Lamb, Garlic and Doodles.

What threatened to be a mundane trip to work at the Out of Hours yesterday was given a dramatic twist. I'd decided to walk Jeff's legs off prior to work so he would be tired and hopefully settle down to sleep in the car overnight. We stopped in the woods just outside Durham.

It started as just a routine walk in the park: Jeff sniffing this n that, birds tweeting in the woodland and sheep bleating in the field next door (though such walks are something I won't ever now take for granted - thank you ankle, you're getting there). Routine that was until Jeff took off deep into the wild garlic.

The reason for this burst of activity was soon apparent as Jeff Dawg plucked a semi-putrified lamb carcass from the undergrowth. Eyes wide, tail straight-up and wagging with new-found vigour... the game was on!

After 20 mins of chasing, and hide and seek, I was in danger of being late for work but eventually had Jeff cornered by fences in the woodland. A playful growl, head down, he attempted to barge past me.

Now, I don't think that Jeff knew I was once captain of the Durham School 4th Rugby XV (played 3, won 3, banned for violence and alcohol). Nor that I had once been called onto the pitch for 15 of the most scared minutes of my life when reserve for the 1st XV. He certainly wasn't expecting the re-emergence of my tackling prowess: but I took him down and as he went, the lamb carcass shot from his surprised jaws smearing what can only be described as "gack" down my leg. As we rolled in the muddy undergrowth, the stench of wild garlic was overpowering as the spring growth was crushed, staining my trousers.

I'm not sure what I would think if I needed to see a GP overnight and he had muddy, garlic-stains on his knees and stunk of wet dog and rotten farm animal, but at 3am I soon found out what Harvey the Golden Doodle thought. I had turned my back for only a moment, when I felt a paw on each shoulder and a thrusting at my waist.

JD is in the dog-box.

Blissed-out Feline

It turns out that being a house-cat with changes to the household (Jeff's arrival and Mrs Doubleu's recent comings and goings to the States) puts Max at increased risk of stress. And as this is one explanation for his scratching, we thought we'd give Feliway a go, hoping the facial pheromones would calm him and give the leather sofas a well deserved rest.




Well as you can see it seems to be working. 3 days in and Max seems to be slightly friendlier, more laid back and less destructive... and let's be blunt: a little blissed out at times!



This afternoon he sat at the back door watching wood pigeons and collared doves whilst less than 2 feet away, Jeff was watching him. We haven't seen that before!

The Bertenshaw-Douglas Dog Wrestling Service

Just a quick note of thanks to the Bertenshaw-Douglas Dog Walking Wrestling Service.  First a warning: if they offer to walk your canine friend, do prepare well in advance.  You wouldn't want to answer the door in your striped pyjamas without even having had a sniff of caffeine, would you?

Well let me tell you that punctuality is just the start of it, their service really is second to none.  Not every walking service offers an infant for your dog to play with, or an older dog for yours to harass, but the BDDWS does! And as far as the wrestling itself goes, they are not afraid to get down and dirty with your hound, as the muddy paw-prints on Catherine and Simon's shoulders attest.  Their fee is modest and payable with cake or biscuits.

As always, the proof is in the pudding: the pooch is pooped, too tired even to play with his new turkey.

Premature Egg-jaculation

Dave and Adele were our house guests this weekend. The activities were basically: eating, sleeping (Dave), followed by more eating, then some snacking and drinking. Now Cadbury would have us believe that creme egg season runs from Jan 1st until Easter. We're not adherents to this religion but such was the gluttony on show that we polished off all the chocolate eggs that Dave and Adele had kindly brought with them well before Easter!

Claire, Dave & Adele burnt some of that chocolate off on Friday during a brisk walk on Bamburgh Beach with JD. Me, I was plotting my next meal - a baguette in Alnwick followed by a visit to Barter Books. Buying WW2 propaganda mugs was the limit of my exertions.

Adele put us all to shame by getting her road bike onto my turbotrainer. She checked it wasn't seized up with inactivity and gave it a good thrashing. The turbotrainer has had a harder time before... supporting my weight, but Saturday was its first real work-out. Thank you! Dave tackled my inertia and DIY-ed the cupboard under the stairs. Thank-you!

After that, all that was left to do on Sunday was cook caramelised apples and pears to top the maple syrup smothered brioche french toast. We then stopped off at Colman's for Fish & Chips before Dave and Adele headed south.

I really need to get on that bike and I'm hoping for the all clear from the physio in 2 weeks time. The only worry now is that I'm sure I read somewhere that those minimalist pedals have a maximum rider weight.

We need a scarecrow...

Or more precisely a scare-garden-birds. Mrs Doubleu has decided we need grass where the lawn ought to be. Last years turfing experiment has been written off as a disaster, but I can't help feeling it wasn't the turf's fault.

We did water it, but so did Jeff. He also pooped on it, dug through it and my personal favourite: found the corner of the turf and enjoyed lifting the whole thing as if it was a rug. Added to this were the insults raining down from the magnolia tree (note to self: develop ecofriendly weedkiller made from essence of magnolia leaves and petals).

As reparation we've decided to try reseeding. Mrs Doubleu was very brave and went to the orange place (B&Q) on her own. The lawn is now "immaculate." That is, if the desired look is grass seed mixed with compost and soil. Unfortunately to the garden birds it all just looks like lunch.

We're hoping the 10 seed mix with aniseed will remind them that only the seed on the bidrtable is theirs for the eating. Oh, and thanks once again to the Flapjack-Pipes-Parkins for the birdtable wedding present - its what every young ornithologist dreams of..

Graveyard of Eviscerated Creatures

That'll be the backyard then...

Not only have Jeff and the magnolia tree ganged up on the lawn, but the back garden is starting to resemble something from a childhood nightmare.

The lawn has suffered the combined torment of magnolia leaves and petals on top of JD's pee, poop and an unfortunate digging habit. Add to this the combined gardening skills of Mrs Doubleu & I, and you are left with 3/4s of the lawn in a perilous state (i.e. it's mostly dirt now).

The back garden is the scene of past triumphs for Jeff. Such as the day he discovered he could barge through the hedge into the neighbours garden, and stole not one, but two wooden ducks. I returned the ducks on the first occasion, but Jeff sensing an opportunity, stole them again as soon as I left to visit Mrs Doubleu in Pittsburgh last autumn. Both Harv and Meyrick who housesat over that fortnight are quite laidback chaps, and their horizontal status denied the ducks any hope of repatriation. By the time I got back the pair were still recognisably duck-shaped, but neither had a head or legs!

Today, now that its been dry and I'm more confident of my ankle, I've had a bit of a clearout of Jeff's toys from the garden. It was a sombre affair. Most have been brutally savaged, often missing their eyes - sometimes their faces or even whole heads, with innards chewed out through the wound. Even his new big green frog, of which he is particularly proud, has lost its "rebbit!"

I signed up for no heat, not no water.

Mrs Doubleu being back this side of the Atlantic, we decided to head up to Dumfries and Galloway for the weekend. We toyed with the idea of going to Ireland but decided we'd save that until some time when I would be able to walk around. The cottage was without heat, the 70s style blown air system gave up the ghost in autumn, but we figured a scattering of hot water bottles and winter weight sleeping bags and we'd be good as good as camping.

What we weren't expecting was wild camping, but a pipe in the loft had obviously blown in the cold spell and as soon as we turned on the water we had a shower coming through the roof. Water off. A quick trip to the Spar and we were set up with a few gallons of drinking water... and haggis flavoured crisps.

When in D&G, we have certain customs that have taken on almost religious significance and importance.

Firstly, I must have haggis: usually from The Masonic Arms, served in slices as a stack with potato cakes and drambuie sauce; but at a push I'll take it from The Godfather Plaice served in batter with chips heavily laden with "solansors" (salt and sauce - a kinda brown sauce watered down with spirit vinegar).

Nextly: Mrs Doubleu must have ice cream from Cream O Galloway. Usually honeycomb crunch and caramel shortbread. At least once a day, sometimes twice. For the duration of the stay.

Lastly (and this is a new one): we have to walk the legs off Jeff dog. Well, it was all down to Claire this time- walks in Cally Palace Woods, Laurieston Woods, and Sandgreen Beach. Well after all that Jeff was properly pooped and even slept through a young stag appearing in the garden!

Blue Sky Thinking

Well we awoke to clear blue skies today and despite a hard frost, temperatures quickly rose to 7'c. So what do you think we were we thinking?

Let's hit the beach!

Jeff is owed more than a few long walks and now Mrs Doubleu is home for a few weeks, there is no excuse. So after a luxury breakfast of Mike's world famous brioche french toast, we drove north to Alnwick. We noted that the Cheviots were still white with snow but headed to the beach at Bamburgh anyway.

The scene we met, as well as the tide app on Mike's iPhone, confirmed that we'd managed to time it just right for a very high tide! So Mike and his ankle retired to the Rav with his copy of Whitelines and the sound of thunderous breakers to keep him company.

Mrs Doubleu set off for a brisk dune walk towards the castle, hoping for a beach to reappear in time for the return journey. Jeff was off lead and in his element, racing up tussock here and down dune there until...

Jeff charged down a 10ft sand cliff to be met by the foaming sea. He made a sharp about turn to clamber back to safety but as he climbed the sand gave way under his 50 kilos. As he fell back to the beach he was swamped by a breaking wave.

Jeff didn't panic but for just a moment Mrs Doubleu might have, with visions of having to jump in. But by then Jeff dog was back by her side shaking himself dry. "That was nothing," thought Jeff, "Didn't Daddy tell you about the day I fell in the River Wear?"

That's my mouse

Well the gloves are off, Ladies and Gentlmen.

Max was playing happily with his favourite catnip flavoured mouse (or is it a chinchilla?). First he wrestled with it on the bed, next he cast it onto the floor then practised his pouncing on the landing. He chased it down the stairs and that's where it all went wrong. In his excitement Max forgot that he shares downstairs with a bigger carnivore, nay, an omnivore.

It was not witnessed, but by breakfast the next morning the mouse wasn't damp - it was wringing wet. Wringing wet with what was surely dog saliva. It wasn't even chewed. I suspect Jeff went to sleep with the thing in his mouth, sucking every trace of catnip from the small creature.

Posing the "What's this?" question to Jeff produced the usual pavlovian response: head down, mournful eyes BUT wagging tail. Mrs Doubleu's doing: he knows no-one can stay mad at him for long, and even as he's told off he's wagging his tail for the cuddle that will come after.

Max looked on from the stairs. He was shaking his head in disappointment. The usual refrain:"Why did you have to bring that creature into our house, our home?"

I dried the mouse out. I even flexed and worked it to soften the crusted dog spittle. But the little mouse is no longer Max's favourite. After I'd finished my efforts at restoration he took a few tentative sniffs, turned about in dismay and retreated to his chair, comforting himself by kneading his blankie that Jeff has not yet spoiled.

Jeff hits 50

That's 50 kilos, folks.

Mrs Doubleu has been a bit worried that she couldn't feel his ribs very easily. Then Pipes called Jeff "barrel-shaped." A walk to the vets confirmed he's hit a half-century, up 7kg since August.

This has almost certainly been because he's still been growing, he's now just 16 months, but still - the last thing we want is a fat dog... so the treats will have to be rationed. It appears though, that treats will still have to used, if today's performance is anything to go by.

Mrs Doubleu let Jeff have some off lead time in the snow at the park today. He stayed close for a while but then took off up a steep hill through the trees. Mrs Doubleu chased and rounded a corner to see Jeff homing in on a dog training lesson. Imagine if you will, a dozen dogs, all off-lead, sitting nicely in a line next to their owners facing the class leader. Imagine 50 kilos of Bernese Mountain Dog excitedly bouncing into the group then licking, nuzzling and jumping on these dogs. Order vanished, chaos ensued.

The last the class saw of Jeff was Mrs Doubleu persuing him down the hill again after he'd spotted another group of dogs to harass / greet. For that class, I think Jeff will be forever used as an example of how not to behave.