Rigg the Pig

It’s been nearly a whole month since my last blog post and lots has happened - I’ve been too busy editing Volume 2 of my memoirs to blog so I’m going to catch up now…

Me and Whitevanwoman went to see the fireworks in the village on Bonfire Night. I’ve been to a firework display before, when I was only about 6 months old, and I learned that when a noisy rocket goes up in the air and explodes, Whitevanwoman would give me a biscuit. I’ve always remembered that and so I’ve never been frightened of fireworks the way lots of dogs are, because to me, fireworks mean food, and that is a good thing. So having spotted Whitevanwoman putting some dog biscuits into the pocket of her dog walking coat, I was very enthusiastic about going to see the fireworks again this year.

Even though we were stood quite a long way from the fireworks, it was still very noisy and although I wasn’t particularly scared (because I was focused on the pocket of biscuits), I didn’t like the loud bangs very much as they hurt my ears a bit. So after taking a couple of photos, I firmly but gently took Whitevanwoman back home.

Then the next day we went to visit the Madhouse for the weekend, and there were more fireworks that night in the garden. This time I had to stay in the van because Whitevanwoman didn’t want the Madhouse to get infested with fleas (Mary Moo would not have been best pleased and there might not have been any leftovers for me anymore), but to be honest, dog biscuits or not, I wasn’t that bothered about missing out on the fireworks and was happy enough curled up in my bed in the white van.

The following weekend we went off in the white van again, this time to visit Purple Paula and her husband Haydn. Unfortunately Sophie the Slayer lives with Purple Paula I am a little ashamed to admit it but I am just a little bit scared of Sophie the Slayer (Ok, I’m VERY scared of Sophie the Slayer). Sophie might only be half the size of me, but she is possessed of a killer instinct where other dogs are concerned, particularly with other dogs who dare come into her kennel. Whitevanwoman and Purple Paula managed to keep Sophie and I in separate rooms for most of the time we were staying there but unfortunately on one occasion, Sophie did manage to get the door open and launched herself on me, taking me by surprise, and, to be honest, frightening me to death. I squealed in alarm as I’ve never been in a proper fight before and I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but before Sophie could sink her teeth into me, Purple Paula did the most amazing rugby tackle on Sophie and sat on top of her. I beat a hasty retreat and gladly got into the white van, where I knew I was safe. If Sophie didn’t want me in her kennel, I was more than happy to stay outside in the van.

Here’s Sophie climbing all over Purple Paula

And here’s a close up of the Slayer – I don’t ever want to get this close to her again

(And to all those people who keep saying that I am going grey around the mouth, I would like to point out that I have always had a white goatee ever since I was a pup, and you can clearly see here that Sophie the Slayer has got the same white markings around her mouth, so my white goatee is probably a characteristic of my Staffordshire Bull Terrier genes, and is NOT a sign of advancing age).

I like going to stay with Purple Paula as they live near a great big park and Whitevanwoman takes me out for a good run in the park lots of times, especially if I’m staying in the white van most of the time, out of Sophie’s way. On one of our walks in the park, I found a lovely swimming pool with fountain in it, and as I was a bit hot from chasing after the tennisball, I jumped in it to cool down. I got dragged out by the scruff of my neck by Whitevanwoman who told me off for jumping in the swimming pool, and told me to show some respect. Well, how was I to know that it was a garden of rememberence and that the swimming pool was just for looking at and not for swimming in?!

Talking of swimming, the weekend after we’d been to see Purple Paula, I was on standby with my snorkel, prepared to do my bit as a water rescue dog, in case anyone needed me. It had rained and rained and rained for weeks and weeks, and the rivers had got bigger and stronger and then flooded some towns near where we live. Whitevanwoman said that we would be fine as we live halfway up the fellside but I’ve been keeping a careful eye on the river whilst out on walks, and, having a healthy sense of self-preservation, I’ve been staying out of the water, because even for a water-loving dog like me, the river current has been too fast and strong. Whitevanwoman said that she didn’t want to have to trail all the way down to Morecambe Bay to pick me up when they fished me out of the water and that if I went into the river, I was on my own, because she was not going in after me. I’m not entirely sure she would give up on me that easily but I’ve not been prepared to risk it.

And finally in between our various trips away in the white van, in preparation for being assessed to be a Pets As Therapy dog, Whitevanwoman has been taking me to visit the South Eden Project, which she goes to sometimes. If I am calm and quiet and well-behaved, I am allowed to come into the building but I have to sit quietly without getting excited and jumping up to greet people. It’s not easy to sit still and do nothing, but I do try ever so hard, and am pretty good most of the time, and people do come over and say hello and give me a bit of a fuss. Whitevanwoman always keeps a beady eye on me, and seems to be able to read my mind sometimes, as she makes me “stay” before I’ve even started to inch my way closer and closer to someone. I’ve now got several good friends at the South Eden project – Karl and Robin who throw tennisballs for me outside, Pam who usually gives me a biscuit, and Giles who always gives me a bit of a fuss, even though I did accidentally stand on his sore foot. Giles gave Whitevanwoman a book called “Dog Lovers Poems” and this is one of my favourite poems in the book :

The Dog Owners “If”

 If you can curb your dog when all about you

Are losing theirs and couldn’t give a damn,

If you can train him how to “come” and “sit” and “stay”

Whilst others only run away and scram,

If you can keep him quiet, not too noisy

And wake your neighbours from their hard-earned sleep

If you can stop him jumping fences

And not rush out to snap at passing feet.

If you can keep him groomed, and wormed, and healthy

And see he gets his shots down at the vets

And make him sit beside you in the surgery

And not taken on a dozen other pets,

And in the winter sees his bed is draught free,

And sees he always gets enough to eat

And never let him fossick in the dustbins

That every Monday morning line your street.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With half an hour’s walking on the lead

If you can keep him heeled and right beside you,

And not a threshing, withering fiend,

And when at night you settle with the paper

Into your usual warm and comfy chair,

Do you drop a loving hand to tell him

How happy you are knowing he is there.

And if when he is old, you love to help him

Face the cold, the aches, the ravages of time,

And with his life’s a burden, not a pleasure

You’ll help him to that other world sublime,

If you can say that all these rules you’ve followed

And have never shirked your duties to your dog,

Your life has been the richer for him,

And he has thought you… not a man, but God.

There was I enjoying a pleasant moment being brushed by Whitevanwoman, when suddenly she jumped up and gave out a shriek so loud that I thought Miss Tibby had stuck her claws into Whitevanwoman’s knees. But no, it was much worse than that – she had found a flea on me!!!

Suddenly it was all out panic as she rushed into the kitchen, rummaging round and returned with the Frontline (anti-flea treatment). I was happy to be Frontlined as I had been itching and scratching for a couple of days because of those nasty fleas, so I happily stood still whilst she put the Frontline drops on my neck. She reassured me that all those nasty old fleas will soon be dead (hurray for Frontline) and then she set about combing through all my hair very carefully to get rid of any more fleas and their eggs. I’m not allowed to go swimming for the next few days until the Frontline has got to work so I’m a bit fed up about that

I think Whitevanwoman is also a bit fed up about finding fleas on me, as she said she will now have to wash my bed, and change her bedlinen (cos both me and Miss Tibby like to sleep on her bed once she has gone to sleep and can’t tell us to get down) and she’ll have to hoover every day for the next few days. She will also have to de-flea Miss Tibby too, which is not so easy as de-fleaing me as she won’t stand still when she is told to, like I do.

I suspect it is all Miss Tibby’s fault – she goes out roaming the countryside and bringing home a variety of dead creatures so she has probably got fleas off a rabbit or mouse that she has caught and then she has brought them home and passed them on to me. Pesky cat. I don’t know why Whitevanwoman bothers with her sometimes – she is as bad as me for stealing food, although she tends to prefer margarine whilst I prefer a loaf of bread or a few eggs, and she gets very vocal when she is hungry and Whitevanwoman gives in and feeds her, just to keep her quiet. I think I will give that a try – it might work better than just picking up my dinner bowl and dropping it at Whitevanwoman’s feet when I’m hungry which is what I usually do.

So hopefully by tomorrow I won’t be itchy and scratchy anymore. I’m going to enjoy watching Miss Tibby and Whitevanwoman do battle to get the flea powder on Miss Tibby

Little (or “Lal” as people say round here) Penny has been staying in our kennel for the weekend – she lives with Our Mum (Whitevanwoman’s mum) and we don’t see her very often, so it has been lovely to have her around. She is a real dog, a mongrel like me, not some fancy breed who thinks that they are cleverer or prettier and better than other dogs. Penny was found wandering the streets when she was just a youngster and was looked after in a dog’s home until Our Mum took her in. She’s always been a bit nervous and is a little bit lacking in self-confidence but she’s a happy little thing and we’ve known each other all our lives so we are good friends now. Although we don’t know what kind of dog her parents were, we think that Little Penny is a mixture of Jack Russell and maybe Corgi or possibly Beagle.

Whitevanwoman took us out for a walk yesterday even though it was raining hard – the rain doesn’t bother real dogs like me and Little Penny and we had a great time running round together looking for rabbits to chase. Little Penny has an advantage over me in that she can fit more of herself into rabbit holes than I can (although she is another one who is affected by middle aged spread so she’s not as good at fitting into rabbit holes as she used to be).

Little Penny gets away with murder when she visits here – she is allowed to sit on Whitevanwoman’s lap which I’m not allowed to do, and at bedtime she jumps straight up onto Whitevanwoman’s bed before she’s been invited – I would NEVER dare do that.

But I get my revenge as Penny doesn’t always eat all her dinner straightaway, so as soon as she moves away from her dinner bowl, I get straight in there and finish off what’s left before she changes her mind and goes back to finish off She did learn the consequences of leaving half of her dinner, and so, after leaving half her dinner on Friday night for me to finish, on Saturday night she ate up every scrap and licked the bowl clean so there were no leftovers for me

Little Penny has gone home now, so to cheer me up, Whitevanwoman has given me a great big bone which she brought home from the pet shop a few days ago – it’s been sitting on the kitchen table ever since and I’ve been sorely tempted to help myself to it, but I know that Whitevanwoman would have been very cross and I couldn’t run the risk of her giving it to Little Penny instead of me. So I’ve waited patiently, knowing that it would come my way eventually. And so I’m off now to settle down for an hour or two, to have a good gnaw on it