Cobwebs

What's that Mojo? The blog is what? Oh, yes, gathering cobwebs. 

I see what you mean. 

OK, but if we're going to blog, you're going to have to go public with your naughtiness. Yes, I will tell everyone how you ran off yesterday when Dad took you for a walk. How he watched your little fuzzy derrière disappear across the fields along to the next farm. How he had to go home with Digger, pump up the bike tyres and come out searching. How the two gents already searching for your best friend Eireann the red setter joined the hunt. How he gave up, cycled a mile home to spot you prowling up the lane. 

Let's go back a day. 

Here's Remus. Aka "The Darkness". He's huge. He's got hip dysplasia. He's also the most incredibly successful hunter. 

Anyway, Mum is weeding the veg plot and Remus lazily chases a bunny out if the grass. It does a quick left turn and bolts to the gate, where two incredulous Airedales stood with their mouths open. You've waited 8 years to catch one, haven't you, Mojo? You didn't have to squeeze it so hard did you? Dad swung into action and rescued it, only to have one of the chickens rush over and try to peck its eye. It's a horror movie. 

Anyway, since then you've been on a prey drive high and all you want to do is look for bunnies, even if that means running off. 

Here's the problem though. A few hours after you were reunited with Dad down the lane, our neighbour found that same pecking chicken deceased in their driveway. Just down that lane. Was it you? 

Digger would like to point out that he is never ever naughty. 

(And if you believe that, you believe anything - Mum)

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?

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.

Guest blogger

My dad has been wanting to do a guest post on my blog for a while. Today I thought I had no choice but to give him what he wants. As you will see, I owe him.


Mojo ate my iPod

Today I'd like to discuss the thorny topic of Airedales and expensive electronic gadgets.

It appears to me, the two don't mix.

Not at all. In fact, Mojo and I are experiencing something of a strained relationship at the moment. You see, mum's out at work all day (that's why posting has been a bit slow), but I work from home, which means lots of quality time with my Airedale.

But today I got distracted by work and forgot to think 'where's the dog' for about five minutes. And that's all it took.

One ex-iPod. Deceased. Gone. Unrepairable.

And covered in teeth marks. Glad it wasn't my hand in those jaws. Quite impressive dents in the metal backing.

But the screen has a kind of blue blood stain all over it. And it makes nasty whining noises then dies completely.

And you know the thing that really hurts? The only reason it was on the dining room table in the first place was because I'd just been wearing it while I took her out for a run. There's gratitude for you.

So, Mojo's grounded. No more blogging for her. Not until she gets me a new iPod. Or at least says she's really, really sorry.


...


Oops

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!

I was bored

My humans bore me sometimes.

They sit upstairs in their offices staring at their computers and they just don't realise I should be centre of attention AT ALL TIMES.

So I did a bit of indoor digging on the futon. Quite satisfying really as it is full of this great lumpy cotton stuff.

Mummy couldn't help but laugh, fortunately. She was grateful I didn't chew up the patterned throw which they haggled for in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul.

Heh heh.

That's for next time.

time flies

Time flies when you're having fun. I haven't posted anything for aaaages and I have so much catching up to do on my friend's blogs. I'll get there soon, I promise!

Sometimes I seem like such a big grown up girl now.



And sometimes I regress. When I'm really acting the goat I seem to look months younger.



I've been hard at work on ways to drive my parents mad. First, I let myself out of the garden into the paddock, climbed over a wall and crossed one neighbour's garden through to the next - where I walked into their house and promptly stuck my tongue in the ear of lady who was sitting on the floor with her baby. Bold as brass.

Then I went to the pub all by myself. I left dad walking down the canal towpath, shot off down the steps and across two car parks, and only hesitated when I found another dog in the pub garden. Besides, I didn't have any money to be a boozehound.

I've chased the cat a few times, wallowed in the wildlife pond at the bottom of the orchard and even found a hole in the orchard fence to take off and sneak a peek at the chicken coop in the next field. Oh, and I tried to do a huge poo in the middle of the Argos store, only mum started running as soon as she saw me squat so most of it happened out on the high street pavement. I blame the carrots I ate on that one.

I'm a bit of a handful. but I'm not losing sleep over it.

Kraken

I am the kraken under Dad's hammock. I nip his bum as he swings past. If he leaves his shoes on the grass I steal them.



If that fails to annoy, I pick on the cat. She took refuge on the compost bin, so I dragged out some rotten fruit.



and when all else fails, I chew on something.

when sharks attack

Luckily my mum and dad consume plenty of bottles of Stella Artois so that I get to kill the boxes. Funnily enough, they were going to call me Stella, but thought ordering a pint in the pub might get complicated.



I look like one of those snakes that disclocates its jaw to swallow eggs.

Have a close look at my teeth. Extra ones!

The two middle ones are my newies, but the next two are coming through before they have pushed the old ones out. so I have two rows of teeth just like any self-respecting shark.