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.
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