Goof o'clock

Every night, around tea time, the Dales remind us why we no longer have a nice garden.

If it won't bounce back from the horizontal, it's done for.

Ahem

I'm pretty certain the cats are not to blame for this:

It's a pretty thorough disembowelling of the futon.  Notice the yellow throw that was moved over first. With added cardboard box shreddings for a scene of complete devastation.

The process:
Firstly Digger notices the cotton tassels that tantalisingly hold the filling in place
Then Mojo decides to have a lie down which requires a quick dig before circling a few times and going flump.
The digging opens a tiny rip, right next to a tassel which Digger is keeping an eye on.
They take turns to poke said hole.
They take turns burying a tennis ball in the hole to surprise themselves with.
As the daleks would say: EX-CA-VATE, EX-CA-VATE

We used to have another futon sofabed years back, which Mojo dealt with in her puppyhood. Some things never change, eh?

Pups go wild

In the years Before Airedales we used to love going camping, but since Mojo arrived we've only been twice. At first she was too young for the walking, then I had a broken ankle, then she had a crisis of hip dysplasia, then Digger arrived and was too young. Oh, and the weather. Did I mention the weather? This summer has been the wettest on record, and when the sun shines we seem to be nursing sick dogs. Bah. So this weekend was our last chance and we headed out to our favourite camping spot at Stoke Barton Farm on Hartland Point, north Devon.

While we set up the tent Digger sniffed the sea air and Mojo had her happy grin on.

It's a fabulous campsite, huge and uncrowded, high above the sea. See those spikes on the left in the next pic? That's the highest church tower in Devon but it's hiding behind the hill. Every trip back from the facilities meant a race down the hill.

Digger is fast. He gets down long and low, and thunders past Mojo.

The bottom of the camping field has a gate to this path:

And this is what is on the other side of the hill. Can you imagine a better place to camp?

We headed  to the beach that you can see just peeking out from behind St Catherines Mount. As with any walk along this coast there's a lot of steep up and down, and dogs have to be firmly on a lead because of the cliff edges. But we were in luck as the tide was out.

As usual, Mojo swam but Digger was a wimp and ran away from the tiny waves. Mojo didn't want to leave, but we had a thirst and the pub was a few hills along.

We had a well-earned pint at the Wreckers Retreat at Hartland Quay, beneath the spectacular cliffs. Sadly no dogs allowed on this beach, but plenty of people willing to feed their fish 'n chips to two Airedales who give such sad hungry eyes.

And afterwards a steep haul back up the cliff to get back to the tent.

So did the Dales behave in the tent? Was it an Apocalypse of Airedales? I'll let you know next installment. :)

Winter goes on and on

Winter can be so dreary.

But I'm always a bag of laughs.

Especially when we get a bit of sunshine and a mad run around. Very rarely, I get worn out:

But usually I just keep running and running.

Sometimes I have fat legs.


And sometimes I have thin legs.

But I'm always pack leader.

how I like my walkies

Here's how to do a walk properly....

If you see mud, get in quick

Lower yourself in and feel the coolness on your belly

Experiment with different consistencies of puddle

Then stink the car out on the way home

Will you all still play with me?

Oh dear. I haven't posted since Boxing Day which is RIDICULOUS. So many of you have sent me messages to ask how I am, which has been most wonderful. I feel like I should have some kind of sensible explanation but all I can do is blame Mum. First we had relatives to stay, then she came down with some bug that laid her out, then she went back to work. Next thing I knew, I hadn't been visiting anyone's blogs for ages and felt too guilty to post on my own. Now, if only dogs had opposable thumbs like humans, I would be able to ditch Mum and use the computer myself.

But I miss all my buddies. Some, like Cassidy, seem to have doubled in size while my back has been turned. So I hope you might forgive me and let me run with the pack again.

In the absence of a good shot to show you how grown up and lovely I am at 10 months old, here's one of me at a mere 8 weeks. My first visit to the pub, and I'm a natural boozehound. I love licking the outside of pint glasses. I also try to sneak my tongue into the inside when no-one's looking, but that gets frowned upon.


And here is the video from Christmas Day that Mum was editing just as the relatives arrived. If you ever wondered how daft an Airedale can be....




Like the way I can roll my tail up like a party tooter?
(Hope the video works for you. For some reason Blogger refuses to play it to the end for me.)

from the doghouse

Dad is still going on about his iPod.

I know I was wrong to munch it. I know it was expensive. But hey!!! Get over it already! I've tried to point out that it was his fault for leaving it within reach, but that went down like a lead balloon.

It's not that he's being horrible to me or anything - he's the same pushover for a goofy face as he ever was. It's just that he manages to mention it in so many conversations and I'm sick of feeling guilty. And I'm also worried that he's going to let Santa know, which would be a tragedy.

So anyway, I'm practising my guilty face. Do you think this will work?


There's a perception that I'm the naughty one in this house. But this morning something happened that can't be blamed on me. Mum was gathering up her clothes to put in the wash, and reached under the chair in the bedroom to pick up what she thought was one of her brown hiking socks. It was a dead rat.

Despite both cats, Newt and Possum, being curled up tightly in a deep snoring sleep there's no doubt it was one of them. The bedroom is a cat safety zone protected by a dog gate. So no-one can blame me.

oh my oh my

Gosh I've been far too quiet for far too long. Many thanks to my wonderful friends who worried where I had disappeared to.

It's all Mum's fault as usual. First she got sidetracked sorting out photos to submit to an exhibition (if you want to take a peek, they are on her Flickr site). Then the weather went foul - 70 mph winds - and she wouldn't bring the camera out with us. Then she went and got a job. Ridiculous. The temp agency called late on Monday afternoon and she was in work the next morning. I was not at all happy that she would leave the house without me and be gone for so long unsupervised. I've been driving Dad mad. At least he has the good sense to work from home.

Anyway, she's under strict instructions to get her act together this weekend. Look at what has been happening whilst she has been so useless:

Not one, but two glorious golden roses have come my way. The first was from my fantastic buddies Maggie and Mitch. Do you know, they sent me a Christmas card and it was the first card to arrive at our house. Can you imagine how great it felt for me to have a card before my mum and dad got any? Ha ha! Priceless!

The second one was from the ever-wonderful Bogart. Bogart was the first dog blog my family ever saw. In fact, it was one of the reasons my mum and dad decided that they really needed an Airedale to spice up their life. So getting a rose from Bogey made me run loop-the-loop round the house with excitement.

I'm going to send this rose on over to Molly and Gertrude. We still haven't met in person though we've had walkies in the same forests. But you are two big-hiking adventure loving girls, so I know when we do meet there's going to be some serious wrestling and chasing to be done.


Here's a few pics of what I've been up to over the last few weeks. This is walking on Culmstock Beacon the day after the 70mph winds and lashing rain. Cold and windy, but lots of splashing to be done in the stream running along the path.


How ridiculous do I look here?


I'm getting used to the frosty weather and it still doesn't stop me going for a swim in the canal a couple of times every day.

Now, this is 100% pure Airedale. We were bred to hunt along riverbanks and here I am diving into the undergrowth along the canal bank. Check that curly wurly tail!



Right, I'd better catch up with what you have all been up to. Hairy kisses to you all.

wash 'n go

Rivers and open spaces are heaven to a dog.



(Mum here: never realised I had such a weird voice when talking to Mojo. Ho hum)

Strange walk, this one. On the way out, we saw virtually no-one. Oh, apart from one big black labrador who came out of nowhere, wrestled me to the ground, peed up a tussock of grass then ran off again into the distance. Kind of like an alien visitation.




On the way back, though, it was like someone had flicked a switch and all the humans had come to life. I guess they had all finished their Sunday roast and thought they had better walk the dogs before it got dark. It became a pooch party. So many dogs! Big, small, hairy, smooth, young, old. We'd form temporary packs then move off in different directions, then form a new pack somewhere else. My favourite was a young retriever girl called Truffle. Even her name nearly rhymes with wrestle!

So anyway, my advice is this: if you want a great run around with loads of other dogs, go to Uffculme on a winter Sunday for about 3.30pm.

pupgirl faces

This is my bored face


This is my sleeping face


This is my 'sorrow for sausages' face, so called because I pull the miserable pup routine if I think it'll get me sausage treats.


And this is my cutie pupgirl face.

finally...

Finally we have video. Mum installed a firewire card in her computer this morning so at last we can get video off the camera. She didn't blow the house up so she must have done it right.

Both these videos were shot in the gloom so they are not exactly high quality, but they make us laugh.

The first one is me larking around like a silly idiot with a piece of rawhide chew.



I nearly poleaxed Mum with this chew a few minutes later - I flung it hard and it smacked her right in the forehead. Now THAT would have been a good video! Since then, I've been told to cool it in case I break the tv or a light or something.

The second one is... er, how shall I put this nicely... of a windy day. The idea was to show how I can bark on command, but I started to bark at the other end too. I am not entirely thrilled to be embarrassed in this way on the internet.



I got the last laugh, though, because as Mum was editing this I sneaked into her office and dropped another one. She thought she was hallucinating with her nose. Smell-o-vision.

Hairy monsters

Some bright spark said that Airedales don't shed. After yesterday I need to set the record straight.

You see, Dad had a potential client come to see him, and most unusually they decided to drop in on him at home. This meant that Mum had a lot of tidying up to do. As the day wore on, it became more and more apparent that I have haired this house good and proper.

Maybe I don't shed that much, but I need grooming, and that means fur escaping. Mum has been hand-stripping my coat so hair has got into her clothes, which have gone in the washing machine, which has distributed them evenly over all the rest of the clothes.

As you probably know, Airedales have a double coat - a wiry top layer and a soft fine undercoat. Well, the undercoat hairs lie flat on clothing and cling as effectively as cat hairs. Mum swears they are magnetic. The wire hairs have gone a step further, and poked themselves into the fabric where they are anchored firmly and won't let go. Hair shirt anyone? Do you know how itchy a hair bra is? All this time I thought Mum had fleas, but it's just me sabotaging her underwear.

She was cleaning the bathroom and realised everything was completely furred up. It seems that every time they shower me I have a good shake afterwards - hey presto - the bathroom is 100% hairy.

Let's just pass over the fact that the living room carpet has all these marks on it from when I have rawhide chews and smear soggy goob on the floor. Special soggy goob - this stuff dries as hard as the original hide chew. We'll ignore the bitey damage to the wooden frame of the futon sofa. And turn a blind eye to the frayed corners of the living room carpet - I don't mean to rip it up all the time, it's just that I have a strong instinct to dig a bed.

The client meeting was held over a tablecloth of beautifully-ironed, pale-green linen patterned with black wire fur. Dad wore a nice dark shirt patterned with undercoat fluff. I was taken out for a five mile walk, but came back just in time to interrupt the meeting. It has to be said that I was soaked - it was raining buckets out there yesterday - so I got the sympathy vote before being hustled out to the conservatory.

I don't think it fair that I was not allowed near the client. I only wanted to ensure he was hairy too by the time he left!

Dear Mystery Friend

Dear Mystery Friend

Thank you so much for the present you left me this morning. It was incredibly thoughtful of you. Imagine my delight whilst having my usual morning shuffle down the lawn to discover half a fresh rabbit waiting for me!

I don't mind in the least that you had the head, and indeed, most of the flesh too. I found more than enough interest in the skin, bone and remaining flesh to pass the time most happily.

Unfortunately Dad spotted me hurling said corpse around the lawn, and imprisoned me. As I am too big to fit through the cat flap any more, I could only watch in disbelief as he shoveled it up and took it away. Afterwards I did go and and perform a thorough search for any other bits, but to no avail.

By the way, was it you that left the really smelly decaying rabbit just the other side of the fence a few weeks ago? I did a good job of digging under the fence to get to that, but again I was thwarted by Dad. So thank you for leaving it somewhere instantly accessible this time.

Why don't you stop one day for a play? I'm sure we would get on really well.

cheerio
Mojo



Dear fox

I suppose you think that was funny? Actually, it was gross.

We endure you catching chickens from the free-range chicken farm down the road and using our orchard as a dining table. You even buried an egg in the veg patch once. And we're thankful that you seem to have got over your obsession with repeatedly pooing in the same place outside the outhouses.

OK, we did find it funny the time you stole the teletubbies ball from the little girl down the road and left it on our lawn. Did you know they were watching you at 3am as you played football with it round their garden before you brought it to us?

But this rabbit thing has got to stop. Mojo does not need encouragement. She is already Mistress of the Forbidden Snack and, frankly, once she's rolled in dead things she stinks.


best regards
Mojo's mum

It's a pup's life

Another glorious sunny morning, so we went right down the bottom of the garden. First up, stand on the heap and stare at the sheep.

It's a wildlife pond, right? And I'm a wild child.

Next up, diggerdog. Whilst making foolish grunty grumbles, naturally.

Run about a bit.
Roach under the apple trees.

Initiate tuck-butt-run boosters.

Where'd I go?

Ahoy, me hearties!


Wish you were here!

Pup heaven

It's sunny. I've been in the canal. And what's that? A swan feather??

GIMME!!!!

Oh happy day!