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Posts Tagged ‘Mountain Dog’

So, you’ll remember when I last wrote I was excited about the arrival of my puppy, Tucker. Well, he’s here. And don’t I know it. He came bounding into our lives on January 11th and things haven’t been the same since.

On his way home

On his way home

Now, as much as I was looking forward to his arrival, as soon as I got a whiff of him, instinct kicked in and I wasn’t so keen. You can’t fight nature, and although my heart and head were telling me he was the pup I so badly wanted, and I loved my other doggy brother, Geordi, my stupid nervous system didn’t like his smell.

After a day or so my instincts chilled out, but unfortunately, he didn’t! I only knew Geordi from when he was about 13 so, although he was still nippy on his feet and very enthusiastic about life, he handled himself with a bit of decorum. Man, puppies are bouncy! And hard work!

Us having a nez a nez

Us having a nez a nez

Then it wasn’t my instincts that were offended by his smell – it was my nostrils. And everyone else’s nostrils! That boy had some serious gas. Then my ears suffered, and are still suffering. I had no idea dogs were so loud and stinky!

He’s all right, he’s sweet and soppy, but I was told he’d be like a four-legged Einstein; as far as I can tell he’s not that bright. I’m a killer combo of sophisticated and cool, and he’s just a bit, well, simple. He lollops about the place grinning like an idiot, wagging his big kinked tail, kissing any and everyone, and looking for food. As an example of his stupidity, check this out. He got into my house looking for me when I was eating the soft furnishings in the living room, and the jolt made the lid fall. Result: puppy prison.

Idiot.

Idiot.

And he barks at his reflection, and dogs on the TV, and he’s endlessly amused by doorstops. He’s not showing any signs of getting brighter either; he fell of the foot of the bed last week!

I reiterate: Idiot.

I reiterate: Idiot.

He comes over to say hello and give me kisses, and most of the time I can manage to be polite and let him, but sometimes I’m just not in the mood and have to give him a grunt and a bit of a slap. Kids. Who’d have them?!

When he’s grown up and calmed down I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire, but right now all we’ve got in common is that we’re very handsome, very loved and very spoilt.

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So, how was it for everyone? Mine was stressful! It’s such hard work being good for so many consecutive days. It’s a drawn-out affair in our house, being as we’re a bit multicultural over here. First, Nikolaus came and brought Knecht Ruprecht with him. Now, the good news is that I didn’t get hit with a stick, but the bad news is that I didn’t get any presents either. Mummy J got loads of chocolate and Tucker got something from Nik, but Mummy El and I ended up missing out. Apparently, you don’t get stuff if you don’t speak German.

I don't know why Nik likes shoes. Sometimes it pays to have big feet!

I don’t know why Nik likes shoes. Sometimes it pays to have big feet!

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I think it’s greedy to get a toy AND a stick

Then, it was time for the decorations and the tree to make an appearance, along with an influx of brown boxes arriving at the door. Since things started coming through the door with my name on them earlier in the year, allegedly, that my mummies had, allegedly, not ordered, and they, allegedly, found bunny-shaped tooth marks in their debit cards, they have changed their passwords on their online shop accounts. Allegedly. The long and the short of it is, I was unable to buy them any gifts this year, but as Mummy El always waxes lyrical that I’m the best gift she’s ever received, I thought what better than to give her that gift all over again, and took up residence under the tree.

Pine's tasty, if you don't mind bleeding gums

Pine’s tasty, if you don’t mind bleeding gums.

Then Christmas came early. No, really. A day early. It’s that whole German thing again; apparently, they can’t wait until Christmas Day, so we had a Skype conference with my German grandparents, my mummies exchanged gifts and I got my presents from them too.

Can you guess what it is?

Can you guess what it is?

It was a Kong!

It was a Kong!

And this one?

And this one?

My favourite - Cardboard! Oh, and it had some apple and biscuit dari thing with it.

My favourite – Cardboard! Oh, and it had some apple and biscuit dari thing with it.

Anyway, it was all very exhausting so I opted to stay in my cage for the main event the next day. I didn’t miss out though, my Nana brought me a brill pressie up in the afternoon! I got my favorite wicker balls – 3 of them! I was a very spoilt bunny!

And we got a very special gift from Alfie; he sent us a picture of my little bro, Tucker!

He makes that hat look good.

He makes that hat look good.

A belated Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you had as good a festive season as me!

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That Tucker is one lucky pup. He’s only got his own car! You remember I told you they’d put down a deposit on a car I found for them? Well, it’s now sat gleaming in our driveway, and Mummy J sits proudly behind the wheel of the Pupmobile (I’m sounding a fanfare in my head).

Good looking, nippy and sporty. Remind you of anyone?

Good looking, nippy and sporty. Remind you of anyone?

I haven’t been in it yet, and to be honest, I’m in no rush to. It doesn’t have anything to with Mummy J’s driving, but whenever they put me in a car the journey ends at the self same place – the V-E-T.

Tucker‘s going to love going to the beach and the woods in this bad boy, and Mummy J has bought him his own special seat. Well, technically, it’s a seat cover and I think it’s more for her benefit than his. It’s a nice, heavy duty, bespoke cover to put all the way over the back seats to protect them from mucky paws. I’ve never needed anything like that; we all know how much pride I take in my personal hygeine.

Insert puppy here.

Insert puppy here.

Tucker has a ton of new stuff, but his very own transport is definitely the best! I’m the official product tester for his things so I might show you some of them later on. But I’m not getting in that car. I just can’t risk it.

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I know, I know, it’s been a long time, but shall we just say there’s been some stuff happening and everyone’s been kinda busy. Also, I have to admit, when there wasn’t so much stuff going on I took the opportunity to be a bit lazy, and when wasn’t lazing my technical adviser was. Hence, no blogging.

The good news is though, I’ve got plenty of stuff to talk about, so we can have a few good catch-up sessions! So, first things first, I’ll just jump in with the best and most exciting news. Are you ready? Are you sure? Okay, here we go… My puppy‘s been born! Yep! You read it right! On November 19th , the awesome and gorgeous Shadow gave birth to 3 boys and 2 girls and she said that one of the boys could be my new baby bro! Now, I want you to prepare yourselves, because you’re about to see something extremely cute. Almost as cute as me. This is my bro.

Tucker (born Bossanova) with his mummy, Shadow

Tucker (born Bossanova) with his mummy, Shadow (Photo courtesy of Alfiedog.me.uk)

 My buddy Alfie and his mum/human/mistress say that Tucker’s really sweet and loves his cuddles. It looks like they might be right!

 Tucker is the cuddler in the back. (Photo courtesy of Alfiedog.me.uk)

Tucker is the cuddler in the back. (Photo courtesy of Alfiedog.me.uk)

So, what makes this puppy so special and different from all the others? Good question! Well, first of all, he is mine, mine, mine! I mean, I might share him with my mummies sometimes, like, when he wants to go for a walk, or has a whoopsie on the carpet, or it’s feeding time, or when he wants to play fetch – I can fetch myself, thank you very much! But when it comes to the important stuff like cuddles, they will have to form an orderly queue behind me.

Now, there are 2 more very unique things about Tucker that not only make him special but also prove beyond any reasonable doubt that he was always destined to be mine. As you may know, dogs have only got 4 toes on their back feet, right? Not my Tucker! Tucker the Wonder Dog has got big feet, just like me! He’s got 5 toes on his back plodders! His extra toes look a bit like thumbs and given the brains of him and his kind, he might just find a way to put those thumbs to good use!

The other way we know he was meant to come and live with us is his kinked tail. You remember my awesome big bro, Geordi? He had a kinked tail too, and he was my best buddy ever. He was gentle and loving and we just had tons of fun. We were a good team. So, Tucker’s not un-bunny-like feet and a tail to match Geordi’s have got to be signs, right?

Me and Geords, planning our next move.

Me and Geords, planning our next move.

As regular readers may recall, Alfie and his family live in York, so it’s a bit too far for me to go to see Tucker and introduce myself, so Alfie helped me find another way to say hi to him. It’s way better than the stupid way standy-uppy people do it. What do you learn by shaking someone’s hand and exchanging pleasantries? You’ve got to get straight in there with your nose! So my mummies got me a nice clean flannel, folded it up neatly and plonked it in my cage. Then I made sure to sit on it for a few weeks to really get my scent ground in, and then made sure I got as much hair on it as possible. It turns out that my moulting efforts were for nothing as Mummy El said that it was very rude to deposit your hair all over someone else’s house, and got as much of the loose stuff off as she could. Oh well, at least the old eau de Tino is there to stay.

The parents saw what a good idea it was and followed suit; they got him a little comforter and made sure to get plenty of their stink on that too (emphasis on the stink). Alfie‘s got the stink rags with him now, and every day little Tucker has a few minutes alone with them so he can get to know us the proper way.

tuckerandtheflannel

Tucker taking in our smells. Better him than me. (Photo courtesy of Alfiedog.me.uk)

The puppies turned 4 weeks old yesterday and they’re already 3 times as heavy as me! Chubsters! I can’t wait for my mummies to bring him home so I can meet him, but until then I’m keeping a close eye on Alfie’s pupdates over at alfiedog.me.uk, and watching them get up to plenty of mischief on the live puppycam!

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Today, I am well and truly pooped. I woke up full of beans yesterday, much to Mummy El’s chagrin, and spent all day bounding around, making the most of my free-range status.

See, apparently – violins at the ready – she’d been up most of the night. I didn’t know anything about it because I was busy sleeping, but by 8am I was feeling refreshed and lively but she was feeling exactly the opposite. I think it was down to the fact that she’s still creaking about the place holding her back like someone two and a half times her age, so she wasn’t really up to dealing with my so-called antics.

She was laid flat-out on the sofa with a face like a bulldog and I did a bit of athletics training! I love those days; she’s like a cross between a bouncy castle, a climbing frame and a springboard. And a toilet, but I’ll get onto that later.

So, I spent the majority of the morning doing laps of the living room, then jumping up and down, on and off the sofa and Mummy El, and then used her as a trampoline and bounce up onto the windowsill and do my bit for Neighbourhood Watch. Once I was satisfied that all was well with the workmen over the road I hopped back down and tried to find some trouble.

I didn’t find trouble, but I did find a new toy! It’s called a bucket and it’s got this handle thing on it. Mummy J uses the handle to carry it around, but she’s missed a trick, because it’s way more fun to take the handle in your mouth and then throw it up in the air. Then, you get your head out of the way – quick! – before it comes crashing back down and makes a really cool, really loud noise! You can balance it on your head as well, and then jump up in the air, and throw it that way; it’s very versatile. I considered getting in the bucket for a minute, but then I thought it too closely resembled a bin, and I’ve had bad experiences with those.

I accidentally binned myself 😦

Anyway, my neck was starting to ache from all the handle-flinging and I thought I’d probably be on thin ice making that much noise with Mummy J working next door (she’s working loads at the minute to fill the giant dent in her account that’ll be there when she has to write a cheque for the pup-mobile), so I thought I’d go and wind up check on Mummy El. She was face-down, flat-out on the sofa and looked a bit lonely and sorry for herself, so I hopped on her back to sit with her and let her know I care.

That’s when I got a good idea. My old bud Geordi told me that an important part of being a dog is to mark things that our yours by, well, relieving yourself on them. I decided that whilst I was in position on Mummy El I may as well give this marking thing a try, (I needed to go anyway and it saved me getting down to use my loo) and my reasons were two-fold. Firstly, I need to start acting a bit more like a dog if I’m going to be big bro and chief role model to a puppy, so I can help bridge the gap between him and our mummies, and secondly, à la Geordi (although he never used this technique on Mummy El), I wanted to let her know she was mine. It all made perfect sense.

The thing is, she was covered up with a blanket because it was pretty chilly, especially if you’re not moving around much (or at all in her case) so she didn’t notice that I’d had a little tinkle on her back. It defeated the object of letting her know she was mine really, because apart from the fact that, well, she didn’t know, I think, technically, only the blanket’s mine now. Mummy J let her know when she came in though, and it didn’t go down as well as I’d hoped. I’ll have to give it a go at some other point and see if I can get them to come round to my way of thinking.

Then I got bored with dull, old, decrepit Mummy El and wanted to go and demand that ask Mummy J if she wanted to pack in work for the day, only she’d shut the door. Now, as you may remember, I figured out how to open the bi-folding door, but they then figured out that if they flattened the hinges my technique doesn’t work, so this time I had to sink my teeth in a rattle the door, HARD. That technique did work, but not in way that I’d hoped. The door did open, but by Mummy J’s hand. There she stood, holding her phone, trying to video my vigorous attempts. Of course, I stopped immediately. I’m a rabbit, not a performing monkey.

I went back to see Mummy El, only to find that she was having a little power-kip! I don’t care that she’d only had 3 hours or so of sleep, I’m the only one who gets to snooze in the day. What about poor Mummy J who has deadlines to meet? She doesn’t get to have forty winks. She doesn’t get to have any winks! So, I did the honourable thing and jumped on Mummy El’s head. That woke her up. Hopefully she’s learnt her lesson.

I spent the evening chilling out with them, nibbling on carrot tops and watching TV, and we watched this really cool show on Animal Planet called “Dogs 101”. You’ll never guess which breed of dog popped up… An Entlebucher! All right, they just put a still photo up (it wasn’t of any of my pals, which is disappointing as all of them are way better looking than the pooch they chose) and the guy’s pronunciation of the breed was a bit wrong, but it’s the first time I’ve seen one on TV! It got me all excited again and I had to keep repeating my mantra… “Don’t count your chickens, Tino. Don’t count your chickens…”

Anyway, it was a fabulous ending to a brilliant day, but I’m going to have to take it easy now for the rest of the week. It was a lot of excitement for a little bunny.

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I’ve been sitting on some news for a very long time now. Well, it feels like an eternity but I think it’s only been 2 or 3 weeks really. You remember I said yesterday that Mummy El tells me not to count my chickens before they’ve hatched? Well, she told me that in relation to this news rather than the car.

See, here’s the thing. I might, might, and I have to stress again, MIGHT be getting my puppy in January.

I’ve told you about my bud, Alfie, before; he lives in a very faraway place called York where they talk like the people off Emmerdale. He’s the Entlebucher who lives with 3 other Entlebuchers. 2 of the others are girls, I’m not sure if they’re housemates or if they’re all adoptive brothers and sisters, but one of the girls is quite mean to him sometimes, which makes me think she’s his sister, and one of them might, might, MIGHT be pregnant with my puppy!

I’m not sure how it all works (my mummies say that it’s grown up stuff) but somehow girl dogs decide a few times a year that they fancy having some puppies, and then their humans/parents take them to meet a boyfriend, and then… Well, then my mummies get fuzzy with the details, but if they’re lucky, their boyfriend gives them puppies!

Megan (the one who must be Alfie’s sister) thought she fancied puppies earlier on this year so went even further away from York than York is from here and met her boyfriend. I think they liked each other and I think he wanted to give her puppies, but it didn’t work out. That’s life, eh?

Alfie tells it much better than me, but the short version of what’s happening now is that when my mummies abandoned me to hug wallabies, Shadow, that’s Alfie’s other girl, decided it was puppy time so her human/mummy/mistress took her all the way to Switzerland to meet a boyfriend, and Megan went along for the ride too. I think she must be very sophisticated and well-travelled. Then, when they were getting ready to come home, Megan decided that she wanted puppies again too!

Being a boy, and too cool to care, I don’t know much about the female psyche, but I’ve heard they’re prone to jealousy and wanting what other girls have got, so I’m going to go with that for the reasoning behind her decision. Mummy El says it’s more likely to be biology, but refuses to clarify the finer points, and I think Nana had been at Mummy El’s painkillers because when I asked her about it she started telling me some rubbish about storks and cabbage patches, so I’m sticking to my theory until somebody can come up with a better one.

Jealousy, biology, giant winged birds, I don’t care! The point is, Megan stayed in Switzerland for a bit longer and met a boyfriend too, so if they’re both carrying puppies, and they both have enough healthy puppies – which is the most important thing in the whole wide world, even more important than me getting a puppy (you have no idea how difficult that was for me to say!) – then their human/mummy/mistress might, might, MIGHT let me bring one home in January!

Now, that’s a lot of ‘might’s. Mummies El and J keep telling me to keep my hair on (which is very difficult for one who moults so profusely) because we don’t even know if either of the girls are pregnant yet, and that’s just the first ‘might’, but a bunny can’t help but dream, can he?

Blogging is exhausting stuff, so I’m off to have a snooze now, I promise to try and count sheep though, not chickens.

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Yes, you read it right. New wheels. And seats. And doors. Well, actually, a whole car. After the disastrous events surrounding the last German wheelie bin, they decided they wanted to try again. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with jumping, frolicking and bounding, but my mummies seem to think that’s impractical. Think about it. Me: leaping, running and hopping; fit, healthy and lean. Mummy El: getting driven around everywhere: stiff, creaking and shuffling. You know I make sense.

According to them, though, I hadn’t properly thought this through because cars are, apparently, useful for carrying my nuggets and potty litter home from the pet shop in, making the beach 7 minutes away instead of 75 minutes and leg-ache away (not that I ever get to go), and, of course there are those twice annual trips to the V-E-T, and even I have to admit that it’s a bit of a long way to go on foot when you’ve just had such a traumatic experience. If I’m honest, I don’t move particularly well when instruments have entered what should strictly be kept as an exit.

I knew there was no changing their minds, so all I could do was try to advise them. You’ll remember that I tried to warn them against the TT, but they weren’t interested in my opinion, but having reflected on that, and the fact that if they’d listened to me they could have saved themselves a deal of hassle and money, they agreed that maybe I should partake in this important decision-making process.

Obviously, the most important thing to consider when buying a car is how cool it is, so I discounted anything ugly or boring. Then, despite fervent protestations from Mummy J, I quashed any ideas they had of buying German. Spending billions of pounds on insurance and spare parts is a mistake I wasn’t prepared to let them make a second time. With the puppy in mind, it had to have nice, cosy back seats, and with the way Mummy El packs for day trips and holidays they need a massive boot. Looking at the volume of luggage they took I think she must have misheard Mummy J’s holiday proposition last month; she said “four night break”, not “fortnight break”!

So, my conclusion was that they needed a small SUV; something that wasn’t so big that it drank its way through their bank balance and they couldn’t park it sensibly, but something that wasn’t so small that the puppy was scrunched up in the back, wedged between winter jackets and cool boxes, and Mummy J couldn’t see out of either windscreen due to overhanging kayaks and surfboards. (Oops! I hope she doesn’t read this, I may have just let her Christmas present slip!)

So, I presented them with my findings and they added a couple of boring criteria to the list, like low mileage and age, and then heaved a massive sigh, as this apparently comes at a price. What do I know about that stuff? I thought you could buy diamonds with root vegetables. It took me forever to realise that’s not what they meant by 2 carats. So, new car = Mummy J working her poor little fingers to the bone + bored Tino.

I borrowed her laptop and started to search for a good deal for them whilst I had nobody to play with, and found them a couple to go and look at. Anyway, an already long story short, after a couple of dead ends I found them what I thought was the perfect car and arranged for them to go and drive it on Saturday. Mummy J dragged Mummy El’s creaking bones off to the garage, and 24 hours and a bit of haggling later, Mummy El was on the phone reading out the long number on her debit card, putting down a deposit! (Don’t worry, I made a note of the number as she was reading it out for future reference.)

Now, Mummy El has always told me that counting your chickens before they’ve hatched can cause you to get egg on your face, and in this instance I think she means for me not to get too excited about the car, as it’s not sat gleaming outside of our front door yet. So, on that note I’ll leave you to get on with your day and I’ll go and cross my paws that this time next week I can tell you all that I’ve been for a spin around the block in our pup-mobile. Does it still count as counting my chickens if I try reeeeally hard to see them as just eggs…?

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