Meet my nemesis

I have a new enemy and he lives next door.

I first spotted him when dad went round to the neighbours to discuss onions. He and Tim, our neighbour, wandered down the garden to his vegetable patch, and that's when I saw him.

He was lurking under a tree, looking suspicious. I knew instantly that he was up to no good. So I rushed over and started barking at him for all I was worth. But it had no effect at all. He just sat there, all calm and serene, with that stony stare on his face.

So I barked and barked some more, but he remains calm, impassive and serene. I don't like it. What do you think? He's got a nasty look about him, hasn't he?



It's like he's some kind of anti-dale.

The next day Tim opened the gate and I shot through and rushed over to check if he was still there. And he was sitting in the same place, the same calm, impassive expression. So I barked and barked - but nothing.

I can sense he's there through the fence. I bark at him from our garden now and then just to let him know I'm keeping an eye on him.

What do you think I should do?

Mum to Mojo - Part 4 from Airedelaide

Get your best collar on, girl. I'm on my way home. 

I set off tomorrow (Adelaide time) and arrive on Monday morning (British time). Lucky me gets sent home in business class because I need to have my foot up, and apparently I'll have a little army of people to push me round different airports and push my bags too. I even get a special car to drive me from the airport to my front door. 

It almost makes up for the weeks I'll have to endure a plaster cast.

Why does it always have to itch where I can't scratch?

Anyway, treat me gently as I have to go straight to the local hospital with jetlag to get my cast replaced. 

After that... you and me get to party!

 see you soon, crazy pupster

xxx

Mum

Mum to Mojo - Part 3

Happy birthday little pupgirl! I wish I was there to give you a proper birthday cuddle, but I'm way over the other side of the world. Sorry, my little fuzzbutt.

Still, Dad seems to be keeping things fun at your end. In fact, I have a sneaky suspicion you two are having more fun without me than when I am there. I know dad says he's tearing his hair out over your demanding ways, but we all know that's a big fib as he doesn't have any hair left to tear out.

The first time we met you, you were a tiny 4 week old pup, one of 3 girls and 5 boys. I picked you up and you did a big puddle all over my hand. But you were such a cute little sausage I didn't mind. Your fur-Dad, Zippo, was stunningly handsome and made a grand entrance. He walked straight up to your human Dad and peed up his trouser leg. Meanwhile, your fur-mum, Blade, was being a gentle sweetie whilst sneakily raiding the rubbish bin. Sound familiar? By the way, bet you didn't know that your fur-dad's grandmother was Best of Breed at Crufts. We didn't tell you before because we didn't want you to get too self-important.

The next time we met you were 7 weeks old. We had to choose between you and your little sister, the little tiny one. You were both marching around bossing us all with your needle teeth and begging attention from the Jack Russell terrier on the farm. But something just made us choose you, and so you came home with us. And life has been so much better since (despite the i-pod chewing and the cat chasing).

Happy birthday sweetie pup.

xxx

Mum

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me

Hey, guess what.... It's my birthday. I had no idea, but dad came downstairs this morning singing happy birthday (don't ask about his singing, just don't ask). He says I was born a year ago today.

He also said I'm a big girl now and have to start acting all mature and sensible. Ha ha! That's not the dale way of doing things, now is it?

He's promised to take me on a great walk, although it's raining and windy and miserable out. But I've got some new toys. Here's dad handing over the pressie:

And me cracking it open:

There were two presents inside one package:

One is a blue chewy thing that bounces a lot. It's great. The other looks like a chicken but honks like a goose. It's a great sound and sure to drive the humans mad.

Now, I'll have those back, thanks dad:

He said he thought about baking me a cake, but didn't want me to get food poisoning. You know, I don't think he has the faintest idea how to bake a cake. If only mum was here.... owwwwhhh.

He says he's got me a bag of bones instead. Yummy!

Anyway, have fun everyone. And Noah - say hello to my mum when you see her. She's out your way somewhere. You're sure to bump into her.

Mum's got a sore paw. The answer: airedale art therapy

I guess most of you have heard about my poor mum, breaking her ankle while on her trip to Australia. I told her she shouldn't go anywhere without me. Jetting off on her own like that, off the lead and everything. I should have kept her under closer control.

Now it looks like she won't be able to go walkies with me for weeks and weeks. It's not fair.

So, mum, if you see this, I hope your paw isn't hurting too much. Dad says mum and I will need to spend lots of time together when she gets back even if she can't play football in the garden or go for runs down the canal.

So he's been trying to get me interested in art, after I saw this amazing post over at Scruffy, Lacie and Stan's Place.

Lacie posted about this amazing airedale Cassie who creates artwork by painting nose goob onto the household windows. Her owner Beth - who is a real artist, by the way - then does amazing things with them on the 'puter.

I don't think I've got Cassie's natural artistic ability. And I know for a fact that dad is no artist. He's as bad at photoshop as he is with a camera.

But we thought we'd have a go, to show our appreciation of the great airedale art being produced by Cassie and Beth.

This is dad's office window. It's where I stand to check out what's going on in the garden, and if the cat's are on the conservatory roof. It's the work of many, many months. (Dad says he doesn't 'do' cleaning.)

It's been jiggled about a bit, dad says:



Then we had some fun:



A bit more messin':




Some tweaks and changes:



Dad says: "Look out, Rothko, here we come." But who's Rothko? Is he a dale?



Then dad started getting carried away. I tried to stop him but he was off before I could get a lead round his neck:





If you want to see how it should be done, check out Cassie's blog. She's one talented dale.

Mum to Mojo - Part 2

Girl, you're having so much fun! Glad to see you have got Dad firmly under control and extending his creativity with all those photos. Hilarious! I'm most disturbed by the one where you are just a double head on the floor with no body. Eeeeewwww! 

I hear you are keeping Dad active and making sure he attends to your every need. And that you have also come into season big-time so he has to keep you under close control. Bad timing! Now remember what I told you about those boy dogs - don't believe all the promises they make. They are blinded by your hormones. And your sweet pup-girl face. Such a cutie! 

I don't know if Dad told you yet, but I've had a bit of an accident on this trip. I was on Mount Olssen Bagge at Wilpena Pound and broke my ankle. I had to get 2km back down a really steep track with rock slopes, then wait two days before I could get to a hospital. So now I am in a plaster cast and wondering how I am going to get home. Most terrible is the thought that I won't be able to take you for a walk for weeks and weeks. So poor old Dad is going to be your walk buddy a bit longer. I just hope that you treat me gently and don't barge my crutches. Perhaps I could tie you to the front of a wheelchair and you could pull me around everywhere. That would be fun! 

Anyway, catch you soon girl. Give Dad a big hairy kiss but don't tug his beard so much.  

And big hugs to all our blog buddies too. I'll have a big catch-up when I get back, but hope all is well for you in the meantime. 

xxx 

Mum

Uh oh, I'm in trouble again

Dad: "Mojo, I thought we weren't going to mention the new laptop."

Mojo: "?" (tilts head to one side and furrows brow).

Dad: "You know, it's a need-to-know basis and all that."

Mojo: "Well she was going to find out sometime. Besides, I thought you said it's an essential business tool, an 'investment in your personal productivity.' Huh?"

Dad: "Yes, but....I wasn't going to mention it just yet."

Mojo: "So what's with all the secrecy? Is it 'cos you're a spy?"

Dad: "I'm not a spy, Mojo."

Mojo: "My friends say you're a spy."

Dad: "Well, I'm not. I'm a writer."

Mojo: "You're a writer?" (looks puzzled). "So how come your typing's so bad?"

Dad: "I'll ignore that."

Mojo: "So, do you write spy novels or something?"

Dad: "No, of course not."

Mojo: "Hmmm. I still don't understand. Why all the secrecy then?"

Dad: "Oh, never mind."

Experimental photography time

In comments on a previous post, Stanley asked if there's a camera still at my house, 'cos dad hasn't been posting many photos. (Mum's away on a trip).

Well, there is a camera, but the truth is that dad doesn't know one end of it from the other. He's completely clueless.

But there is another camera which he does know how to use and that's the one built into his computer. It's nothing fancy but it does come with some neat special effects. So dad and I have been experimenting. We're building up towards a major exhibition one day. So here you are Stanley - a sneak preview of the work so far.

This is one from my pop art phase:



This one I call 'Swirly Kiss':



This one I call 'Hey, Big Nose':



This is entitled 'What are you doing, dad?':




This is a series; we're still working on a title for it. Any ideas? Maybe 'Double Vision':









Dad says this one looks a bit scary:



But this last one has a very strange effect on him. Whenever he looks at it he rocks back and forward in his chair howling with laughter. I think he's cracking up. It's a good job I'm here to take care of him.

Dad says he's going to use this pic to audition as the next Dr Who. He says I can be his trusty assistant:

Mum to Mojo - part 1

Mum here, sitting in an internet cafe in Alice Springs. How's my pup? Missing you like crazy, girl (and Dad too, but don't tell him).

I've been keeping my eyes out for other 'Dales, but so far have seen very few dogs. I think you would find it a bit too hot for your fuzzy coat here, and the sand would get a bit hot on your oh-so-sensitive paws. I did meet a proper crocodile up in Kakadu National Park - 7 metres long (21 foot) which made me realise that your crocoDale antics, whilst toothy and a bit wicked, are mild in comparison. Mind you, if I held your food on the end of a rope I reckon you would jump out of the river too.

Met a fantastic little 4 month old Jack Russell called Chilli who took a shine to me. Ignored the crowd of other people at lunch and followed me around. Even stuck his nose under the toilet door and barked at me until I came out again. I think he sensed a terrier-trained human.

Then one day we stopped to talk to a delightful young wallaby called Pixie and this chunky battle-scarred cattledog called Rusty barged in, threw down a stick and said "forget the wallaby, THROW THE STICK". Which I did. Repeatedly. I'll show you the photo when I get home. What a great dog.

So I can't wait to get back spend some time with you. Actually, I think I owe Dad about 3 months of dog duty. I hope you are ready to hang out with me and don't sulk.

By the way, you made me cry when I left on the train, and you pulled that face at me. I think I made it all the way to Taunton before I could safely put the tissues away.

big hugs girl. And be nice to the cats.

Blogging from the garden on the new woofi network

Great news for the summer: I'm going to be able to blog from the garden. Dad can type for me using the new laptop connected wirelessly to my blog using his new woofi network.

Or at least, I think that's what he called it.

I'm not certain why it's called a "woofi" network. At first I thought it was in my honour. But no one calls me "woofi" except my grandad. And mum says that's 'cos he's forgetful and can't remember my name.

Dad never calls me "woofi". And he knows my name because he uses it all the time:

"Mojo no."

"Mojo off."

"Mojo stop barking."

So I figure it must be something to do with the whole wireless thing. The laptop must communicate with my blog using woofs and barks - just like us dogs do, from one garden to another.

So I've resolved to help dad out with this as much as I can. I'm going to keep the woofi network topped up by barking as much as possible. Every time I'm out in the garden, I'll bark and bark at nothing in particular.

Of course, I do this anyway. But now I have a reason, and that makes it even more fun.

Boo hoo hoo!

I miss my mum. She's gone away for five whole weeks and I really, really miss her. It's only been a couple of days. She won't be back for ages!

The house just seems so quiet without her. I'm doing a lot of barking at the moment, just to fill the silence. Dad joins in too, although sometimes it sounds like he's shouting at me. That can't be the case, though. I mean, why would he?

Dad's been trying to make it up to me. He's been giving me extra walks 'cos he thinks I'll be easier to deal with. Ha! We'll see who wins that particular battle, won't we. I got him good and proper yesterday. He took me for a run in the morning, then put me in a crate and went to play tennis - for TWO WHOLE HOURS. So, he was running around while I was resting. When he got back, all tired and everything, did I give him hell?

What do you think?

He had to play in the garden, then down the field with the tennis balls, and then had to take me on a big walk. He was exhausted by the end of the day, but I was still up for more mischief. Last time he tries that, I reckon.

So, anyway, Dad's typing for me while mum's away, so if I sound a bit different don't worry. I've not got a cold or anything. It's just Dad. It's the way he types.

He's obviously feeling guilty about Mum going away as he's been trying to make it up to me. He took me shopping the other day and we got a new toy.

I love it. And I hate it.

I love it because it's really light and bouncy and dad kicks it up in the air. It's good to chase but never goes too far.

I hate it because I can't get it in my mouth. I can't quite get my teeth around it. I can't quite.... growwwhhh. But I'll keep trying. I'll keep trying. I'll keep trying. I'll keep trying.

I'm a terrier, you know.

you have to see this

Next time your humans accuse you of shedding too much hair, tell them read this and get busy:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/tyne/7304452.stm

I wonder if that much of my hair will still be on the carpet 12 years after I die?

what? where?

I'd rather be telling you how pleased I am to be lounging on Mum & Dad's bed. And I'd rather you took a moment to admire my special bedhead moustache.

But instead you get my OH MY DOG face.


Mum just told me something she's known for ages. She's off to Australia for 5 weeks, and she's going on Friday. This is terrible!

Who's going to give me those shoulder massages that send me all droopy? Who's going to give me butt scritches that make me pull pointy grinning faces? Who's going to tell me I'm a beautiful girly a hundred times a day? *sob* I bet the cats won't even come out of the bedroom to stare at me through the puppy gate without Mum as a peacekeeping force. I hate her I hate her I hate her.

Now don't get me wrong; I love my Dad too. And as he works from home he gets to be my personal butler all day and night. But I have a horrible feeling he will want to go and have a life at some point - like play a game of tennis - and that means I'll be put in my crate. I'm 11 months old tomorrow and the longest they have ever left me is 2 hours.

Talking of my age, I'm going to have my 1st birthday and Mum WON'T EVEN BE THERE.

I hope you feel duly sorry for me.

Mum here:
Oh boy do I feel guilty. And I haven't even told the cats yet. I'm off on a marvellous trip and I feel really bad about leaving the furry monsters behind (that includes the man). Fingers crossed the man will be able to get some rest in between his heavy workload and his butler duties. Fingers crossed the cats don't need to be administered tablets for any reason. Fingers crossed they don't all vote to change the locks while I'm gone.

I'm going to be crossing the continent from Darwin down to Adelaide, right through the red heart of the country and right to the heart of a unfulfilled wish from when I was a 7-year-old. I'll be the palest, oldest, plumpest backpacker on the trip but that's just fine with me!

I'm bravely handing over the blog password to the man so he can carry on posting on Mojo's behalf - if he finds a moment's peace. I'll be able to get my pup fix on the move. All we have to do now is find a way to get Mojo to wear a headset without chewing it and we'll be able to Skype each other too!

I'll have a mountain of catching up to do when I get back, but I hope you all stay healthy, happy and wise.

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.

snapshot

A few minutes ago the conversation went like this:


Mum: Wow, there's a sparrowhawk sitting on the garden fence.

Mojo: Wow, Mum is eating a chicken and ham slice.

Mum: (grabbing camera) If I get to the other window I might be able to catch a photo.

Mojo: (grabbing pie) Mmmm nom nom nom

Mum: NO! BAD GIRL!

Mojo: Why don't you swap out the 70mm lens for the 300mm one?

Mum: Good idea.

Mojo: nom nom nom

Mum: OY!!!

Mojo: I was only cleaning up the crumbs I dropped the first time.

Mum: Aw, now look - the bird's gone.

Mojo: Still a bit of pie left. You won't want it now it's got fluff from the floor stuck to it.

Mum: Want a bet?

Mojo: Anyway, that's a really blurry shot.

Mum: That's because I was shooting through a window covered in dog nose marks.

Mojo: Blame me for everything, why don't you? Just because I chased that pheasant across the field this morning, and yeah, OK, I did run off and swim a stream the other day to chase a deer, but it was running off anyway, and sure, I've dug all the stuffing out of the futon again and I can't help it if my puppy farts are so evil you want to get out of the car and let me drive myself home. But you're just having a bad photography day and it's not my fault.

Mum: (sigh) I know. And you're so cute.

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.)