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Despite my initial misgivings, I'm quite enjoying school.  I've got used to the youngsters in my class but when the next class comes in I think it's my job to shout at them all to keep them in order.
Next door has had a new fence built and I was rather hoping I was going to be able to have a look around and maybe help myself to the guinea pig *wicked laugh*.  But no such luck, we were all confined to barracks until the fencers had finished.
The weather is vile but not as vile as in other places in the country.  The human girl belonging to our good friend Cat Greyhound has had her home nearly washed away in Dawlish so I suppose we should think ourselves lucky.
I feel that I'm becoming more tolerant in my old age, I don't think it suits the Jack Russell really.


As I expected there was a nasty surprise in store for me last week.  Just as I thought I'd got away with being hauled off to be used as greyhound bait at the kennel, two of the fools turn up at the house with their housekeeper.  They had murder in their eyes or to be more precise, jackrussellocide!  Fortunately they were very firmly put in their places and we went for a short but unexpectedly civilised walk together.  The walk was marred somewhat by a rather unruly spaniel that came swirling round us behaving like a thorough hooligan.  I was waiting for the idiot greyhounds to try to eat it but would you believe it, they'd learned sooo much that they didn't even bother!

I was taken back to school as well.  This isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be and of course I proved to be the very best pupil on the night.  Who says you can't teach and old dog new tricks?  I was starting to shout instructions to the youngsters but was warned that if I didn't shut up I'd be back in detention again.  Of course it pays to be terribly well behaved, just for the duration of the class, because if I am I come home stuffed to the gills with treats.  Most satisfactory.

On the home front things a looking up a little, SHE has put the central heating on.  Oh deep joy.

Surviving another week.

I have managed to escape being used as greyhound bait for another week.  This is due in no small part to the weather.  I'm quite thankful for that because the prospect of being used as idiot bait in the pouring rain is something that no dog of breeding should have to endure.  Having said that I get the impression that SHE may have something nasty lined up for tomorrow.
I have also had another evening at school.  Now whilst I appreciate the number of treats my behaviour attracts, I am more than disgruntled by the behaviour of the school staff.  Most of the other pupils are children and so I was telling them off for their unruly and noisy conduct when a member of the staff removed me and I was put in detention!!!!  I was OUTRAGED.  I think I can feel the urge for ankle nipping coming on.  My feathers were further ruffled by having to sit and wait to get a treat.  I really don't see why I should have to wait for anything.

Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.

Being bait for greyhounds wasn't as bad as I expected.  They were all very well behaved except one who tried to sniff my personal parts, I gave him what for I can tell you, he won't be doing that again in a hurry.  I shall be going again tomorrow (weather permitting) and provided I survive I'll be blogging about it  in due course.
So, here I am, assuming that my life will settle down to its peaceful routine (except for being greyhound bait) and 'er indoors tells me that tonight I'm going to school.  SCHOOL I ask you.  I'm 10 years old and consider that as a more mature Jack Russell I have learned everything that I need to learn.  Now I'm told that I need to go and learn other things.  The reasoning behind this is that 'er indoors thinks I might enjoy it.  What on earth is that barmy woman thinking of?  If she put me in a large barn full of rats I would enjoy that.  I would enjoy digging into rabbit holes.  I would even enjoy the temptation of rolling in fox droppings.  But learning pointless things like 'sit', 'lie down', heel' and 'die for the queen/republic' (delete as necessary) should not be entering my lexicon.  If I'm not immediately promoted to head prefect I may well be playing truant in the future. HARRUMPH!

A New Job - News to me.

It's been a while since I last blogged so my new year resolution is to blog at least once a week.  This is my news so far for the new year.  I survived Christmas - just.  The house was far too full of people and noise for my liking and I was most relieved when the housekeeper had a tantrum and said that they were all going out for Christmas dinner.  This may have had the drawback of meaning that tasty leftovers were a bit thin on the ground but the peace and quiet made it well worth it.
Anyway, back to the main point of my blog.  The housekeeper got a grip of me the other day and said 'Now look here Mickey' (she has no idea how to address the aristocracy)  'You're going to start going up to the RGT kennel for small dog testing'.  'Bait', she means.  I'm going to be greyhound bait!!!!  As if it's not bad enough living with two of the idiots I now have to go and have a kennel full of unmannered thugs lunging at me.  Oh the trials of the diminutive chap. 
I will blog again should I survive.


So, the idiot Bob runs off and gets himelf lost and the world goes into a frenzy to find him.  Minnie finds him and gets a VC sent to her in the post, she's getting praise heaped upon her through facebook.  I went 'missing' today.  This of course means that I knew exactly where I was but nobody else did.  I spent a happy half hour ratting on the allotments and then decide that it's time to make my way home.  I meet 'er indoors' on the park; she was out looking for me.  Then what happens?  Do it get 'Oh Mickey, I'm so pleased to see you'? or 'Mickey, we've been scouring the earth for you, thank heavens you're safe'?  Has my absence been reported to the microchip people or the 'lost dog' website?  Not a bit of it.  All that 'er indoors says it 'Where've you been you little scamp?'  Then I'm put on a lead and taken home.  No fanfare, nothing.


It's been a right carry on here this weekend.  First of all I get that small person that I'm not allowed to bite inflicted on me and just to add insult to injury, he didn't drop food this time.  However, I was determined to tolerate that with all the stoicism I could muster so muster I did.  Then we all went down to the sea front and Minnie's favorite swamp so that her and that idiot Bob could have a run.  It was all as smooth as a well oiled machine until it was decided that we would all walk down to the cafe along the sea front so that we dogs could have a drink of water from some previously slobbered in bowls and the humans could have something nice.  It was at that point that SOMEBODY dropped Bob's lead and he's far to idiotic to just stand still whilst it's picked up again.  Oh no, he decides that the best thing to do is clear off.  As it turns out, clearing off is one thing that he can do very well indeed.  He stayed cleared off for some 9 hours.  He seemed to have half the dog owners of Gosport looking for him.  He was eventually discovered by Minnie, hiding in some undergrowth and complaining that he was hungry.  Of course he was hungry, he'd missed his dinner time!  Minnie is now crowing about what a complete and utter hero she is, Bob is dripping round like a soul in torment and I am taking to my study.  Just to top it all off nicely, Minnie and Bob get great big Hoktocookies to munch on and what do I get?  A measly breakfast bone on the grounds that I'm much small than them and a whole Hoktocookie would be far too much for a small chap.  What an insult!!  Now I learn there is a frog in the yard - oh what new hell is this?


Well, Bob the foster dog has turned into Bob the permanent member of the family.  For some reason 'we've' decided to keep him.  Fortunately he isn't really much trouble but I think he has some form of identity confusion.  He's a greyhound but he follows me round like a lost lamb.  I think it's due to him having an exceptionally stupid name.  His real name isn't Bob, it's Mama Mia Rose!!!  What kind of name is that? I ask you.  No wonder he's peculiar.

Every Cloud has a Silver Lining

I've discovered something quite new today.  Very small people who you aren't allowed to bite, drop things on the floor that are very nice to eat.   I've had a lovely breakfast of scrambled egg and toast.  Minnie has discovered that if you lick their faces they taste of snot. 

From bad to worse

So I survive 36 hours with the cuckoo AKA Bob the foster dog.  In fairness to him he does do as I tell him, provided that is I tell him in quite a stern tone of voice. - something like 'GET OUT OF MY BED YOU LANKY ********(insert appropriate expletive) BEFORE I TEAR YOUR ANKLES APART'.  He's coming back again next week for another two nights, or it may be more *sighs*.  But I digress. The cuckoo has no sooner gone back to kennels than another one arrives but this time it's even worse.  It's a very small, smelly human that I'm not allowed to bite!  What is a chap to do if he's not allowed to bite invaders?  Minnie seems to take these things in her stride, probably because she's too dim to realise that we're being invaded.  Hope I survive the next few hours.

The Cuckoo Has Landed

Well Bob the foster dog has arrived.  At least this time he knows where he's meant to be sleeping which hardly explains why he makes himself so comfortable in MY bed.  He can't fit in my study though so I'm safe from him in there.  We've taken him out for a walk and all he did was look worried.  Thank heavens he's still wearing his muzzle so he can't eat MY dinner.

More about that wretched foster dog

I don't like to appear antisocial but I'm most concerned that Bob the foster dog is coming back again on Thursday.  Minnie's been wandering round talking to herself about how excited she is that he's coming back for 'tu mor slepes' (Minnie can't spell very well and tends to get confused when she talks  if she's excited)  I'm giving everyone notice that I will be retiring to my study when the cuckoo arrives.

Foster dogs

My peace and quiet has been distrupted again by a totally unexpected arrival - a foster dog who goes by the name of Bob.  Of course when I say 'goes by' I mean that that's what my people call him, Bob of course studiously ignores any attempt to gain his attention except when it comes to him being offered MY treats.  The cheek of it!!!  Bob has come from Portsmouth Retired Greyhounds' kennel and fortunately isn't staying permanently.  He's going back tomorrow *heaves a sigh of relief* but I did hear my people talking and saying that he's coming back again next week.  Minnie is of course in her element having another greyhound to chat with, I am spending a good deal of time in my study!

A Little Family History

Today is the 748th anniversary of the great Simon de Montfort's kidnapping of King Henry III at the Battle of Lewes, so I have spent the day musing on family history.  My history is long and eventful and I am currently writing my memoirs which one day I may finish.  However, my first love, Little Meg, had an interesting history which it was very difficult to induce her to divulge.  I promised her that I would say nothing about her past until she had died.  She had a premonition of her early death, something which sadly came true.

My first love was born in the slums of Marseilles where she was forced to eke out a living by begging on the streets with her many brothers and sisters.  She hated this life and was determined to escape from it as soon as was caninely possible.  The local butcher and patisserie workers told her how beautiful she was and that she could do so much better for herself than picking through bins and hoping for leftovers to be thrown to her. 

One day after spending many gruelling hours in the rain rummaging through sodden rubbish bins, she decided that enough was enough and she set off to seek her fortune.  She was always reticent about how she got by when she was on the road.  Questions embarrassed her and so I didn't press her for answers, but eventually she arrived in Gay Paris where she soon discovered that a dainty little dog of her exquisite good looks could make a handsome living amongst the city's flesh pots.  She picked a name that she thought would be more in keeping with her new life; she went by the name of Fifi L'Amour.  Her life was good and she truly lived the high life.  She had diamond studded collars and painted toe nails, hand stitched coats and ribbons in her hair.  But nothing lasts forever!

She was just developing an attractive new act involving a feather boa and a jar of pickled onions when the club in which she was working was raided.  Fifi was arrested and was given the choice, face prison or leave Paris.  She chose to leave Paris.  She quickly packed her most precious belongings into a small bag and, determined to make a completely new life for herself, smuggled herself aboard a cheese transporter to an unknown destination.  She made a comfortable nest for herself in a large camembert and fell asleep.  She awoke hours later when the back door of the cheese transporter opened and she emerged into the cold light of a Soho dawn smelling of camembert an licking gruyere crumbs off her moustache.

Realising that she needed a complete new identity she changed her name to Hotlips McGann and took Soho by storm.  It seemed that there was no problem that Hotlips couldn't manage, no mountain to high, no river too swift or too deep.  It might have seemed that Soho was her natural home, but she started to yearn for the sea, she had always missed it since the day she let Marseilles.  She had heard that Brighton was an interesting and lively place and she pictured herself, prancing along the promenade with a handsome escort at her side.  She hired herself a limousine for the journey, and no more the stowaway, she arrived in Brighton in style. 

Of course her reputation had gone ahead of her and she was offered a job waiting tables in what is known as a 'pole dancing' club.  This was somewhat beneath her but she thought it might be fun and it would give her chance to find her way around the town properly.  That was where I met her and I was smitten the moment I saw her.  But believe me, this young cove from the shires who knew nothing of town and city life was soon out of his depth.  I was in the club with my valet but he had slipped away on an 'errand' with a buxom brunette and after a few drinks I forgot myself and used the pole for what thought was its obvious purpose.  Before I knew what was happening I was picked up, thrown out into the street and told never to return.  Fortunately my valet emerged from a dark alley and after he had adjusted his clothing he gathered me up and we left the scene.

I thought I would never see my love again, but unbeknown to me she had been outraged by my treatment and sank her teeth into the doorman who had thrown me out of the club.  The manager sacked her on the spot and promised her that he would ensure that she never worked in the town again and that if he could work his will she would never again work in the country.  Completely undaunted by this and sure she would find new doors opening as this one closed she set off once again to seek her fortune.  However this time she was not so lucky.  The club owner was as good as his word.  Nobody wanted to employ her and she soon had to pawn her possessions to keep body and soul together. 

She worked her way along the South Coast, earning a few crusts here and there telling fortunes and rat catching.  By the time she arrived in Portsmouth she was a sorry sight indeed.  Nobody would employ such a wretched, bedraggled looking creature in any capacity at all, so when she was eventually arrested and imprisoned it came as a relief.  At least she would have a warm bed and food.  She knew what would happen if she told the other dogs in the prison that her name was either Fifi L'Amour or Hotlips McGann, so she abbreviated her Soho name to Meg.  And so I found her, a very different girl to the one I'd first met in that Brighton establishment, but no less beautiful.  I of course had had my own adventures in search of her.  But those adventures are for later telling.

Right, so it's raining cats and cats out there (I wish) and we've just had a distressingly late dinner due to cook going out and forgetting to feed us before she went (you just can't get the staff you know).  I've paid a visit to the great outdoors to do what a chap has to do after dinner and now I'm going to bed.  Let's hope we're not left to starve again tomorrow.

This blog thing is a bit confusing, but I am nothing if not persistant.

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