Sin Bin

What is the point of bringing me to bear-infested woods and then not letting me go hunting? I tried to follow a trail in the woods 4 times this morning only to be dragged back and now I’m in the Sin Bin. My talents are being squandered.

Terrier Alert

I believe I qualify to join the huntin’ – fishin’ set. That should make the Manservant back in Notting Hill happy, mixing with the crowd that he does. If I sneak up quietly, I get close to those fat, dullard sea gulls on the beach. Today, I was only 10 metres away before they escaped skywards. Then I tried my paw at fishing for crabs. But those cowards just tunnelled their way away from my lethal nose. I need to design a dog snorkel.

"That's Entertainment!"

The Rents have spared no expense and brought in entertainment for me. New people to chase me for the ball! The first lot were the stooges Mum and Dad convinced to go to the premier of the mackerel festival in some odd place called Odde.

The second one was a beautiful diva.

She kept me awake by singing Janis Joplin songs really loudly late at night aided and abetted by Mum and some glasses of grape juice. Me and Janis go back a long way. I’m not sure she would approve…….

Walking to Heel

Dad thinks I need a better upbringing and has decided that I should be taught to walk “at heel” when on a lead. No more zig-zagging down the road. No more running back and forth. No more circling around them in the hope someone might just trip up and give me a laugh. No more sniffing every bush and blade of grass we pass. He thinks by making me walk to heel, I will have less stress in my life and become a calmer dog. Less stress. LESS STRESS???! HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT STRESS IS! I’LL TELL YOU WHAT STRESS IS! Stress is sitting in the back of the car for 12 hours whilst they drive across the whole length of France. Stress is going on a ferry across the North Sea and only being allowed out of the car for the shortest of breaks 3 times in 18 hours. Stress is not being given any chicken when they are having roast for dinner. THAT’S WHAT STRESS IS!!!! Still, I’ll humour him for now. He clearly needs less stress in his life, after all.

When I said Sausage Dog...

The Rents decided to stop off at a Helsingør establishment to satisfy their cravings for raw herring … do they serve that in biscuit form?

What delightful people! Immediately, even before The Rents got their yellowy-browny looking water with bubbles, a large metal goblet of finest H2O was presented to me for dégustation. I must admit to swallowing and not spitting. Then! The beautiful blond handmaiden came out with, wait for it, a sausage! For me! The Rents have had me on this spartan health-food diet, previously mentioned, so there was some looks exchanged but, as usual, my charm won them over. I’ve reached the apogee – sausage in Helsingør and streaky bacon in Notting Hill. It can’t get better than this. Life will always be different PS – post-sausage.

In the paw prints of Hamlet

For some reason, The Rents decided I needed some culture. I can’t understand why. We Scots have bags of culture, what with the bag pipes and haggis hunting. So they dragged me off to Helsingør, a town that has been pulling in tourists for hundreds of years on the back of some English guy called Shakespeare writing some play about a cigar. As far as I can see, the only decent line in the whole thing predicts my future: “The cat will mew and the dog will have its day”. I wonder if the cat is called Yorick?

PS
Damn fine people, the Danes, I don’t care what anyone says about something being rotten in the state of Denmark.

But surely there is only one me!?

What? I’m not special? There must be some mistake.
The Rents dote on me, of course. And, I am told I have a fan club in Notting Hill, which is only to be expected. My charms are not lost on the French, who call me ‘Cesar” after some matinée idol they have seen on the TV (quite understandably, given my photogenic good looks).  Even Australians adore me, for goodness sake, so no shortage of macho allure there. But it seems that in Denmark, dogs like me are 10 a penny! That can’t be right, surely.