!

Things started out promising- Nanee and Nana came to town to visit! They stayed a whole week! And then on Sunday we had a big Sunday Roast and I got to play with Jake and Nick, Jeff and Rebecca, and Eliana! It was a house full of people to play with, and even better- I got roast meat! And that always makes for a great time! Then we went punting and had walks and longer walks, and were outside in Oxford- and the week was really great. But then towards the end of the week, things went bad, because I got put in the Clink overnight and then on Saturday I got left in the kennel for 7 hours! Then, to make things worse, everyone left on Sunday, which made me very sad because I was full of energy from being in the clink for so long.

Well, long walks, Sunday Roasts, and punting aside, meeting Nana and Nanee definately made up for being in the clink for so long, so that is alright. I am sad they are gone, and now I am acting out to my parents to try to bring them back, it isn't working though, and I haven't even gotten a long walk yet (just a short one yesterday!!). Whats a dog to do? Stay tuned for posts about punting and the rest of the week in the next two posts....

Woof!

Dog Fighting (Serious)

Ok, this is my serious face now. I was watching BBC Breakfast with my mom and dad the other day, and one of their stories had to do with Dog Fighting in the UK. At first, I sat up to listen, thinking they were talking about the dog wrestling I do with Dad, but I was mistaken. In fact, they actually make dogs mean to each other and try to kill each other!

 

I think I briefly heard the whole Michael Vick thing- that guy was a jerk, and I don't know if that was even handled properly- but things are much, much wierder here in the UK. In the U.S., and rightly so, Vick was blamed for his behaviour concerning those dogs- the dogs that were still healthy were rescued, even if some of them had to be put down because they were too mean or too sick (but they were put down humanely) the dogs and puppies that could be rehabilitated, were. Does that happen in the UK? No.

 

In the UK- they blame the dogs! In fact, as it turns out, pitbulls are illegal in this country. Now, I am a well bread dog, and dogs of my breed have won Crufts, so I am not worried about me, but the fact remains- I am a Staffordshire Bull Terrier (and proud of it), and the Bull part is still there. Apperently, Irish Bull Terriers, American Pitbulls, and many other types of Bull and Bull Terrier can just be hauled off and executed in this country- talk about big brother!

 

First- dogs are naturally instinctive, we used to run in packs, and we have the alpha male sense, which means we want to be the alpha male in our pack. We also hunt for food, and eat meat. It makes sense that we are tough. However- the dog breeds in question are also domesticated- meaning that our pack now consists of humans, and the alpha male (at least here in leckford road) is dad. We eat dog food out of a bowl and human food off the table- we don't hunt, and we certianly aren't savage.

 

In fact, we are what our humans want us to be. I sit, go couch, stay in a kennel, and do my business outside because that is what my alpha and mom taught me to do. Sure I am a little bull-like- I pull on the lead, and I am nippy; but my parents have taught me to be friendly and to heel when they want me to heel. I love people and other dogs, and I am just overexicited in my exuberence of being friendly like my parents taught me.

 

If overexuberience is one of our genetic personality traits, then dog owners like those in the news article I linked the title to, are just using that enthusiasm for a poor end- trust me, you have to train a dog to be mean- you have to hit it, not feed it, and make it hate other dogs- all things that since it didn't happen to me, mean I don't attack other dogs.

 

Anyway, this law against pitbulls has made sort of a dog racism in this country. Even though I am a superior breed and am one of the most beautfully showed dogs in the world, whenever I meet other dogs on the meadow, chances are the owner of that dog is not happy to let me near the dog, thinking I am a big mean pittbull- and that simply isn't the case. (A little backwards, here aren't we people?)

 

MR. BROWN- PUNISH THE HUMANS INVOLVED IN DOG-FIGHTING SO SEVERELY THAT YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ANY DOGS HURTING LITTLE GIRLS (because they won't want to do it anymore).

Back from the Clink

Well, folks, I'm safely back in the arms of my so-called "loving" family. Who knew the "resort" I was promised would be all bars and concrete!

No, I didn't get to meet other dogs, either. They kept us all in solitary confinement unless we brought brothers or sisters along. And I'm an only child!

Even worse, if I didn't eat my food, it got picked up! I'm used to just snacking all day. And now my parents have been doing it too...they may have been "bad habits" for them, but not for me!

Sure, we got some time outside everyday, but not enough. My figure is a wreck! I was out with the personal trainer for a midday run between showers, and let me tell you, I need it!

I did manage to get some special treatment by putting up a stink at bedtime. To think, these people didn't even let me sleep in their bed! I demand the lap of luxury at all times. One of the ladies had to compromise and crawl into my cell and pet me to sleep. Still, I'm not entirely impressed with the standard of service.

I tried to keep myself angry at my parents, but I was just so relieved to see them that I simply couldn't resist giving them some kisses between reproving nibbles. Three days in a giant kennel! The nerve!

Woof!

Escargots pour un, si'l vous plait

I'm really quite happy to be spending my formative years in Europe. Lovely meadows, my own passport, language immersion opportunities, and of course, the snails.

Mom tells me that back in the day, when she was a kid, she had never seen a snail! And she only saw slugs once! Which is a real shame, because they are tres delicieux.

Every time it rains, I have myself a little feast. It's snails galore! They come out on the patio, and I have only to brave the rain to bask in my own personal buffet. All dogs go to heaven? All dogs should go to the UK! It's paradise!

Anyway, the snails are the only thing that make the rain bearable. Yesterday, not only did it rain all day but I was stuck in the house while my parents went gallivanting to who-knows-where. I showed them, though, and when they left me for the third time I went to work and finished shredding the upholstery on one of their chairs. Ha!

Although in hindsight, now when it rains and I'm stuck inside I probably will have to be in my kennel. Dang it! No more all-you-can-eat snails!

Woof!

Photo: Romantic dinner by flashlight.

Call me Greasespot--Greasespot Sandal-Eater

Dogs get no love. All week I've been locked in my kennel all afternoon while dad is still at work and mom goes off to some sort of party dressed in a black-and-white costume. Then today, I had to go to the vet, which I like, but I don't like the veterinarian--that meany! She took out my sutures, but I still can't forgive her for what she did to me...

Adding insult to injury, when mom and I got home, mom grease-spotted me! They say it's supposed to keep the ticks and fleas away, but I don't know about that. And then she locked me in my kennel for a whole other hour. But I had my revenge.

Mom released me and went into her office to do some errands. I went downstairs quick-as-you-please and sat myself down for a hearty lunch--on her new turquoise flip-flops. And let me tell you, it was delicious while it lasted. Almost as good as dad's blue and white flip-flops I ate earlier this spring.

Mwahahahaha! Woof!

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!

The Angle for the Bed

Photo: Dad and I sleep on the... couch?

Every night I try to make a play to go to sleep with Mom and Dad on their bed upstairs. Usually I am unsuccessful because they are never in bed before I get put away in my kennel. I mean, who really wants to sleep on the couch anyway- that is the only place that I ever get to sleep with them, otherwise its the kennel! Actually that is a good point, when mom and unfold the futon to sleep on- usually when I am sick or someone is staying over- I have managed to get a permanent place on the futon for the whole night, by whining until they let me out to sleep with them! However, I can't do that when they go to bed, because I am in my kennel and they are upstairs.

However, I did discover one method. I found myself waking up at about 4 am regularly because I had to go potty again- I am just a little puppy with a little bladder. To my surprise, barking twice usually got one of them down there quickly to let me out! I also discovered that if Dad came down, and I shivered a little bit, low and behold I was heading up to bed with them to sleep until morning!

It all started because dad was in charge of getting me up in the morning. He would get up, read the Bible, wash the dishes, drink coffee, and I would sleep on his lap. A few mornings, however, he would be very tired, because of a late night, etc. So he would allow me upstairs in bed for a half an hour or so. Soon I figured out that if he left the door open I could just bolt upstairs and jump into bed with mom. Finally it progressed to the point where when Dad came down, briefly, at 4 am, rather than go back into my kennel, I would go upstairs because he was too sleepy to catch me! However, if mom came downstairs, it was back in my kennel.

Last night, I thought I had one a victory- to spend the whole night in bed. I was put into my kennel as usual, and Dad locked up and turned out the lights. About 15 minutes later, when they were both in bed, there was a banging downstairs. Mom sent Dad down to investigate (turned out just to be the heater restarting and was causing creaking in the furnaces), but because Dad walked past me, I sat up and started shivering. He opened the kennel to comfort me, and like a bolt I was upstairs and in bed with mom! Well Dad just got into bed again, and he and mom had a discussion about what Cesar Milan would think, etc. etc. She called him a big softie, but after ten minutes, she took me back downstairs to my kennel. (Despite my best puppy dog eye attempts on Dad...)

4 AM I started barking, and guess who came down? Dad!

Woof!

Doggy Hiatus- Irish Day Cleanup

Photo: Our St. Patrick's Day Family Picture

The Dog hasn't been feeling well- this morning he puked three times, and Jaci and I had to rush to clean it up before he ate it again, so it was unhappiness Bengfort household this morning. (Although probably not a result of St. Patty's day celebrations last night- I only had 3 pints of Guiness and champagne, the dog had a little champagne, but not much else.) As a result, Jaci and I have been posting Winston's blogs as he lays in the sunshine of the office looking at us.

I must say I was touched by his last post- and the dog does sing quite frequently. I sort of laugh it off- but I guess man's best friend must do what he must! He actually sings a couple of songs- including "Winny, Winny, Winny get your adverbs here- Father, Son, and Puppy get your adverbs here." But I am fairly sure he has never seen Schoolhouse Rock- it isn't exactly an English instition (and Parlaiment is too complicated to come up with "I'm just a Bill").

Yesterday was St. Patricks Day, and both Winston and I were expecting a little more enthusiasm from a place so close to Ireland. Needless to say, until I got into a bar, every English person I spoke to had no idea that it was St. Patty's. I mentioned to my hairdresser (who was dropping her comb, scissors, and clippers and hitting me with the cord) that she was probably having an unlucky time cutting my hair becuase she wasn't wearing green, and my green was covered by the hair blanket. She merely looked at me blankely. I then explained what today was- and she chuckled and said she would have a pint of Guiness for lunch- no enthusiasm.

At the Royal Post the person behind the counter didn't realize Ireland was a different country and so postmarked an envelope incorrectly- which I took as a good sign of realizing it was St. Patty's day- but to no avail. Only one man (wearing a Guiness Shirt) finally picked up what I was refering to (but he didn't wear the Guiness shirt on purpose) and laughed that St. Patty's day was probably bigger in New York (Boston, I said) and for us Americans than for the English.

He asked if I was Irish- I responded I was just a good Christian...

Finally we went to Jude for lunch and I found my fellow St. Patricks celebrants all drinking pints of Guiness and IPA Green at noon- and watching the Ireland v. Italy rugby match on the 6 nations cup. And although they did have specialty beer at the pub for St. Patrick- no specialty food. So perhaps America is bigger than England on St. Patty's despite the proximity, but what are you going to do?

Later that night: Luminox, but you can read more about that on Jaci's blog.

Winston says: Woof! He enjoyed his St. Patty's day- he got to walk along the canal searching for four leaf clovers- which if he found he probably ate, and that may have caused his stomach ache today, but I guess we'll not know.

Photo: Drinking Champagne out of Guiness Glasses- a Bengfort touch for the Irish!

P.S. I have heard that in Oxford at least, they mix champagne and Guiness or Guiness and liquour to make it taste better... we have yet to try that!

Puppy Dog Eyes- Gross?

I don't feel well today, but it made for a very good night!

For the past two days, my left eye has been very red, and oozing yellow pus. I didn't really focus well, although I could see my dad's finger move around with a treat when he was looking at it! I was tired all day, and not really interested in anything (except of course destruction, but that was 5 minutes of an otherwise very lethargic day- and really, come to think of it, I may have been sent into crazies because of my eye irritation).

Dad took me to the vet to get me worming medication, because the 26th is the day for those meds. At the vet, he checked up on my eye, and was told to wash it out with a warm, wet rag and if it still persisted, to make an appointment with the vet.

Just as an aside- I am getting really expensive!! Teeheehee. Vet bills are a lot in British Pounds! The simple trip to the vet turned into a GBP88 excursion!

Last time I got worming medicine, I got something they put into my food, like a powder. I promptly puked that stuff up, all over the place. This time they gave me a tablet in butter! It was delicious, and I seemed fine for a few hours, but while mom and dad were working, I had to go down to the front door, and I puked a pile onto the carpet! It was huge, and gross. I didn't realize I had eaten that much that day!

Needless to say, I wasn't feeling well, so Dad stopped working and let me lie on his chest while he watched TV. I got my eye washed a few times, and then Mom made Dad spend the night on the couch so they could make sure I was ok, and be close. But I wasn't having that! I barked and whined until they finally realized that I was going to sleep on the couch with them! It is one thing to be put into my kennel, and then they go upstairs, but it is quite another to sleep on our couch without me!

Today I feel much better, and my eye is fine- but now I know how to get to sleep on the couch at night! (Just a puke away...)

Woof!

Pee for Attention

Yesterday was a bad day. I am sick of not getting any attention from my folks. All they do all day is sit around- whether it is on their computers, doing who knows what, or in front of the TV, or whatever like washing dishes or cooking or cleaning- and then they leave me all by myself in my kennel. They don't give me near enough attention.

Yesterday I fought back. I did the worst thing I could possibly do in rebellion- I peed on their bed. I didn't ask to go out, I didn't let on that I needed to pee, I just hopped up on their bed and peed.

Serves them right.

I guess I have been a bit moody lately, and bitey- getting into stuff that I know they don't want me in, chewing shoes and taking them to my kennel. But you know, I don't get enough attention.

Woof!

Doggy Valentine's Day

I didn't know what Valentine's Day was until today, and let me tell you it stinks!

First, I had to get up early because Dad and Mom left so many dishes in the sink- so Dad did the dishes for about an hour and a half. Where was I? Stuck in my kennel. Usually I get to continue sleeping on the couch while he drinks coffee and reads in the morning... but no, not on Valentine's Day!

Then, he made breakfast- it smelled delicious! Eggs, grilled tomatoes, croissants, strawberries, mango, cheese (mom said it reminded her of a Grandpa Bengfort breakfast), but did I get anything to eat? Well, actually yes, I got some strawberry that fell on the floor. But there was no Toast?! How can you be in the kitchen and not give toast?

Then mom came downstairs, and she was all excited to see the table, not to see me like she normally is! And while they had breakfast, I just sat there trying to jump onto the table, you know, just to investigate and make sure everything was safe, but I kept getting told to get down!
No doggy chocolate, no doggy flowers, no doggy teddy bear. What a crappy Valentine's day.

Oh, Dad just reminded me that I got a ball from Grandmatagi and Grandpa Tim, but that was days ago...

I guess we'll leave Valentine's for the women. (Dad didn't get anything either)

Woof!