Woody’s Dog Blog

I love this time of the year. Beatrix Potter season I call it. Squirrels are running about excitedly picking up acorns as fast as their twitchy, flicky, verminous little hands can grab them - they must have got flyers through their doors exclaiming ‘The Acorns Are Falling Right Now! But Hurry! When They’re Gone, They’re Gone!’ I caught about five squirrels today, no problem.* I chased them hither, thither and to t’other side of the park - they were everywhere! I even stalked a few of them by hiding behind trees until they were close enough for me to pounce. Sadly I never attended cat agility lessons and so the squirrels laughed at my stealth efforts as they skipped up the tree trunks with their ratty little gobs full.

They laughed this time. But I’ll be back. Then we’ll see who the Terry Nutkins is in charge around here.

*Well I say caught … I was so close I could have licked them, but just missed by a whisker.

I’ve been having problems with my wireless connections again, for the second time in a month. Even before Ma dialled for BT technical support this evening, she got herself all worked up about the automated telephone menu and call waiting system ahead of her. By some twist of fortune our call was answered after 3 minutes. By a sorry twist of misfortune the call was answered by a young woman called Freesia or Lilani or Heavens to Betsy or something like that. Let’s just call her Lil’ Miss Attitude for now. She took an instant dislike to Ma and contradicted the last helpdesk man’s advice by saying that the lack of connection has nothing to do with people sharing interwaves at all yeah, it’s just to do with being on the right settings? Ma was on the wrong settings? So Mr BT the other week (aka Mr Couldn’t Be More Charming & Delightful But Maybe At The Cost Of Factual Accuracy) was lying when he said our neighbour was messing with Ma’s channels.

I fancy BT could employ me on their helpdesk and I could advise Ma about switching wireless channels and resetting equipment; I could instruct her to hold her breath until both broadband and internet lights showed solid green on the router. I could make her reboot the computer and sing Kumbayah My Lord until she saw four bars on the wireless icon - she’d believe anything and thank me for my time. What fun it must be working in a help centre!

I’m off on a little city break this weekend. Same city, different house. My mas are off to my Uncle Willy’s wedding and I was nearly invited, but not quite. I don’t mind though, because I’m staying with my friend Laura and her two girls, whom I love to bits. When Ma dropped me off at theirs tonight, Laura told her that the girls have a hamster called Harriet and they were planning to shut Harriet into the study overnight (the room next to mine!). Well I don’t know whether Ma and Laura think I’m blind, deaf or just stupid, but naturally I smelt Harriet straight away, and boy am I looking forward to a furry little midnight feast tonight!

I don’t know why parents talk about you to their friends when you’re just there. They can say the cruellest things about you and assume you can’t hear or don’t understand. Yet when they’re bossing you about or asking you to perform a dull task, they expect you to hear every word and get cross if you don’t respond straight away. Allow me to elaborate:

Customer in shop: ‘Ooh look at that dog. He’s an old boy isn’t he?’
Ma: ‘Actually he’s five but his beard makes him look older.’
Customer: ‘Ooh isn’t he cute. Is he for sale ha ha ha?’
Ma: ‘Yes he’s free when you spend over £5.’ (No ‘ha ha ha’ this time).

Then she’ll have the audacity to reprimand me at tea time when I steal the cats’ biscuits. Sorry poppet, but you tried to sell me as part of a promotional deal earlier today. What do you expect?

Parents eh, who’d have ‘em.

I’ve been on terrific mini-break in Brighton. I took my babies to the beach for the first time, and my mas took them to Brighton Sealife Centre which they said was full of fish, sharks, turtles and the like. Apparently they had spider crabs in there that were as big as me! And they can grow to 3.7 metres wide! Imagine that!

Well I got home just in time to find out that Brighton is hosting The World Beard & Moustache Championships 2007 … today! What a stroke of luck I left when I did. The beardy event schedule for the day is as follows:

Between 9 and 10am, all contestants attend prejudging to confirm they’re in the correct category. From 10.30 till noon they assemble at the Town Hall to swap beard care tips and watch Brighton’s Morris Dancers shaking their bootees. There’s a photo shoot at midday and then lunch (’competitors have to organise the timing of their own lunch to fit competition timings’ - go easy on the tuna mayonnaise baguettes boys*). The competition starts at 1pm and is broken down into the following categories: ‘Moustache, Partial Beard, Full Beard and at the end, the ‘Shave Off” - that’s the bit I’d like to see. Nevertheless it beats me why, if you’d spent years grooming and brushing your whiskers towards this momentous day, you’d want to shave them all off before the judges’ final decision.

What do they do with all that discarded facial swish after the ’shave off’ anyway? Does it get recycled as BBC costume drama wigs? Or do they put it in the seats of the Waltzers as soft padding? Or maybe they send it to bird sanctuaries to line the nests of rescued bluetits with broken wings.

Enough of the facial fungus - I’m off for a walk (the first of many today).

* And girls (we’ve all heard of bearded ladies). Hey, you can’t accuse me of being sexyist.