Woof Woofington

Who Wants To Be A Royal Dog? Not if Prince Edward (son of the Queen, no less) is nearby. Yes, he's been snapped beating his Labradors

I was going to write a post called, "A Tail of Two Labradors" about two puppies who found themsevels hitting the headlines over Christmas.

The first was a 10-week old black Labrador puppy who was dumped at the Dogs Trust in West Lothian,Scotland on Christmas Day - yes, Christmas Day - because his owners couldn't cope.

And then there was Gary Lineker photographed with his new squeeze, their respective children and a very cute yellow Labrador.  There was much speculation that the puppy was a gift for Christmas.  For Christmas! Didn't Gary know about the message, "A Dog is for Life, Not Just for Christmas"?

But do you know what? Even though these pups had very different starts in life, I think they'll both end up hitting the jackpot.  Yes, I do.  I reckon the Dogs Trust will have been inundated with calls from potential adopters for the puppy.  And Gary's got enough cash to ensure his puppy is given the life of luxury. His sons go to Eton, after all.  Not bad for a Leicester Lad!

Which brings me to the hapless hounds of the Royal household.  And let's not forget the Queen is Patron of several animal charities, including Dogs Trust.

The UK's Sunday papers  are running photos of the Queen's youngest son, Prince Edward, allegedly out on a shoot.  You know the score: you take a gun, the dog chases the birds to flush them out (ie send them flapping out), bang!, you blast the birds out of the sky and then the dogs bring the dead birds back to you.  That's the theory. But several black Labs decided to do something different, causing the royal prince to beat them with a stick.  A big stick.

Nice.

Of course, Buckingham Palace has stated that the dogs were unharmed. Yeah, right.  'Cos being beaten with a stick DOESN'T hurt.

Personally, I just think Prince Edward was getting his own back on his parents (the dogs are more likely to belong to them) for sending him to the Marines.   So he hit them where it hurt.   But that's just my opinion.

Remember when all little girls wanted to marry a prince?  Not any more!  Believe me, a dog beater is TOTALLY unattractive.  Such behaviour is beneath contempt.  Prince Charming?  In your dreams.

Woof Woof

Happy Holidays! Christmas Message from The White House (Barney and Miss Beazley with...President and Mrs Bush)

 

So, the final festive film comes from The White House.  Well, the final film from the Bush administration.  Which means no more Barney and Miss Beazley, the canine residents.

Whatever your political views, this is cute, cute, cute.  Check out the Olympians making a guest appearance, too.

Next year will see a new first family in Washington while the new, first pet has yet to be chosen.  Or so I understand.  Apart from all the obvious requirements this very special hound will need, presence in front of a camera is a given.  Never will a dog's heritage be sooooo important!  

So, forget the global meltdown for a minute and forget that Mr Bush is still the most powerful man in the world.  Gulp.  Just enjoy some homespun fun - for Barney's sake.

Woof Woof

"The dog that broke my heart"

 

No, not my heart!

The Mistress is in tears.  Again.  Anything seems to set her off at the moment, especially the word cancer. And if it's the two words, dog and cancer, in the same sentence... well, the floodgates open. And don't close!

One such trigger was today's Times.

Author and blogger, Stephen Foster, is clearly a man with a heart.  He knows that once you've experienced the love of a dog, nothing else compares.

One of his dogs, like me, was a rescue hound; Ollie was a very handsome Lurcher (saluki-cross).  Sadly, Ollie got bone cancer.  Like me.

If you want to see some really beautiful writing, check out his blog, Walking Ollie.  And if you read the post, Leaving Ollie, make sure you have some man tissues to hand.  There will be tears unless you have a heart made of stone.

I know what the Mistress will want for Christmas (apart from a miracle!); some Stephen Foster books. Along Came Dylan is his latest.

Enjoy.  And crying is OK.  Really.

Farewell Oliver Postgate - Creator and Narrator of Bagpuss, The Clangers, Ivor the Engine and Noggin the Nog

Bagpuss

The Mistress is very sad today; a piece of her childhood has gone.  Oliver Postgate, who was on Radio 4's Desert Island Discs last year, was the creator and narrator of children's favourites such as Bagpuss and The Clangers - together with illustrator, Peter Firmin.

The Clangers - the Mistress's favourite!

He revealed much about his life on radio and it won't come as a surprise that he was a troubled soul at times, with an unhappy childhood and an overwhelming need to be busy doing something at all times.

Ivor the Engine

Ironically, he has provided hours and hours of escapism for millions of children.  And nostalgic adults. 

The world is an emptier place for such an honourable man.

Woof Woof

Old Behaviour Makes An Unwelcome Return

People are dumping their pets at Christmas.  Already!

The festive season isn't even upon us yet but Britain's pets are already victims of the credit crunch and whereas older models (like my good self) get traded in for cute younger puppies, no one is buying the puppies.  They're just too expensive.

So...if you are thinking of getting your loved ones a dog for Christmas, wait until the New Year and visit a rescue centre.

Remember...rescue dogs love you more.

Woof Woof

Taxpayers' money well spent?

"Now, what did my coach tell me to say?"

In these credit crunch times, every penny counts.  Many British folk are bemused by the Government's handling of the current economic crisis.  Billions have been given to banks (who are slow to pass on rate cuts to their customers) yet life-saving drugs are still not available on the NHS.  Hmmm.  And now, if you've saved your hard-earned cash... forget any decent interest rates.  You might as well not have bothered.

Let's face it, despite Gordon Brown's personal commitment to beating child poverty, the recent spate of headlines can only confirm one thing.  Failure.  Paul Abbott's Shameless is no longer fiction; it's a reality right across the land.

If you think I'm being overly harsh, just put it down to me being a grumpy old girl.  In today's Times, an article caught my eye.  British Taxpayers have been footing the bill for Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith to have "executive coaching" while Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport has had some help with his public speaking (via media training).  And don't laugh but Lord Mandelson has had training on using "one of the BlackBerry devices issued by the Department".  And last but not least and by far my favourite, you've also paid for Hazel Blears to learn Spanish - she's Local Government Secretary - so the Spanish will come in handy. 

But the question is this... why should the British Taxpayer finance such things?  That's clearly what Greg Hands, MP wants to know.  Surely, if training is required for politicians to learn how to...talk to their constituents, the party faithful should cough up? Or, the MPs get themselves a Career Development Loan; I hear the rates are quite competitive!

Woof Woof

"She's us princess"... Karen Matthews on her daughter, Shannon

For those readers unfamiliar with England's Northern dialect, it translates as "she's our princess" ie something precious.  Very precious and something to be treasured.

NOT something to be drugged, kidnapped and hidden away in a double bed divan for more than three weeks.

Yet this is what happened to schoolgirl, Shannon Matthews.  And, today, her mother was convicted of various crimes, including orchestrating the snatching and confinement of her daughter.

Anyone watching tonight's BBC's Panorama programme will have been left in no doubt where the blame lay.  With the mother.  The mother of "all lies".

Or was it?  The programme posed more questions than it answered.  And the chief policeman interviewed said that it was Karen Matthews' complete lack of responsibility (for herself and for her children) that was at the heart of the matter.

There was little mention of Shannon's father; where was he in all of this tangled web?

And this sorry tale reminded me of another child neglect case - albeit, much, much worse - that of Baby P.  Here, too, the father was very much on the sidelines.  Apparently, he DID try to intervene and has now been served a gagging order by Haringey Council, to stop him talking to the media about HIS take on the murder of his son.

Panorama talked about the story of Shannon Matthews exposing an underbelly of society that Britain was unaware existed.  Errr, I don't think so.

Like Baby P, social workers were all over this family - Karen Matthews with her seven children by five different fathers - but, in the end, decided the children were better off with the family.

Neighbours and family reported Karen to social services.  Baby P's relatives did the same.  And even the dreadful case of the British Josef Fritzl...involved social services.

Now, I don't want to demonise social workers.  Far from it.  But what I do want to ask - and since my time on earth is limited - is how did the control of those departments, where the welfare of children is dependent on political correctness, happen?  Why is it that targets are more important that child safety?  For most people watching and reading about these cases, common sense would prevail and say, nay, scream that something wasn't right.  Children shouldn't be left to exist in such squalid conditions. Sometimes, you DO have to intervene - however un-PC that may be - and remove children from woefully inadequate parents, step-parents or whoever else is an adult in that environment.

Ironically, if animals are kept in the same conditions, the RSPCA would remove them.  Simple as. They may fail at the prosecution stage BUT the animals concerned would have been taken away from the hell and neglect that they were experiencing.

How is it, in 2008, that British children aren't afforded the same rights?  Why aren't questions being asked about why Karen Matthews and the mother of Baby P are the way they are?  Shame on us - not as individuals - but as a society.

Woof Woof

Sh*t Happens

The Mistress and her other half were supposed to be seeing Primal Scream tonight.  But one thing and another, neither can go.

Last night the Mistress's other half - still suited and booted from work - stepped into the lift of the hotel where he is staying.  Lo and behold, Mr Gillespie was in the lift, too.

The Mistress's other half wished Bobbie good luck for the gig and explained how he had wanted to go but couldn't.  (Quite what Mr G thought of random tall bloke in a suit, in the lift, is anybody's business!!!)

No worries, said the band's front man.  "I'll get you on the guest list."

Sadly, the Mistress's other half, declined, albeit very graciously.  WTF?!  (Personally, I would have got on the list, even if I could only join the band AFTER the gig....)

And Bobbie Gillespie's response?  "Sh*t happens!"

Yes, it does!

Roy Keane Leaves Sunderland...was a dog responsible?

Now, if you're a Sunderland fan, you'll know that Roy Keane and the Black Cats have parted company. The Mistress's other half is gutted - more by Sunderland's recent poor performance, than Roy's reported exit.

The thing is, the company has spent many millions getting in new players.  The Stadium of Light was looking like a destination for top-class players, rather than the graveyard slot.

But Kean-o could not deliver the magic.  It was loss, after loss, after loss.  Imagine the mood in our house!!

However, I have since learnt that Mr Keane got a new dog, alongside his already-famous Labrador, Triggs. Apparently, it's a German Shepherd.  

Now, I am no pedigree-fascist, not at all.  But when Keane was on top of his game - as a player AND manager, it was just him and Triggs.  I just wonder if the new dog's arrival had anything to do with Sunderland's poor performance....

Personally, I know the answer.  Get Triggs on the training pitch; he'll show those players what being a winner is all about.

Go Triggs!!!

Life sucks - I've got cancer

So, it's official. I've got cancer. Bone cancer, to be precise. Life sucks. The Mistress is beside herself. She can't stop crying! Enough already, I say. Life's for living AND snacking, not for moping about full of pity, doom and gloom. But the Mistress being the Mistress, she's taken action. First she got the low down on the diagnosis and prognosis. I've got months, at most. "Prepare yourself for early next year," the vet told the Mistress. The options? Amputation with chemo' thrown in for good measure. But if they "whip off the leg", as the vet described, they'd have to go right up into the hip, as that is where the cancer is. For most dogs, the problem is at the knee. This doesn't cure me. It could buy me a few months at most. But think about it. I mean really think about it. Losing a leg is serious surgery. And the recovery... I mean, it's not as if I am a whipper-snapper now. Sooo....right now, I'm keeping the leg and the Mistress has got onto the homeopathic vet. She thinks he is God in veterinary form. He's suggested a cocktail of homeopathic remedies, which should arrive any day soon and then off we go! Tablets-a-go-go. In the meantime, I've been milking the sympathy vote and the Mistress is being very generous with the snacks. It won't last, mark my words. Woof Woof

PS I really can't get the hang of this new Typepad edit nonsense!!