Doggy resolutions 2014

As I'm pretty perfect, it has been difficult to come up with improvements, but in the spirit of the evening, here are the things I "resolve" to do in 2014:

• Bark less in the garden. It's tough to cut down on this because I do feel that if you sense danger, you should bark on it. And often when I'm standing in the back garden, looking up at those high surrounding walls and the houses beyond, I think: how can they be so relaxed about this? Literally anything could just leap at us and we would have no escape. Foxes, rats, pigeons: you name it, I'm sure they out there. And so I bark. But in acknowledgment of the fact that some may find this annoying, and also of the fact that I often get treats for stopping, I will cease unless it is absolutely necessary.
• Be nicer to the small one. I'll admit it: he's made a bit of an effort lately, giving me treats often, giving me bits of his food, cuddling me (although I still consider this an invasion of personal space) and generally being just a bit more predictable than previously. So unless absolutely necessary for reasons of self defence, I'll guard my snarl. 
• Not try to rip the postman's hand off. I do know it's futile - he knows it's futile too, that's why he laughs. But all the same, what if he did actually get his hand inside our door? I'm actually doing him a favour by being so vicious sounding that he has to retract it immediately. He's in less danger of getting his hand stuck. Nevertheless, again, I am probably causing unnecessary offence. He looks like a decent chap. And he hasn't actually tried to break in once yet. And I am sick of getting that paper stuck in the back of my mouth too.
• Stop getting so muddy. This one is realllllyyyyy hard as I do love mud. The problem is that every time I get muddy, they shower me. It's a nightmare. The thing I love most in the world causes the thing I hate most. It's almost karmic. I must break this perpetual cycle and be more moderate in my mud basking. I have noted that I can get away with a mere wipe of the paws if I don't overdo it. 
• Keep being my loveable self. If it ain't broke, as they say....

Guilt - and how to make the most of it. A guide for dogs.

Bone. I've gatta bone. You've not gatta bone. I've gatta bone.
Squeaky ball. I've gatta squeaky ball. You've not gatta squeaky ball. I've gatta squeaky ball.
New type of food. I've gatta... you get it now.
I've got a load of new shit. I don't know what I've done to deserve it because to be frank, I've been a seriously grumpy, aloof pups lately (yeah in fact don't call me that anymore, I'm 2 and a half).
I bark all the time at the window, especially if it is a) a skateboard b) a motorbike c) another dog d) a group of braying children. I am demanding a) of walks b) of food c) of attention. And I have made it absolutely clear that I am not interested in friendship or indeed any positive interaction with the small one (and we all know he kicks me DELIBERATELY, let's not pretend). And I smell and make deliberate efforts to smell more wherever possible by rolling in fox poo and running through stagnant muddy pools.
So I can't think why I've suddenly been bestowed with these items - rewards usually, when I've done nothing that warrants reward and in fact have been trying my damnedest to do the opposite.
I can only conclude that it must be guilt. And this is legacy guilt, I think, because they've only just started noticing me enough again to even care.
If this is the case, my new strategy should be to MAKE THEM FEEL AS GUILTY AS POSSIBLE AT ALL TIMES. I honestly don't think this should be too difficult. Glum dog face is easy. Rest head on paws, sigh excessively, lower ears and turn face to back of sofa. Job done. New treat on its way.
You humans. You are so easy to read.
Now I think about it, that's probably why they took me to that great new park the other day too. We are all getting a bit bored of the regular one. They feel guilty, they take me to a new park. Guilt - makes my world go round.

Is that a flea, or am I just pleased to see you?

There's an itch at the end of my tail. And another beneath my leg. It is a familiar itch.
Normally they do something about it instantly. They put some kind of wet stuff on my tail and neck and then the itch goes away.
This time, they said they don't have any and have to go and buy some.
Well, do so please, now, quick, because I can't go down that road to misery again.
I don't want the humiliation of a flea wash. I don't want the constant stress of having to bite the little buggers to death.
Look at me, I'm beautiful. I shouldn't have to put up with this shit.

The dread of not knowing if tonight will be the night when all of those little white eggs will suddenly hatch, hatch, pop in my fur and feast on my skin to celebrate their freedom. It is not if, it is when. This is a race against time. Just because it is Sunday night and all the shops are closed doesn't mean you can't find the wet stuff we need somewhere. You aren't trying hard enough.
Which one of you mongrels did it? Which one? Which one of you conglomerated the nest of fleas in your fur and deigned to come close enough to me to facilitate the infestation? This is why I stay away from my own kind. Seriously. They're crazy, dangerous and have fleas. I should not have fleas. I am Henry pups, the invincible. I'm a celebrity, get me out of here.

If you want to know, if they love you so it's in the food (and it isn't)

Yeah no joke I've been depressed for the last year and a bit. Couldn't write. Couldn't even think, so loud were his shrieks and wails, so frenzied his movements, it's been all I can manage to get up the stairs and hide under the bed.
The small person is now 18 months old. We are not, nor will we ever be, friends.
Yes, I might accept the treats he proffers. Yes, I might occasionally sniff his outstretched hand, or bum, and I will naturally defend him against other dogs because I can't help my instincts (I would if I could) but to me, he will always be the one that stole their affections. The usurper. The outsider. I was here first, right, and finder's keeper's.
I took a vow quite early on that I would never allow a camera to frame the two of us together. I have managed this. Here I am alone, as it should be.

I suppose I should be grateful to him for being here, because what it has taught me is I am a survivor. I know myself now. I know I can cope without cuddles, without regular bones, without the quantity of walks I had come to expect. I can cope, even, with eating those dry, hard biscuits day in, day out, which provide me only with nutritional sustenance and 0 satisfaction. I can do all of this because I am like Beyonce, independent, a survivor. But I won't pretend to like it.

They are the infidels. I will not go near them as long as he is present. I will not give them the chance to reject me further. Only when he is gone will I deign to approach and only when they have proven to me that they are undistracted by him can we be as one again, as we once were. So this is usually after about 7.30pm, when he is dormant, although this hour is getting later, which is a bit of a problem, for all of us it seems. For the longer he is awake the less, quiet, peaceful, oneness that I can have with them on the thing they call "sofa". The less they rub my neck and let me sniff their faces. Oh! I could live without food for a thousand years if they would only cuddle me!  

There has lately been talk of another potential issue. Another of the same small ones. Will they or won't they? I need to know. I need time to think about this. Honestly, the thought fills me with dread, because it would most certainly mean I will have to spend more unsupervised time with W.. W... W... I can't even say his name.

I didn't want to say this but I have to - he tried to kick me today. All because I tried to eat some of his cheese ("his" - there should be no such thing). There - I've admitted it. I'm being abused by the small one now. Luckily, Mummy (though she no longer deserves the title) did move me out the way and shouted at HIM for a change. But it does make me feel more unsafe. Even more so than I did before, what with him, the vacuum cleaner, the steam cleaner, the drill, the mop, the lawn mower and the hair dryer.

When will it end? Oh, when will it end? If only I could escape. But I can't can I? I'm here, stuck, alone, a dog in a house of imbeciles. No decent bones, no decent meat, no decent treats. Only the occasional piece of stolen cheese. A crumb of toast, sometimes with a smidge of butter. I can't take it. I need a lie down.

An arrival

Fans, I bring bad tidings. A dark cloud has descended over Henry pups (yes, third person creates a necessary distance between me and my new unfortunate reality.) There has been a new arrival, one that everyone else seems very excited about. But not Henry pups. I knew something was up when she wouldn't let me sniff him. Well, I got a foot, but that is hardly enough to go on. Then, she attached him to a part of her body I don't recall seeing much before (now I see it all the bloody time). This meant that she couldn't play with me or fuss me at all. I tried to work out what this was about for myself - I tried to lick the thing that he is permanently attached to, but I was shouted at. This was quite upsetting. Then, he cried. Fans, you have never heard anything like it. It sounds a bit like one of my squeaky toys but it lasts for longer and is more high-pitched. Mummy, what is this banshee that you have brought into our midst, and moreover, why do you appear to love it, even when it makes noise, smells of poo and stops you having fun?
These were my immediate reactions. And three months on (yes, it has taken me three months to gather my thoughts on this matter well enough to blog) I cannot say they have changed much. To be fair, it isn't really him (they call him "pie") that's the problem. It is Mummy. He is just a thing that distracts her from me. The issue is: how can she be distracted? I was her Alpha and Omega; her moon and stars. Now, I am something to feed and walk. She can say what she likes, I know the truth. And it hurts.
I tried to inform Mummy of how much by pooing and weeing all over the room in which he sleeps, the room in which they play with him and not with me, the locus of my misery: the nursery. This of course backfired and I realised as soon as I had done it that it would. But it felt good at the time. As does chewing his toys and bath sponges and lying on his soft lamby when I am wet and dirty.
One plus: I've been given a LOT more treats lately. This seems to be making it harder for me to do things like run, but God do I love it. They keep saying they feel guilty, then giving me treaties. Well all I can say is I hope they continue to feel guilty as it means more tastiness for me.
Life has become more bearable in the last couple of weeks when compared with the chaos of the first three weeks after his appearance. I mean, we do still get to go for walks, he isn't on Mummy all the time any more and he does seem to have started giving me a bit of attention, which of course is all I need to get by. And he is quite cute to look at, I suppose.
I do wonder if I will ever get over this spurn. My world has come crashing down. Think I'm exaggerating? You'd be wrong. But they don't call me Henry "tenacious" Pups for nothing. I'm the Chumba Wumba of dogs - I've been knocked down, but I will get up again, and when I do, I will climb all over him and lick his sweet little face and one day, I hope Mummy won't mind.

My whole life has changed

Me at the top of the new stairs

Apols for sounding dramatic Henry fans, but it is true. One minute I was sniffing around the stadium, weeing up the grey gates and heading in the direction of Gillespie Park, the next, after a particularly cramped car journey, I'm in a big empty house. Were we on holiday here? Well, I thought so at first didn't I. But we've been in this big house now, which has stairs that are too steep for my legs, for one month now. It has all of our stuff in it. I'm beginning to suspect this is a permanent arrangement.

Me in new park

How to feel about this? Hmm.. Well, as with everything. There are pluses and minuses. Pluses: It has a garden with diggy bits (called flowerbeds) and chewy stuff (called plants) - I'm not allowed to dig or chew these things... but I do; there are new sniffs; there is a cool park at the end of the road with new dogs in it, who are big and chasey; I can see out the front window onto the street, where people walk; there is an interesting black area in the lounge that is really nice and cool on my belly when I lie down; there is a really nice new soft furry rug in the bedroom for me to roll on.

Me looking out of window from inside

Me looking out of window from outside

Minuses: Bloody steep stairs everywhere one wants to go, the garden does not have grass, just paving, so not great for wees; I can see the people outside of the window but I can't always get them to notice me; I can see cats but I cannot chase them; mummy has erected something called a Henry gate between the kitchen and lounge, which is often closed when we get back from a walk and I'm muddy; no Jeanie; no nice concierge men.

Me in new digging pit (flowerbed - w'evs)

Me lying on nice cold black thing in lounge

So like I said, pluses and minuses. But then, there is this unsettled feeling in my tummy sometimes, like something else is about to happen, like all of this is just a precursor to something else. I reckon it is linked to the room with a door that is always closed that is full of toys that are not mine. I also reckon it might have to do with Mummy's huge tummy, which is so unfathomably large now that she has to sort of sling me over her shoulder a bit to carry me. It also means she can't bend down to catch me so easily or run to chase me - haha Mummy - you can't catch me. You are a fatty - haha. That's what I say to her sometimes when we are in the park. I'm only messing around, of course.

How to relax

It has occurred to me that you lot (people) are really rubbish at this. You fidget, you move things around, you make noise. What was it that great poem that I love said? "Go placidly, amid the noise and haste". Well I hope you don't mind the boast, but I have this DOWN, whereas you lot, well... you have a lot to learn. Here are my tips:






1) Know when to stop.

I know it can be tough when you are having fun, or doing whatever it is that you lot do in front of screens all the time, but sometimes you have to just stop, then flop, give yourself a proper break, not a half one where you are still sort of doing something else like talking on the phone. You must do nothing at all. Then you will be able to give your full energy to doing things again afterwards, like chasing pigeons, tearing up bits of tissue or saying hello to people. The reason I am able to do all these things so whole-heartedly is that I rest in-between, like this....




2) Position is everything

When you rest, you must do so somewhere quiet - cold if it is warm outside, warm if it is cold inside, preferably dark and preferably soft (although hard floors do have their own appeal). How you lie very much depends on the circumstances (btw. lying is always best - you lot sort of half sit/ half lie - just lie down!). You must be flexible. For instance, I sometimes like to lie on my back to feel the cool air on my belly, as below, but nb. only do this when you are with people/ dogs that you absolutely trust - probably not a good one for down the park:



3) I always recommend a companion for ultimate dozing satisfaction. You can lie next to them, on them, or just touching them. It is best if they are also fully relaxed, or else they might disturb you. Here are a couple of me with Daddy (usually best in the mornings as he rarely moves at all for several hours). Mummy generally moves around too much, but Lucky the Dalmatian is a reliable option too if no one else is around, given that he is inanimate.

4) Finally, let it all go loose, as Basement Jaxx once advised. There is no need to be self-conscious about what you look like when asleep, if you are, you'll miss out on the chance to sleep in all sorts of alternative locations, like on the train, in the car, in someone's house that you barely know (although honestly I find this difficult too as it is usually so exciting being somewhere else).