Today I have a crumper bop of dogs for you, you lucky lot. Wait – reverse that spoonerism. A bumper crop, because I wanted to make up for not being able to get to Bleakholt at all yesterday, due to ALL THE TRAFFIC JAMMERY IN THE WORLD happening.
Now just look at this lovely face on your left. How could anyone resist her? Yes, yes, alright, she’s not the prettiest of pooches, but she has a big heart and lots of love to give. Yes, it’s BETTY SPAGHETTI, who you met in an earlier post. She’s a five-year-old bulldog who was dumped by her owners (the twatmongers) and arrived at Bleakholt about three months ago. She’s a playful girl – we found an old ball during our walk today and had a good game of catch for a while. Then she decided that enough was enough. She set her legs and refused to move in any direction other than back to Bleakholt with her new ball. And let me tell you, those legs and that chest are strong. I complied.
Meet BREWSTER, one of the old fellers. He’s ten years old and came to Bleakholt when his owner died. He’s a friendly chap who was well-behaved and, I’m told, gets on well with other dogs as well as cats. Brewster and I decided to wander down the opposite direction to my usual square, and Brewster decided to catch all the bees he possibly could, and then to eat ALL THE GRASS IN THE WORLD.
Next up is JESS, who has already found a new home and is waiting to move there. This is no surprise at all, as she’s a beguiling two-year-old Lakeland Terrier / Beagle cross with a lot of intelligence and a right cheeky grin. Obedient, though – when I told her she was not allowed to chase the ducks that she’d spotted she stopped pulling and sat down by my feet. And stuck out her tongue.
MICKEY! Little clockwork legs blurring back and forth then a sudden STOP at a fascinating smell, tail stiff while he draws in the rich aroma then wag-wag-wag scuttling along to the next olfactory encounter. It took a while for commands to get through to him, such was his fascination with the big old world.
Say hello to COOPER, readers. Cooper’s an affectionate lad, with a placid, friendly nature. His big furry ten-year-old tail waves about gracefully when you scratch his head (the rest of him is ten years old too – he’s not had a tail transplant or anything). He was rehomed once, but came back because he was “very protective of the home, causing a disturbance when strangers passed by or visitors called”. I don’t understand that – isn’t it what all dogs do? Bark like buggery when they hear a noise, or the doorbell rings? Still, I know not the details, so shut your gob, Wombat.