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Terrier Truffles Sur L'Herbe

Had a restless night dreaming about the labrador up the road, it's only a matter of time before we become better acquainted you can be sure of that. I'm not entirely shallow though you know, spent the other half of the night contemplating the complex geo-political implications of the Egyptian situation. And sausages. I love sausages. Sadly there were none of them on offer this morning. Walkies was a swift one round Jacob Smith Park, he kept me on the lead all the way round, the tight bastard. Needless to say the chance of an impromptu alfresco breakfast of terrier truffles sur l'herbe is heavily diminished when you are on your lead. Didn't get so much as an arse sniff or nothing. Convinced they are going away this weekend as we stopped off at Morrisons on the way and he bought even more beer and wine than normal. Stalag 49 for me then. Still at least I'll be guaranteed a warm breakfast there. Pooh count: 2, a modest start to the day.

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My Mate Frank

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Snow

Bloody snow, I hate the stuff. It snowed here on Saturday, which meant that my Sunday morning constitutional consisted of me running around Horseshoe Field at Conyngham bollock deep in the wretched white stuff tying to put on a display of pleasure for the two-leggeds. "Ah look at him, he loves snow," they'd say. "Look at him running and jumping around in it." Well you'd run and jump around if your bollocks were dangling in snow wouldn't you? Me poor little paws were frozen solid by the time we got back to the car. Pooh count: two, both of them "steamers" - in fact one of them was giving off so much vapour it reminded me of Drax power station, except a bit smaller and browner obviously. And it probably couldn't have powered 20,000 homes in Pontefract. A small pensioners bungalow maybe. As long as they didn't have all the lights on, and the bath running. They don't have many baths pensioners do they? One a month maybe, so the chances ...
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