How to traumatise a spoilt dog

Question; When did I acquire a sulky teenager? Bailey is not a happy bunny.

Our old sofa had become dangerous to sit on. To be fair, it was a wooden framed sofa that had been well used for 50+ years (!) but was no longer repairable. So it was taken away by good old Bulky Bob's, hopefully something good would happen to it.

The replacement sofa is at my brother's ready for collection shortly. In the meantime, Bailey is inconsolable. The cushions were soft enough for him to lie on the back and bed in (see his profile pic). He had his spot on the end of the sofa, where he could watch the passers-by. He could hide underneath it, store his toys underneath it.

And it has gone, so he has refused to stay in the room since. The lovely antique rocking chair is viewed with great scorn. He has taken residence in my bedroom instead, sitting on the end of the bed and watching the world from a higher vantage point. He comes down when he wants something, and resents my presence in the room if he doesn't.

The bad news is, the replacement is a rather fine Italian leather job, and he won't be allowed on it. At this rate, he won't come down to find out...

How to stop your owner's heart...

I took Bailey to the local supermarket, we needed milk. Or rather, I need tea with milk to function, and he likes a walk. He chose to forget the mammoth fetch-ball session in the pouring rain, and pestered until I decided to take him along.

I tied his lead to a ring around a post outside the exit door. And in the space of five minutes he vanished.

He had started to wander round the post, found the gap in the ring that I had missed, and pulled his lead free. Then he went in through the out door, and looked round for me. In the meantime, I was outside, thinking horrible thoughts about dognapping and little hounds playing in traffic.

To his credit, he was sweet and charming to the staff who caught him, and didn't pee on anything or anybody. But he showed no sign of wanting to go back in with a list and a trolley to sort the weekly shop, either.

But then he is a little blokey dog. What did I expect?

Back from the Dark Side...

otherwise known as 'crap Bank Holiday Weekend'.

Manchester United did their best to send me grey and demented since the last entry, and nearly succeeded. Hull and Doncaster both did me proud, as did Queen of the South. Yes, I know they didn't win, but the pundit said that no-one recovers from 2-0 down to Rangers. Maybe he forgot that they can't hear the commentary from the pitch. For Stockport vs Rochdale, I couldn't choose, so I cheered them both (and fell asleep before the tv highlights so I don't know what I was cheering for).

On Saturday, Tig continued his raid on my bank account (booster jabs for him and the Yorkshire Terrier-ist) with Eric and Jasmine due next week. I faced with the choice of going to see the MNG finest strutting their stuff or being sensible and saving cash. I faced fighting through the crowds for Ricky Hatton and The Osmonds on the way and a huge taxi bill to get home. Btw, it was separate venues for Hatton and the Osmonds, fortunately as rumour has it that Marie Osmond was hankering after a shot at the title. It sounded great, but the red on the online banking wasn't so great. So I stayed in.

Then wrecked the sensible facade by necking a bottle of red wine and watching Eurovision.

All I can really remember is that one act appeared to have four women dressed as crinoline-lady-toilet-roll covers, with Helena Bonham-Carter's more weirdly dressed kid sister and the Child Catcher's creepy kid brother on vocals. A few rawk types waded in, some prat was dressed as an angel and Andy Abrahams will probably be in therapy for years. I can't really feel sorry for Wogan, bearing in mind the size of his fee. But Dustin the Turkey should feel as aggrieved as only a puppet can; I expect he was just a bit too classy.

In some respects, it was a good weekend. James, Angie and Tyler headed to Cornwall to see Angie's dad. I discovered the joys of tidying up, and found space, really real space in the boxroom and the shed! Finally I started a book that Sophie sent months back and I had been saving for a reading binge. And I could've watched live bands in a force 8 gale in Manchester city centre, but I chose a good book instead. The MiNGe should be proud.

I also found Bailey in front of the telly, listening to Julie Andrews as they repeated 'The Sound of Music' again. Oh dearydear...

Bailey makes himself at home

Here's a picture of the lovely Bailey. The cats have convinced him to join the Dark Side and he is trying to sleep on the back of the sofa.

He tried stopping over at James's last night. Apart from trying to headbutt his way through the back door, and missing the other animals, he seems unscathed. But he likes it here.

Maybe because their sofa is leather and a bit slippery...

It's Official...

...Bailey is staying with me.

James and Angie have agreed that it is for the best.

He seems quite happy about it, the cats are making plans for a 'welcome committee' and I am resigned to never sitting on my sofa again.

So now I'd better put a photo up of the pesky critter, now he's officially one of the gang.

House Rules

Bailey broke the basic house rule of 'no dogs in the bedrooms'.

The Tig caught him in my room, chased him into the bathroom and beat the crap out of him.

Now he KNOWS why we tell him not to upset the cats. It's a nice scratch though, and it'll be a lovely scar. He can always tell the hard dogs that it was done by a Rottie.

Baby-sitting

I was conned into baby-sitting young TJ last night.

It's a shame, this child is quite delightful but it was the cheek of the move that did it for me. Just hand him to his great-grandmother, who would walk over broken glass for him, then suggest she brought him to my house for a visit.

Aw, bless... hang on, I'm still hissing fury here...sssssss.....

Still, he tried his best to be entertaining, and I am secretly convinced his first word was 'bananarama' or that daft song from the Muppets Show - was is Manomana?

Full-on charm offensive. I did point out that I was Great Aunt Don, the Mean Old Bag, but he just gurgled a bit and tried to chew his feet.

Even better, it did give me a chance to see how Bailey acted around children.

Dammit, he was good as gold.

Pesky critters, both.

Bonfire Night

It's been a bloody awful few days. My pets hate fireworks.

But a new sport has been created out of the chaos in my house.

Dog Biscuit Subbuteo.

2 small dogs versus 1 mad person. The idea is that you take one handful of dog biscuits and use the Subbuteo 'flick to kick' action to move the biscuits round the floor. Nominate a goal from any piece of suitable furniture, and try to score as many goals as possible before the dogs eat the biscuits.

The cats don't think it will catch on.

Repeat after me...

"HE IS NOT YOUR DOG AND HE ISN'T STOPPING!"

Last night Bailey managed to negotiate a flight of stairs, get into my room and tried to jump on a bed about twice his height.

He was sooooo pleased with himself, not a bad effort for a short-arse with a leg bandaged full length. And a plastic cone round his head, as modelled by Gromit in his mugshot to the left.

I have to remind myself that (A) he shouldn't have been there and (B) it was 2am and any dog with such lousy timing has no place in my house.

HE IS NOT MY DOG AND HE ISN'T STOPPING...

Quick update on the visitor

The chipped bone that the Spanish vet passed off as inconsequential is in fact a great big lump of bone that needs to be screwed back in place. Our family vet is livid that the Spanish vet let a dog travel in that condition! We've seen the x-ray and it was gruesome. Just glad we'd made an appointment for the day after he landed for a check-up. No wonder he was quiet when he met the cats. No excusing the Spanish vet but Bailey's leg wasn't misshapen, just swollen. We could have waited a while for the swelling to go down, thinking all was fine. He's not a noisy complaining sort

So Patrick the Wonder-vet is currently pinning little Bailey back together. I've every confidence in him. He had to do the same to Tig when the Ginger Git managed to slide off a roof and land on three paws and one rear hock bone. Tig still has 'Barry Sheene' as a useful alias.

Visitor

James and Angie have decided to return to the UK, due to her mum's ill health. Fine.

My mother asked if I would mind their dog. Not so fine.

Anyways-up, the mutt ended up at my house on Friday. I made it quite clear to everyone concerned that if anything happened to my cats, I would make mincemeat out of anything four-or-two-legged that I thought responsible for harming them.

What do the Reservoir Mogs do? Adopt it as one of their own! After scaring it a little, just for fun.

Poor little hound, he'd managed to hurt his leg before being crated up. So he had a suspected chipped bone in his leg, jetlag, and was missing James and Angie. He was too much of a soft target even for them.

Jasmine did spend a bit of time looking like an outraged Furby, and Tig came down to wail a bit (and take a crafty swipe at poor Bailey at the same time). Greebo couldn't give a flying f...root loop about any of it.

Eric, as ever, was the star. From a lofty position on the kitchen workshop he made eye contact with the dog, stood on tiptoe and fluffed up to double size ALL IN COMPLETE AND VERY SCARY SILENCE. Poor dog was terrified. After that Eric ignored the new yapping peasant all night.

Gromit thought it was great to have another dog around. So Bailey is staying until James and Angie find somewhere to rent that will take him too. I think he's going to be around for a while...