Team Prewash

A hound’s work is never done around the house but now I’ve got some help with those pesky dirty dishes.

I’d prefer not to share but I don’t always get finished before the dishwasher is rudely closed. The pink greyhound and I seem to have come to an understanding. I’ll lick the plates while she inspects the crusty cutlery.

We both enjoy licking those hard to clean spots on the dirty dishes. At the end of the day, we are thinking about the environment. Why wash all of those perfectly tasty slops down the drain when they can fill two bellies? There’s nothing finer than cold dripping gravy with bits in it.

After the stand-up job we do on the dishes, you’d think there would be no need for a full cycle but they still put it on.

Although Mum and Dad have said that the dishes have never been so gleaming.

Let’s hear it for Team Prewash.

The Pink Greyhound

I haven't posted for a while because I have been suffering from sleep deprivation.

Since the fourth of May I haven't had my usual 20 hours per day. On that day, I spent the whole of it sunning myself in the garden. To be honest, I got a bit exhausted and my jaw was aching from taking my toy to all the purple people coming to the door. Yet when the sun went in and it was getting a little chilly, I went inside to discover that mum had birthed a puppy.

I'm sure it's nose will lengthen in time and its tail will soon sprout. Also I'm a bit disappointed that she is called Daphne. Why not, Olive?

I kept my distance at first, waiting for her to introduce herself but she didn't. Instead I had to be the first to sniff her bottom and while she didn't reciprocate, I felt much more comfortable.

Despite my lack of sleep, I have a new place to dump my toys. Plus, it's important to stay in the good books of a pink greyhound because if the rumours are true, they feed you sneaky treats when they grow up. I can't wait.

Tales of Thievery - Compost

Humans have a passion for these black bins in their gardens. They put ‘waste’ into it and after a while, warm and crumbly compost comes out of the bottom.

Now, I love lying on a pile of fresh, warm compost as much as the next but they are literally putting food in it! I mean, why? There’s a perfectly good belly here, crying out for it.

I’ve tried everything from staring to whining. Sure, they throw me a crunchy broccoli stalk now and again but there is so much more going into this other bin.

I’m taking matters into my own paws and I’ve seen where they put it for transportation. A small pail sits by the front door until it’s gloriously filled with delicious treats.

If it’s fleshy or crunchy, I’m having it. To be honest I’m not that picky.

Treachery

It’s a disgrace, a complete and utter fallacy.

Today, I was made to have a bath. That’s right, a bath! I’ve worked long and hard to smell this good and to perfect my crusty dinner face. It’s like they think it just happens.

Summer is gone but the sun was beating through the window. There I was in the middle of the ‘Bake’ step of my 3 step plan, so quite busy, and I hear them call my name. I heard the ‘treat door’ open so I stayed put and waited for something tripey. They never came, they just called again but it had a different ring to it. Dad appeared and by the look in his eye, it wasn’t good news for me. I tried to make a run for it but I was now at the precipice of ‘Bake’ and exhausted.

They had me and in I went.

I spent most of the shower fuming but then the anger washed away with the bubbles. All I could think about was getting into the garden and rolling in something good. Soon enough, I was out and I ran for the garden feeling fantastic.

I enjoy feeling clean but not as much as I do getting dirty again. I always throw in a few Tassie Devil spins to keep them happy because they always watch me after a bath for some reason.

Regardless of how nice it can be, it’s still treachery.

I'm legitimate

On the 6th September, I had a very important duty. I was a brideshound at mum & dad's wedding!

With a specially made collar, I carried the rings with pride and then promptly did what we hounds do best, sleep.

 

I enjoyed greeting all of the guests into the reception but I chose not to stay. Mingling is my forte but a group of people on the stage insisted on banging a drum all evening.

 

So, I went home with a smile on my face and a wag in my tail because finally, I'm legitimate!

 

 

Bake, Cool, Repeat

Summer is here and there’s nothing finer than roaching in the garden, watching the world go by but it’s always important to have a plan. 

My main aim has always been to soak up as much sun as possible but without a plan, you end up struggling to breathe and your skin becomes tender to the touch. That’s where the dilemma begins. I love the sun, I love getting fuss but most of all, I love breathing…it’s a favourite thing of mine.

So I’ve come up with 3 simple steps to maximise these summer loves.

Bake yourself in the sun until it becomes hard to breathe with your mouth closed. Don’t give up immediately; a few heavy pants won’t harm you.

 Cool yourself in the shade until you are almost shivering. 

Then simply, repeat. 

Not So Cheesy

When I heard we were going to Cheddar, I immediately thought I'd eat my own body weight in cheese. Not so. I sampled the local delicacies but the grass in cheddar just tastes like…well…grass. 

We met plenty of locals on our walk up the gorge with horses, goats and even deer making an appearance. They weren't very friendly, they just tried to out do me in the art of staring. Who are they kidding?

After a paw pounding climb, we found the perfect spot to share a sandwich and some laughs.

When we got back to camp I was so exhausted that I just wanted to sleep. However, I met a funky little bearded dude called Monty so that gave me a second wind. We had a good chat, nose to bottom. He'd come all the way from Yorkshire and gave me some good tips about having a dip in the neighbouring stream.

I pray for a good hot summer because ice cream always rounds off these hot days perfectly.

 

Just remember that house rules don’t apply to holidays so sleep on their bed and bite their sandwiches because it’s all laughed off. That's the Olive way.