Cautionary words about the lurcherini on the allotment: guard your turnip tops. Jake was recently caught chowing down on these as though they were the finest beef bone. He usually gives the greens a miss. NB He wasn't scoffing the actual turnip, which he considerately left for us - or perhaps he thought it was a ball and could be brought to us later for recreation?
What followed was predictable ... desperate whining at the bedside at 3am ... emergency dash to back garden... here we will draw a veil...
What followed was predictable ... desperate whining at the bedside at 3am ... emergency dash to back garden... here we will draw a veil...
Labels: Allotment
Today Jake learned some important lessons about where his food comes from.
1. Potatoes are dug up. Out of the GROUND!
2. Carrots are also dug up, and are a compelling mix of food and stick.
1. Potatoes are dug up. Out of the GROUND!
2. Carrots are also dug up, and are a compelling mix of food and stick.
Labels: Allotment
Dear Sandy,
Although you are one of my favourite people I had already decided that Lorcan Dempsey should be my Web 2.0 guru. Gus & Rod say he understands the long tail.
xxJake
Although you are one of my favourite people I had already decided that Lorcan Dempsey should be my Web 2.0 guru. Gus & Rod say he understands the long tail.
xxJake
Labels: Whimsy
Dear Jake
I have seen The owners in their anoraks, twiddling with their MP3 players, mobile phones and wrestling with the wi-fi. So I know they have slight nerd tendancies even thought they try to disguise them by wearing fetching shoes and carrying natty shoulder bags. One of The Owners is even in charge of big geeky computers at a major educational establishment and The Other Owner used to be in charge of big geeky computer at a major cultural institution just down the road from my major cultural institition.
So how come in your house / temple to gadgetary The Owners have only now worked how to give you a RSS feed on your blog. I heard that all the dogs down your way have be laughing at your lack of syndication. It's embarrassing I know. Why don't you trade The Owners in Jake and get new ones ? Perhaps an owner that is truely wise in the way of tech .... like me. My credentials are outstanding:
Sandy
I have seen The owners in their anoraks, twiddling with their MP3 players, mobile phones and wrestling with the wi-fi. So I know they have slight nerd tendancies even thought they try to disguise them by wearing fetching shoes and carrying natty shoulder bags. One of The Owners is even in charge of big geeky computers at a major educational establishment and The Other Owner used to be in charge of big geeky computer at a major cultural institution just down the road from my major cultural institition.
So how come in your house / temple to gadgetary The Owners have only now worked how to give you a RSS feed on your blog. I heard that all the dogs down your way have be laughing at your lack of syndication. It's embarrassing I know. Why don't you trade The Owners in Jake and get new ones ? Perhaps an owner that is truely wise in the way of tech .... like me. My credentials are outstanding:
- have had an RSS feed for a year
- have written an article on blogging
- am learning CSS (cascading silly sentences)
- can do a recursive delete in Unix
Sandy
Labels: Whimsy
An everyday tale of mad-doglady nerdfolk.
Scene: Gus & Rod are in the kitchem supping Innis & Gunn.
Gus: I must upgrade Jake's blog. I want to sort out the archives & get the feeds working
Rod: [after laughing fit has subsided]Why?
Gus: It's important!
Rod: I'm sure Jake isn't down the park saying, Hey Bailey, I've got a blog.
Gus: No, he's saying Hey Bailey, my blog doesn't even have RSS feeds.
[fade]
Dear Sandy,
Thank you for your concern about my diet. I would love some ice cream to my taste, perhaps liver or tripe? Meanwhile I have to slum it with leavings from M&S.
Gussie says that she is going to start cleaning my teeth, what is that?
Love Jake
Thank you for your concern about my diet. I would love some ice cream to my taste, perhaps liver or tripe? Meanwhile I have to slum it with leavings from M&S.
Gussie says that she is going to start cleaning my teeth, what is that?
Love Jake
Labels: Whimsy
Dear JakeI have heard that you are fed on grass, potatoes and ribs with the occasional dry pity-biscuit thrown in when the owners take you out in the monsoon. It's time you stood up (yes get off the couch you lazy mutt) and demand, Demand, DEMAND your right to pooch ice cream. Demand your United Fido Orbiters and Snow Cups Lightly.
Top tip: the Ice crunchies are a mere one calorie. Now, we don't want to be the fatest pooch on the tow path do we ? So I recommend you try them.
Sandy
Labels: Whimsy
The otterhound and the curse of the seven retrievers
It looked like the rain had stopped so Jake & I went up Blackford Hill. Every dog we met was a golden retriever, all seven of them, out with different people. And indeed this was a bad omen, as when we were exactly as far as we could be from the car park, round the exposed side of the hill, the rain turned on again, monster drops so big they were white. Jake tried a brief spell at dachshund level, then tried to hide between my legs - pointless, they were as wet as he was. By this time he looked like an otter and I was soaked through. I fed him pity-biscuits. Then he threw himself into the experience and took off like a loony, racing around like he was on a track, tearing through the long wet grass (as high as he is) and obviously getting off on the sensation.
After I'd driven us home, the car seat was soaking from my sodden jeans. We are now both very sleepy on the sofa.
It looked like the rain had stopped so Jake & I went up Blackford Hill. Every dog we met was a golden retriever, all seven of them, out with different people. And indeed this was a bad omen, as when we were exactly as far as we could be from the car park, round the exposed side of the hill, the rain turned on again, monster drops so big they were white. Jake tried a brief spell at dachshund level, then tried to hide between my legs - pointless, they were as wet as he was. By this time he looked like an otter and I was soaked through. I fed him pity-biscuits. Then he threw himself into the experience and took off like a loony, racing around like he was on a track, tearing through the long wet grass (as high as he is) and obviously getting off on the sensation.
After I'd driven us home, the car seat was soaking from my sodden jeans. We are now both very sleepy on the sofa.
Tug to the bitter end.
0 Comments Published by Gussie on Thursday, July 06, 2006 at 7/06/2006 09:39:00 PM.
Choc lab B is using his superior weight. Referee rottie D has taken her eye off the ball for a crucial minute.
Sorry for shite quality, was taken at 1030pm last week. Horrendous midgie bites followed.
Sorry for shite quality, was taken at 1030pm last week. Horrendous midgie bites followed.
Labels: Park life
Stuff of park nightmares: a man is lying on his front in his shorts, reading, headphones on. Jake trots up to him and puts cold wet nose on man's bare leg. Man jumps a mile. Bad dog owner, not anticipating. Bad dog. No, my fault cos I should have called to me sooner.
Labels: Park life
It's a tough life being a dog in Edinburgh's middle classes, being forced to walk between thunderous showers all the way to Dalry to put a cheque through the architect's door. Still, the Telfer Subway was a fragrant delight, and there was plenty of running and er, shagging in the park afterwards. For Jake, not Gus.
Jake's sexual reawakening means that I'm suddenly having a lot of conversations in the park about neutering. "Don't worry, he's been done," I say cheerily, pulling him off - if the bitch doesn't see him off herself. I'd forgotten how many people say their bitch has been dressed. (Always the bitches - never the dogs). It sounds so archaic. A Scots usage - I checked in the OED (online, hurrah for subscription via work) & the Concise Scots Dictionary (offline, paperback).
Last night it was Dior the rottie (perhaps not a wise choice, she weighs three time what he does), this avo Candy, a wee black dog cut from the same cloth as himself. But poor old Jake. He looks so triumphant when he's at it.
Jake's sexual reawakening means that I'm suddenly having a lot of conversations in the park about neutering. "Don't worry, he's been done," I say cheerily, pulling him off - if the bitch doesn't see him off herself. I'd forgotten how many people say their bitch has been dressed. (Always the bitches - never the dogs). It sounds so archaic. A Scots usage - I checked in the OED (online, hurrah for subscription via work) & the Concise Scots Dictionary (offline, paperback).
Last night it was Dior the rottie (perhaps not a wise choice, she weighs three time what he does), this avo Candy, a wee black dog cut from the same cloth as himself. But poor old Jake. He looks so triumphant when he's at it.
