Milk

'Ello me old muckers... it's been a while since I wrote to you but I've been inspired this week!

Did I mention it was me birf'day last week?

No?  Well it was... I'm now a big five years old and I guess that makes me almost middle aged.  Me human Richard always says that a labrador is a stomach attached to a life support system... and that's what's happening to me.

Then he goes on to say that the lary poodle in me is giving way to the lazy labrador.

Very complimentary is ol' Dickie boy, ain't he just, but I don't agree with a word he says... ever.

Never mind, I wanted to write to you today about... someone.

I've written about that someone before.  You should read the blog about white coffee.  You know the one.  This person was asked to make coffee for everyone.  When he took ages Richard went to find him... there he was holding a jar of coffee, still looking in the cupboard.  'What are you doing?'  Asks Richard.  'Well, I've found this coffee,' comes the reply, 'But I can't find the white coffee.'

Anyway, this story is about the same person.

Me other human, Renee, was working late and having a tough time sorting out something that should have been easy.  Our hero or heroine (not me on this occasion but the subject of me story) came over and hovered by her desk.

'What?'  Says Renee, pretty sharp.

'I just wondered if you wanted some chocolate.'

Immediate change in demeanour.  'Oh, yes please.  Thank you very much.'

'What sort do you have?'

'Just milk chocolate, please.'

And off he or she toddles to the shop.

A few minutes later in he or she comes with a large bar of white chocolate... in fact, it must have been the largest Milky Bar in the shop.

It's an easy mistake to make!  It's the same colour as milk!

And the thought was very much in the right place!

Execution might have been a slight issue but never mind.  It did give me a little chuckle at the end of a very busy day - a busy day for everyone else, that is. 

Beer

I'm not much of a beer drinker meself, preferring to drink out of muddy puddles, if I'm honest.

Me human, Richard, on the other hand does like the occasional pint of brown stuff.

I don't think he's that much of a beer connoisseur, though.  I have heard him respond when ask what beer he'd like with, 'Oh, cheapest, please.'

But, in his old age, he's gone right off lager and started drinking real beer: things like Broadside and Thistle IPA and Wherry...

Last week Dickie boy was darn sarth and met up with an old pal.  They meet up every three months or so when Dick is in the Midlands.  They have something to eat, chew the fat, take the mick out of people and then shake hands before doing again three months later.

Richard always drives to meet his mate straight from work with two consequences.  They are usually finished with their chin wag by about 8 and Dickie is driving, which means it's Diet Coke.

Last week he got back to his hotel, which is right next door to the Watermill pub in Kidderminster on a warm summer's night and decided that he's snatch a pint before he went to watch the TV for a couple of hours.

Bless him, he had it all planned out: a nice pint of London Pride (I suppose that's opposed to a bad pit of London Pride), a seat outside in the warm late evening sunshine, read some stuff on the news, catch up with Facebook and generally chill out.

He says he was just wanting to take advantage of not having to walk me, which I thought was unnecessarily cruel.  As though walking me could be in any way a chore!

Anyway, he suffered instant Karma for even thinking that.

'A pint of London Pride,' says he, almost gasping by now.

'Sure,' replies the somewhat stroppy barmaid.  'That's £2.85.'

Dickie Lad opens his wallet (in which he's pretty sure there's a fiver) to find that high treason has taken place and that his wallet was like Ol' Mother Hubbard's cupboard, being somewhat on the bare side.

Not to worry though; out comes the debit card which he tries to hand over.

'Oh, you can't pay by debit card,' says the now really stroppy barmaid.  'Cash only under £5.'

At this point, Richard makes a critical error.  Instead of simply saying 'I'll have two pints' and thus avoiding a nasty situation he prefaces the sentence with 'I haven't got any cash...' and then got no further.

The now really very stroppy indeed barmaid interrupted him before he could get the second half of the sentence out: 'Not to worry,' says she with a cruel smile... and proceeds to tip the beer away... right in front of him.

What?

Dick was so incensed that he bravely did nothing and skulked away with his face flaming red like a naughty schoolboy.

The thing was, although he fancied a pint, it wasn't the be all and end all of the world.

But once he couldn't have one, he really, really wanted one.  The fact he couldn't have one started eating away at him.  It was a nightmare.  Why is it they we only really worry things about the things we want when we can't have them?

He should have been more like me.  I eat all me biscuits at the start of me walk and then don't think about them again when I finish 'em five minutes later.

He had to wait a whole 24 hours before finally got a pint in Bedford!

Poor lad.

Wounded Soldier

I don't go on about it but I have been slightly under the weather recently.

Vis a vis... I have a saw paw.

Like I said, I don't like talking about it but I think it's important that you, me adoring fans, understand what I'm going through in order that you are re-acquainted with my magnificence.

You see, I'm only recounting the story of how brave I am for your benefit.  That's how much you mean to me.

(Okay, okay... I realise that last bit might have been more than just a tad over the top.)

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I was walking me humans home when they (finally) noticed I wasn't moving as freely as I used to.  In fact, I think I've sprained me knee in the very important pursuit of a stick.  Which, I might add, I caught without a problem, killed and shredded in less than a minute.

I was on short walks for a few days and back to normal by Saturday so I had me normal 15 miler at the weekend.

Then yesterday I had just chivvied me human, Richard, out of the door (he's such as sluggard in the morning and I often have to stand for more than 30 seconds staring at the front door with me rear legs crossed before he takes the hint, pulls his trousers on and get me out of the house) when I felt a sudden pain in me front leg.

Agony, it was, I could hardly move.  Renee came and picked me up and drove me to the office (Richard came too).  I have to say I got a fair amount of sympathy as I hobbled around the office.

Ellie Musson from Kumo Ink came in and she always has a doggy treat for me and yesterday was no different.  She gave me a chew which I wolfed down, wandered over to Graham Eden and promptly threw it up again.

Renee took me to the Butcher of Ferry Road later... also known as the vet.

This is the guy who two years ago decided the best way to treat clinkers - although I have to say, as clinkers go they were pretty spectacular; they had actually sealed me bum over - was to shave me nethers all the way back to the wood, then continue shaving virtually to me chest.

He shaved me so close I was itching for weeks... and like an elephant, I never forget.

So I may, in the past have had a little playful nip at his fingers.  You know the sort of thing: a quick baring of the teeth.  Nothing to it really.

Well, apparently, he's taken the hump at this and has made a note on me file that I'm a biter.

I mean fans, have any of you ever known me to bite..?  Apart from you Jamie, and that was an accident; I meant to miss.

Anyway he had a quick look at me leg (from a safe distance) told Renee that I could only have 3 ten minute walks aday and those were to be on me lead, gave me a prescription for pain killers and antibiotics and charged £66 for the pleasure.

Still... could have been worse.  He might have shaved me nads.

Then for good measure just to complete me wonderful day, when I got back to the office Ellie gave me another dog treat.  I wandered over to Graham and threw up again.

You can probably tell that I don't liking talking about me injury, but I thought it was important you knew what was going on.

And today, me leg feels much better.

Sometimes I Just Have to Laugh

Oy Oy darling ones...

How are you this fine Easter?  Hope you are enjoying the fine weather.

I'm not, thanks for asking.  I'd much rather be running around Edinburgh's parks or diving in the glorious doggy swimming pools kindly provided by the government outside their parliament buildings... as per this photo posted by me Austrian friend:

You can find more like this on the TaxAssist West Edinburgh Facebook page just look for the posts by Immer Doch...

But here I am, having to work for living just because me humans have decided that they stupidly need to look after their customers and continue to do what they call work.

But I did have to smile the other day at a little interplay between Richard and our Admin guy, Alan.

Now, I have to say Alan is a terrific guy... I mean he's owned by a dog and everything, but, bless him, sometimes if he's concentrating on something really hard, he doesn't always hear when someone is calling his name.

Change the word 'someone' in the last sentence to 'Richard'.

On this particular occasion Alan was on his way to the post office when Richard realised he needed a letter posted.  So, he quickly followed, calling to Alan asking him to wait.

Alan didn't hear Dickie Boy who continues to chase him up the street waving his envelope frantically above his heas, all the while shouting:

'Alan, Alan, Alan, Alan...'

It made me snigger and then I started chuckling, which was soon followed by a guffaw and then a downright laugh.

Mostly because I'd remembered this piece of film...

I defy you not snigger yourself when you watch it.

Anyway, Alan eventually heard and the mail was posted, all present and correct.

But now Richard thinks it's terribly funny to wander round the office muttering 'Alan, Alan, Alan...'

That was until Alan, Alan, Alan said to him: 'You know, that's really annoying.'

Well said Alan... Alan, Alan!

What a week

Hello me ol' muckers...

'Ow's it going?

I thought I'd tell you a little about me week this week since it's been another busy one... even for me.

I know you all think I lay about looking cute every day but that's just not the way it is.  I have a full role to play in this business and I play it to the full.

I mean, I have to walk Richard in the morning, I have to greet the team as they arrive, I have to say hello to customers, keep the school children entertained, souk up to Graham Eden who rents a desk in our office...

And to cap it all I have to get a solid 7 hours sleeping time in as well.

It's not easy, I'm telling you.

This week it's been even harder as Richard's Mum and dad have been staying and... you've guessed it... it's been up to me to keep them entertained in the rain.

Well, Richard's Mum is easy enough, she's happy reading a book and scratching me ears.  It's his Dad that's the issue.  I have to take him for walks at least three times a day otherwise he gets bored.  And it's come sunshine or rain, I can tell you.  Actually, this week it's just been rain; but if there had been sunshine I'd have been walking in that too.

And all this has been on top of me usual duties... or as Richard's Dad puts it: dooties.  He's from Suffolk.

Generally speaking it's been a busy week at TaxAssist Towers (that's 113 St John's Road to you).  But there was one thing that happened to me this week that's more important than anything else... I was experimented on.

Now before you get your fur in a knot in indignation it was at a grooming school.  Apparently (and obviously) they don't get to see many woofers like me so I was the star attraction.

Not that things started very well, I have to say.  The lady who ran the grooming boudoir was, shall we say, a doggy rather than a people person... but not in a good way.  She thought she knew best what was needed.

'Well, we shall have to shave around his testicles and penis.'

What!  What?

You back off little lady otherwise you'll be taking your fingers home in a bag.

All that actually came out as grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... grrr... grrr.

But, Gawd bless 'im, Richard finally grew a backbone and stood up for me.

'Errr... well, I don't think that's a good idea,' says he.  'He doesn't like it and it makes him itch.'

'What absolute nonsense,' replies the doggy lady in a very sharp tone.  'He has to get used to it... it's like shaving for the first time.'

Richard frowned.  'That's as may be... but you're still not shaving his wedding tackle.'

'Yes, I am.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

It was like watching tennis with my head flicking backwards and forwards.

Anyway, the upshot of it was that Richard won and me balls are still covered with luscious fur.  I did get well pampered though, with a bath, perfume and a load of lovely ladies cooing over me.

I must admit, me fur puffed a bit when I was dried but I'm okay again now.

Videos and flies

My human Richard is a prize plonka... and I say that with love in my heart.

But the truth is he always has been and always will be.  I mean, has he ever told you the story of why he did the one smart thing he's ever done in his life: choose me?

No?

Well, him and Renee were at the farm choosing from me and me 9 brothers and sisters.  Renee was dead set on having a white one but I was having none of it.

'Here's a pare of likely humans,' thinks I, 'I'll be wrapping them round me hind leg and no mistake.'

They were picking up one of the litter and then another with no sign of making any kind of decision.

'Right me loves, I'll have to do something about this,' thinks I.  So as Dickie boy picks me up I winks at him.  I swear to you, it's true.

I winked and he blinked in surprise.

'He just winked at me!'  He exclaimed.  'We'll have this one!'

See what I mean... sucker!

Anyway, I overheard Richard telling a story at their networking event (at which I was the star) the other night about why he's had such a long career as a trainer.

Back in 1988 he was working for Midland Bank and was on their Management Development Programme.  He was sent on a 2 day module covering presentation skills.  He had to arrive at the programme with a presentation created on anything that wasn't to do with work.

It was being videoed and, this being 1988, the camera was the size of a suitcase.

Richard was first up and he jumped at the chance, striding confidently to the flipchart stand.

'Right,' says he, 'what I want to talk about is...'

And that was it.  Nothing else came out.  It was all gone.  He had zip, nadir, nothing, diddly squat...

The silence stretched on and then he lost control of his hands and like all body language the loss of control was subconscious.

His hands slipped down towards his wedding vegetables and he started, unconsciously, unzipping and re-zipping his flies.

Eventually the facilitator took pity on him and asked if wanted to take five minutes and compose himself.

'Not really,' says Richard, 'I want the ground to open up and swallow me.  NO I don't I want the ground to open up and swallow you lot...'

Anyway, it turns out he struggled through the presentation in the end.  Of course, this was all filmed and when it came to watching it back the facilitator asked in all earnestness, 'Now Richard, what do you think you did wrong?'

'Well forgetting my words of fiddling with me nuts.  You can have either of those two things.'

Having said that he can trace back to that learning experience all the career choices he made, so, it turns out, fiddling with your flies on video is an excellent life choice.

He's still a plonka, though!

Keys and the Domino Affect

My humans, for clever people, can be really stupid sometimes.

Last week they were a bit more stupid than usual and it was all down to Richard and what he did with a set of keys.

Here's the story.

A friend was up to stay the night.  Peter arrived at 4.00pm and I let him stay at my place.  The humans were all going out while I looked after the hoose and Peter was scheduled to leave the next morning at 10.

Peter said he fancied a walk and shoved his rucksack in the back of the TaxAssist Mini for Renee to bring home later while us three (Richard, Barney and Peter) took a manly stroll home together.  Their table was booked for 7.30 at Morningside Spice.  (That's an Indian restaurant).

We 3 got home in good time and then Richard's 'phone went off:

'Darling, do you know where the Mini keys are?'

Richard went pale.  'Errr... yes, they're in my pocket.'

There was a stony silence, before, through gritted teeth, 'Never mind, I'll get a taxi home and then we'll all go to the restaurant.'

'But you need to go to BNI first thing.'

'Well, you can get up and take me down in your car.'

At this point Peter coughed gently.  'My bag's in the back of the car and so's my wash kit.'

At this point 'arse' seemed an appropriate word.

'I'll come down and get you and we'll drive straight to the restaurant and leave the car,' was Richard's suggestion.

'But what about BNI in them morning?'  Asked Renee.

'Oh, bloody hell, you can follow me to the restaurant in the Mini and you can not have a glass of wine.'

Silence.

'Darling?  Darling?'

'Alright,' says Renee again through gritted teeth, 'that's what we'll do.'

So off went Richard and Peter to collect Renee and the two rucksacks.

Richard jumped out of car 2, unlocked the mini, picked up the rucksacks and Renee and they all went to the restaurant where the 'no drink' plan fell a bit flat.

'It's okay,' said Renee, 'I'll get a lift in the morning and you two can walk back to work.'

And that's what happened.  Except Richard couldn't sleep and got up early and walked down to pick the car up, by which time Renee had texted for a lift to BNI.  The problem was she couldn't find a lift and resigned herself to not going.  And then Richard turned up with transport... but it was too late.

Finally, when they picked up the Mini it turns out Richard had forgotten to lock it!

You see what I mean?  I sometimes wonder how these two organised the shop move so smoothly without me looking after them.

And I have to live with this pair of eejits!