W Word

Fergus here - delivering my Farm Report.

Every morning I make it known to Niece that it is time to go out and I do a circuit of the place sniffing out the wildlife activity that has happened while the homestead was asleep and before the humans come out and mess up the scent trails.

When Fred was starting each day shelling nuts I would deliver the farm report to her, and steal walnuts until she agreed to shell one for me. These days she is living in a wheelie cabin down the back where the hares and rabbits leave their smells and I have to wait until after breakfast to tell her what I have discovered.

Since that fateful day the V-E-T called me fat F has taken me walking most days. She walks. I jog. I get really excited and bounce around barking at her when I hear the W-word or see her with the long string that has the red ribbon on the end.  It has taken a while to convince her that I am responsible enough to be allowed to run without that long string attached to my collar and recently walks in 'dog parks' have been even more exciting as I get to tear about off-piste checking out the pee-mails, leaving my own graffiti, and jumping in streams or the Ashburton River.

About half the time we walk to and around Argyle Park and the other half we ride in her beat up old van to places by the River, Tinwald Domain, or North Park. When I see her heading for her van I jump in as quickly as I can. Sometimes I get tricked and she throws me out again as she goes by the workshop. Apparently driving the van is NOT all about WALKING.

I flushed a hare in North Park the other day. COOOOOL.

Jockie is really jealous. The Boss will not let him leave here on foot in case he gets the idea he can take himself for walks. Our predecessor Roxie used to do that and was regularly taken into custody by the dog pound people (and money charged for her return) or picked up by people who fancied keeping her for themselves (despite having a CHIP). It turns out FB does have its uses for finding out who is harbouring an errant k9.

As we drive to walk places half the time, F figured Jockie could come too. I quickly put a stop to that. I can goad him into misbehaving, so that even though he looks like a forlorn teddy bear he will sound and behave like a snarling, slathering savage. F threw us both back in the van (no walk), gave us both a sound telling off (I can live with it - it's just human noise), drove home, threw Jockie out, and left again with me in the front seat on my own. Tee-hee.

She said Jockie's forlorn wee face as he gamely chased the departing van down the drive, nearly broke her heart. It didn't break mine. I had a lovely explore by the river, and a swim, and carrots when I got home.

Since then F has called him the Killer Teddy Bear.  He looks even more like a Teddy Bear since the Boss gave him a hair cut. The Boss's idea of a haircut is a close shave. F cut my hair, trimmed my ears and beard and I still look like a Cairn Terrier. (Although I have to admit, Wee Jock's soft fur gets him more cuddles from the humans. I can live with that too; I get to go walking and meet other k9s, and explore. And F is showing me how to ace the agility challenges in the dog park.)

Taraa for now

Fergus.