My Mother is Mean to Me

The question is Ange ou Demon? I am a licky demon, a sad angel...

Non Sequiter Day at Winston's World

I am not a big fan of my mother right now...

Read my last post for better reading:

http://winstonbengfort.blogspot.com/2008/06/superman-is-not-cat.html

Yawn, literally

Mom discovered that she could make me yawn on command yesterday, and it was kind of fun to yawn when she yawned. Yet, of course, as soon as I am on video trying to do it, it only works once, boring. Anyway, here is the yawn of a video, with everyone yawning but me...

And now for something different

I present, "A Standing Dog in Motion" Enjoy.

Blogger is releasing its new video service for its blogs, so lets give it a tryout. This is Mom's video taken a long time ago, I was doing something interesting before then, but then I stopped. Needless to say, while Mom and Dad's new camera would take videos, after dad dropped it off a parking meter on the C&O Canal path, it won't anymore.

This video was taken with Mom's old camera, which is a clunker and doesn't even have sound! What can you do? So I am going to try to convince mom to convince dad to get a digital video recorder, something small, and with a hard disk so there can be more dog video!

And now for the sound: Woof!

How Old is too Old?

Well I turn (ahem) 7 on October 6th; 1 whole human year! Being 7 really makes a dog think, especially since everyone else's blog is all about age, I mean, what is a poor puppy to do? So here are my thoughts:

60 is the new 40? Doubtful, 8 is the new 6! But not really with Dogs, I mean, we still live to the same old ripe age of 15, usually. I guess that is pretty long, though, comparatively speaking.

How old is too old? None of this divide by 2 add seven, the vet already took care of that so I don't have to worry about it, and it sucks! And... I am not any less aggresive, so there!

Old humans are as much fun as young humans, and I can catch them easier...

Why Being a Dog ROCKS!

Mom is shivering, and I'm laughing at her, because as a dog I'm not bothered. The house is cold, because the painters came and painted up everything and none of the windows can be shut right now. And the sun may be out, but it's only 8 degress (Celcius, you colonials!). But all I have to do is turn off my shedding and chase the sun across the floor, and I'm just fine!

And there are side benefits to having so many windows open. Like at night, while Mom and Dad are being boring, I can chase all the little bugs that fly in! So much fun! And, I can hear whatever's going on outside, so I can be super-vigilant and let my parents know if anyone is going by our yard. I feel like that's pretty important information to know.

Mom's been complaining so much, though, that I've been perfecting a special look to give her: The Sideways Glance of Disdain.

Some of us like the windows open, Mom! 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).

A Broken Spirit doth a Sad Dog make

So, picture this, folks. It was Thursday, and my Mom was taking me for a walk along the canal. I was having a great time--I met a schnauzer, I sniffed the breeze, I watched bicyclists go by. Then, I found a primo poop spot and managed, even though Mom was keeping a close eye and a firm grasp on me, to smudge a little bit onto my neck (on the white part, so it was especially becoming) and on my collar.

Mom seemed disgusted at first, but then when we got to a nice grassy playground, she let me roll around with all abandon! And I mean, for about 5 minutes (35 doggie minutes!!). I thought she had finally calmed down. We even took a new route home through the meadow, along a muddy cowpath, and I had some great-smelling stuff on my feet! I really felt like a dog!

Turns out, she was leading me like a lamb to the slaughter. I knew something was wrong when she didn't take me off my leash before opening the front door. And when she started gathering up my dog towels, I tried to bolt--but what could I do? I was still leashed. And so, I resigned myself...and had a bath.

I even tried to act noble, hardly trying to escape and mostly just standing there as she unrelentingly soaped me up and rinsed me off, soaped me up and rinsed me off, soaped me up and rinsed me off...but inside my heart was breaking! I had never smelled so good in my whole life, and in a matter of 5 minutes (35 doggie minutes) she destroyed all I had built.

What's worse, she even washed my collar and in the meantime I have to wear my ridiculous baby collar. I feel like such a loser. I'm just going to go lay in a patch of sun and try to dream my troubles away.

Woof!

Toothbrushing Saturday

Today was tootbrushing day! Normally I get a denta-bone or something of that sort to brush my teeth with- but apperently the Vet thought that was the weak way to do it, and managed to convince mom to buy some expensive chicken-flavored (delicious) toothpaste that was vet approved! Dad got me a Spongebob Squarepants toothbrush, and today we brushed my teeth!

I didn't really know what was in store for me, because I have never done this before- and it didn't help that Dad and I were dog-wrestling before we did the brushing, so I think I was more aggressive than I could have been- but the chicken toothpate was so good that I couldn't resist, I finally gave up trying to kill Spongebob and let dad brush. Unfortunately the damage was already done...

Well, I guess its back to dentabones for me! Woof!

Stuffed Stuff

Some animals have a sweet tooth. Myself, I have a stuff tooth. I just love stuffing.

It started when both of my grandmas sent me stuffed toys. Fun to play with; better to unstuff. It turns wherever I've been chewing into a cloud of deliciousness.

Just today, though, I realized Mom and Dad have been holding out on me. That whole big blanket thing we all sleep under is just full of stuffing. It's stuffed! It's literally a giant bag of stuff!

Dad seems to want it all to himself, though, and I got in big trouble for just having a tiny nibble this morning. And a larger nibble this afternoon. What's the big deal? There's stuffing enough for all of us!

Of course, I would settle for some of Mom and Dad's Victorian sponge cake. And Mom's stuffed animals. I think that's a reasonable counter-offer.

Woof!

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!

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!

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!

Winjus Khan- The Colonizer

So Dad and Mom watch a lot of movies, which is great for me because that means extra couch time and a lot of attention. Recently they have been watching a great deal of Indian movies, and historical period pieces- and they noticed something interesting. There is a trend in modern movies to portray the British as bad guys or colonists who are snooty but evil! I mean, really how could that be? Not to quote John Stewart (which I also watch) but "the reason the British controlled two thirds of the world is because everyone was too busy sniggering at our fairy accents to fight back!" Seriously, we do tea, nuff said.

Needless to say, it brings up an interesting family dynamic- I am the colonizer! Dad and Mom are both from previous colonial sections of the empire- from two very far away, vastly different places- and I bring them together! I mean without me, they wouldn't be a family for sure! I even proudly wear the Union Jack to show how my family couldn't exist without my colonial help.

Now, if only they could learn to play cricket- obviously the dog always gets the ball!

Woof!

Bathtime Blues

Yesterday was bath day... after most of the morning laying with mom on the couch while she read her schoolbooks, she finally decided that I was one stinky dog, and that if I wanted to continue to lie on the couch with her, I needed a bath....

I have had a bath once before- after a particularly wet and nasty day out at the meadow, I returned home covered in mud. Dad decided that it was time for a bath, so he and mom went to the vet (speaking of mom, if you are reading this, go to the vet and get my worming medicine!) and bought some doggy shampoo and plopped me in the bathtub. Unsuspicious the first time, I was just amused at the shiny, white, slipperiness of the thing and I just played around a little bit, but then the water started. It wasn't the good water like at the meadow, it was jet water that was getting me soaked. Immediately I flipped out and tried to bail out of the tub, not wanting to get wet. At least the water was warm, but you get cold when you're wet, even if the water is hot. But I was held down. That day, I learned my lesson- stay away from the white, shiny, slippery thing.

Whats odd, is that mom and dad occasionally get into the other clear looking thing, and I know water comes out over there- I have tried to drink it several times (while avoiding the bathtub) they look perfectly happy over in the other one, why can't I go over there? But actually, I know I don't want to, because they always come out dripping wet, and if I am in the bathroom when they get out (usually because one of them has let me in by accident) then I can lick the wetness of their legs and toes! I think I am doing them a favor, but they get mad... especially mom!

Well, Dad was busy yesterday when mom decided to give me a bath so she decided to do it herself. However, I was a little wiser this time and started fighting as soon as she picked me up to go to that slippery white shinny death cold thing. I think I fought bravely, but she eventually overpowered me and there was nothing I could do. I kept barking and whining, but to no effect. Dad came to see what was up, and instead of helping me, he just laughed and grabbed the camera! Can you believe that?

Needless to say, both mom and I were unsatisfied with the bath. Me because I got wet, mom because I didn't get clean, and both of us because now the bathroom (the warmest room in the house) was soaked and smelled like wet dog for the rest of the day. I mean seriously, do you think I like wet dog smell? Of course not! If I did, then I would be happy to get wet...

All I have to say is--- "Blech"!

Woof!

Picture 1: Mom wrestles me into the tub, but the water is on, and I am not having it!
Picture 2: She got me, oh, she got me!
Picture 3: The horror of wet dog...
Picture 4: My feelings for the bath are written on my face...

The TV

The TV, you might be surprised to find out, is one of my favorite things in the entire world! Don't get me wrong- I am not fooled by the noise or the colored pictures going across the screen. I know they aren't real, and to be honest, I am not sure why my parents are so infatuated with it, it seems a little ridiculous to pay attention to a gray box with funny noises that makes light, especially when I am so cute, and hanging out right there!

It is my favorite thing because when the gray box makes noise and flashes is light, I have the attention of my parents! They sit on the couch (my favorite place) and I can play, look out the window, or sleep on them. They'll throw my ball while watching TV, or pet me, and it is generally very comfortable. And- more importantly- they are home when that box is on! I don't like it when they leave, so that is very good, I think. When they are upstairs with those paper things that they read, or at the other light boxes that make sound (the computers I think) they just ignore me, and clatter away at those key thingys. Sometimes I get to sit on mom's lap, but they are usually absorbed, and I just have to chill.

The gray box downstairs is a wonderful thing. It is too bad that I heard they may be getting rid of it soon! I don't know why! They spend more time there than they do upstairs.

Other People

Last night Paul came over. I went crazy! I love seeing new people, they are so much fun, but it is weird for me. For instance, I love making new friends and I wag my tail so hard I think it will fly off. I jump up and try to lick them or bite them so that they will play with me and they'll know I want to be friends. But then they usually get mad or kick me off, or dad and mom grabs me and I just don't understand why- I mean I am being more polite than most of dogs are.

So far my favorite is Nick- he'll let me chew anything- his watch, his belt, his hand. And he'll wrestle me and lets me bite. Mom and Dad don't seem to appreciate that Nick knows what a dog wants. Other people are afraid of dogs- I mean seriously, how can you be afraid of dogs? I mean, what could I do? A little dog like me couldn't eat you. I guess there is a cultural difference to Dogs, and Oxford being so international, there are a lot of cultures I get to meet.

For instance- Greek people love Dogs. Artemis- the girl who is doing something with the living room, was very excited to see me, and I was excited to see her, but she didn't let me nip her, so that was kind of dull.

Caribbean people don't like me at all, they move away from me when I jump at them, and I have to bark at them so they will pay attention to me, which seems to make them even more unhappy. Why? I don't know, my dad seems to like me just fine.

British people, especially old people love me! They say I am a real dog, and will let me jump and bite even on their nice clothes when I go for walks! They say the weirdest things, but I think it may be because they understand dogs! I ran into an old lady on my last walk, and she grabbed me and played with me, it was a lot of fun! She even said I looked like Winston Churchill, whoever that is, he must be handsome, though, because he has my name!

My only problem is when other people sit on my dad's chair. But I have a trick to get them off. I jump on their laps, climbing my way up if I have to, then I nip at them until they try to get me off. When they lean forward, I get behind them and push them from the back of the seat until they have to get off! It seems to work- I have already managed it on Paul and Sasha, and no one else seems willing to try!

Its so exciting to see new people, I wish they would like me as much as I like them!

Woof!

Dog Exile and a Note about Hobbies

I am exiled from the bedroom thanks to my antics the other day. Today Dad bought a door lock that wouldn't allow me to push my way into the bedroom, and therefore I am banished. I received a pretty nasty surprise when I ran at the door, only to be stopped cold. AARGH! Why does everything happen to me? Good Grief.

The rest of the day was pretty much uneventful, though- just walking and chewing, and trying to sneak past into the bedroom, but it isn't happening.

So just a note on Hobbies. I have been looking at my parent's hobbies and they seem interesting enough. Here is a picture of me with one of my mom's hobbies: painting. It is a little crazy that she can get colors onto the thing to make it look like something. Too bad I'm color blind!

Actually I guess I didn't have much to say other than that because I had a picture of me looking at a picture, and I am still a puppy so I don't know how to discuss art.

But I guess we could talk about my hobbies which include chewing, toast, being a wolf, and man-dog wrestling. I still haven't been able to win at man-dog wrestling, but I'm sure I will someday! So for the rest of the day, I am going to practice up, and figure out how to get past that door lock!