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.

"Dude! No way!" "Way Dude"

My new health regime is already showing results. Better looking coat, 2 long beach walks every day, no cats so no stress and lots of quality time with the Rents. I have gone hard core and now insist on sneaking lots of big slurps of sea water each time I go paddling. There is nothing like a good purge to increase inner beauty and I manage to purge quite a lot after my briny refreshments. The Rents aren’t happy about it but hey! They’re the ones that keep me on a strict health food diet and you know what that means – no sugar, no red meat and NO SALT. So I say, never look a gift ocean in the mouth and with 2 walks a day, I’m taking saline as often as I can!

Looking this good is a full time job

At not inconsiderable expense, the Rents have been kind enough to bring me to some kind of spa. It is a huge expanse, very clean and absolutely no-one else on it. There is plenty of sand to roll in and exfoliate. There is a sea with crashing waves, which I guess is a bit like thalassotherapy without the hoses. I have been courageous enough to go in up to my shoulders although I have so far refused flotation therapy.  And there are copious amounts of only slightly smelly seaweed. I have discovered the joys of seaweed wraps and must say that my coat has never looked or felt better.

Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen!

Aahh! Country life. A cabin in the forest, a beach close by.  The Rents* on the sofa reading. Me, patrolling the perimeter. This is the life. The Manservant in Notting Hill first introduced me to squirrels but they were those drab grey things, which I guess is the trendy colour for anything in Notting Hill these days, from living rooms to vermin. But here, they have squirrels  a bit like a Fiat 500 – red with a white stomach - and they are in the trees, 10 metres from our back door. When I get let out for my constitutional, they run around the tree tops, tormenting me, whilst I sit patiently at the bottom of the trees, waiting for the day one of them will loose his grip and fall into my clutches. They even chase each other up and down the tree, spiraling as they play chase but the dratted things don’t even give me a sporting chance. Damn cowards.

* paRENTS – acknowledgement to Gracie.

"Treat yourself my good man"

It's time to go. Mum and Dad have returned to collect me.

I sign the guest book

and bid farewell to the staff, tipping the faithful retainer with a half chew bone.

Once my bags are packed and I have them bought to the car, there is just time for a modest acceptance of their gushing thanks for the gifting of my visit and a final "au revoir", before I must depart, a soldier of fortune, a gambler of fate, a sniffer of tails, not knowing where I shall next land and who shall fall in love with me next. To bear the burden of so many hopes and dreams is the weight I must carry.

I am forever, Findlay

In honour of my victory...

...the manservant and I watch one of my favourite films.

The Mummy

"You're a big man, but you're in bad shape. With me it's a full time job. Now behave yourself."

D-Day. Time to screw ones courage to the sticking post. The manservant and I head for the garden.

A morning rendezvous, that's when those verminous Squirrels like to show.

So we wait, and wait, and eventually we realise, they're no-shows - yellow bellied, craven cowards.
We won the mental battle, psyched them out. Victory through superior firepower.

I trot back inside. Nothing needs to be said. The manservant and I are quietly pleased. I feel a nap is in order

"Don't know much trigonometry..."

The benefit of a classical education is that you appreciate Pythagoras both for his mathematics and his love for dogs.
I realise that the wily old Greek can help with my Squirrel mission. Strength and speed are not enough. Cunning and intellect will even the competition. I remember Sun Tzu's teachings about the victor choosing the battlefield and compose a plan.

I shall need the manservants unwitting help.

First I encircle the Squirrels tree with my lead, doubling back to the manservant to enclose it in a U-shaped strap of material. Then I proceed to run around the tree, compelling the manservant to run after me to avoid the lead being entangled. By performing this orbit around the tree, evntually we should be able to saw through the trunk like a prisoner escaping through good dental hygiene, bringing down the Squirrels fortress and delivering a knockout blow to their morale.

Sadly the manservant proves inadequate to the task and we retire inside after only ten minutes of effort.

Good help truly is hard to find.

The first rule about dog club is...

...you don't talk about dog club

While the manservant and I are training in the hotel grounds - track-work, sprinting, etc. - , we've been stopped at various times by other people with dogs, who comment they haven't seen us before.

The manservant normally explains I'm not a resident, but has stopped mentioning it after seeing so many disappointed expressions.

"The boys are back in town"

The Hotel boss has had to go oversee the country establishment and left the manservant in charge with me.

I've decided he needs a a bit of a makeover, help him with his goals, smarten him up.

First order of the day - Facials

"Roll out the Barrel" - no, that's St Bernards

Another evening's entertainment and adventure. Tonight another hotel guest is coming to stay. She likes me so I like her - that's the way it works.

The manservant and I are sent out to fetch drinks for the dinner (I think the hotel management see me as a guiding influence on him - a mentor, someone he can look up to and learn from).

First we stop in a bin shop, it seemed an odd place to get drinks, but I suppose the name did describe it as such. Whilst the manservant paid and carried, I accepted the proffered treat sample offered from behind the shopkeepers counter.

Then we pass the previous night's den of iniquity. I feel I must enter and make my apologies but am deterred by my companion. I suppose that is sensible, he strikes me as the type to be unable to resist the siren call and being quite a heavy fiend, I would be unable to drag him back unaided.

Finally, we stop at another merchants store to complete our order. Upon exit, the manservant finds attempting to co-ordinate carrying two bags of glassen containers while maintaining a hand on my lead to guide him, was too much. With a sudden crash, one of the bottles falls and smashes on the road.

I must confess the sound of a beverage being broken on a hard surface bought back memories of my early days, learning to fight amongst the coarser social elements where any weapon was fair game.. I reacted instinctively, casting around for something with which to "tool up", but luckily my Sensei's words came back to me - "The wise pup seeks not confrontation, but rather looks for the discarded bone whilst others fight, and is the real victor".

With discretion as my guardian angel, I conducted my clumsy but well meaning friend back to the hotel and vowed not to say a word.

"You gotta give some to get some"

Today, whilst wandering the hotel grounds I unearthed three wonderful smelly pre-loved tennis balls.

To ensure that the karmic scales were balanced, I was required by the Dog code to leave three of my finest "bottom loaves".

The management complained about the extra work required to harvest them, but Rome wasn't built in a day.

I use a stunt double for publicity shots...

It's St Patrick's day and the hotel management has given the manservant the evening off to slake his brutish thirst for "the black stuff".

He's been given his wages and warned not to spend it all on drink. I know what she's talking about. Many a good dog has been led astray by the demon tipple, unable to resist a puddle or toilet bowl.

However She runs her fiefdom with a firm but fair hand and suggests I escort him along so I might see some of the low town nightlife and keep an eye on him.

Upon entry to one of the local establishments a large bowl of water is placed in front of me - drinks on the house, that's the kind of treatment I like.

Sadly it all degenerates from there with free drinks galore and I confess I may have ended up pressing myself upon strangers.

Truly I ain't nothing but a hound dog.

I speak French and English Westie - what else can I do?!

Today I inquired politely of the hotel management if I may be entertained, or I tried to alert them to something, or I was practicing my voice exercises - I honestly can't remember which one it was.

"Wah! Wah Wah Wah! Grrr!"


However, as plainly as I was speaking, they just looked at me with mute incomprehension.

But being a patient fellow, I don't mind repeating my inquiry 20 or 30 times.

Not a lot happening this morning

A 5 a.m. start to return to the boutique hotel after yesterday's forced march means there isn't much to say and not much energy to say it with.

I would drop and give you 50, but I have short legs

More training, endurance work this time. A ten mile hike across broken terrain with a break for lunch at the midpoint.

The hotel owner’s friends join us for this one and they bring their staff, a rather dull-witted fellow in charge of the orienteering who immediately announces he has forgotten the map.

I understand not everyone has, shall we say, the gifts some of us take for granted but in the same way one would think a doctor would remember to bring a scalpel and a lawyer would wear their wig…

"I like to hunt the most dangerous game of all - Man! Wait, no, I mean Squeaky Tiger"

Me

Him

If I'm going to bring down the squirrels, I need to be at my peak, honed, at the apex of the food chain. They can't all be spa days. I need to ensure I'm fighting fit. I need to be Rocky - with a training montage.

While the manservant cracks half a dozen raw chew sticks into a glass, I start with some stalking practice.

You were good Squeaky - but I was better.

Eye of the Tiger, my friend, Eye of the Tiger.

"One has an obligation..."

The manservant is ordered to take me to the park while She shops. This is a proper holiday break. I get to meet the locals, sniff out the vibe, run around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around.

Eventually the manservant tires of chasing me. While I would like to stay out, one mustn’t abuse the staff – “Noblesse Oblige” and all that.

"What is a weekend?"

The hotel owners have decided to upgrade me for the weekend and laid on a private car to chauffer me to their sister establishment in the country.

It's good to be me.

"Who's the gopher's ally? His friends. The harmless squirrel and the friendly rabbit. "

I get a proper tour of the grounds and immediately notice they have a vermin problem.

Squirrels.

Two of them run in front of me. Brazen and unashamed.
I must smite them, I am God’s instrument. My will is firm, my mission is righteous, my lead is just a bit too short.

Next time, there will be a reckoning. Next time...

I can't manage a cheese toothpick with paws

The hotel owners are having guests over for dinner. While I am slightly upset not to be offered a menu and find the water in my bowl a plain and adequate vintage, I do take solace in my Gallic charms once again ensuring a tummy scratch from the female guest.

I am sauvé, I am enchanté, and when everyone asks "oh my God, what is that awful smell?", I am "economical with the actualité"

"And which room is mine?"

Big day arrives and I arrive.  Dad drops me off at the hotel and I meet the carer.
I remember her! Tummy scratches!
I like it already. But something’s missing – didn’t she have some kind of manservant help? He’d better show up soon because that food bowl won’t fill itself, and I don’t tip for less than excellent.

Adventure Anglais

Mum and Dad are going away. They can't or won't take me. I suspect there is new food and they don't want to share it.
But they are placing me in care with friends, who apparently have experience with Westies. I am spending a week in fashionable inner city London rather than French country-side.
I am fine. I am adaptable. I fit in anywhere.
Although...
They've told me it's a mixed vibrant multi-cultural area. I think that means there are Scotties there also.