Above: my pack
I'm reading Cesar Millan's book about dog psychology, Be A Pack Leader, which I got for Christmas. (Is someone trying to tell me something, do you think?) Having watched some of his TV programmes I can see where he's going with this: all I have to do is convince my dogs that I'm the leader, and then they'll be happy, well-rounded, well-behaved animals who will walk obediently behind me and never again get overexcited when they meet other dogs outside; Pace will no longer snarl if you come near her when she's eating; Ghyll won't try to eat the mail as it comes in the letterbox; Pace will at last be prepared to make friends with the cats; they will both sit quietly and benignly when the phone rings or a customer turns up at the door. It seems to involve saying, "tch!" to them each time they overstep the mark, but sometimes they're making so much racket they'd never hear it. Obviously there's more to it, but I've only read Chapter 1 so far so I haven't reached the clever bits yet.
Cesar Millan is Mexican, living in California. The 'Cesar' bit sounds Mexican enough, but 'Millan'? Has he got Scots ancestry, d'you think? He certainly has a way with dogs, but of course what he's really doing is training people, and some of the people on his TV series are as thick as they come, treating their dogs like children - no, no - if you treated children like that they'd be out in the streets causing riots.
I'd really like it to work. Both dogs have caused so much chaos in their own individual and not at all endearing ways that taking them out for a walk in a place where there might be other dogs about now requires a good deal of courage on my part. Sometimes the mental effort involved is all too much. Mostly they're brilliant dogs, but . . . if only they were more like cats.
Above: dogs should be more like this
. . . more a Christmas production, The Borrowers at Keswick's famous Theatre by the Lake is quite a clever version of the popular children's book. It's hard to portray characters who are small enough to live under the floorboards on the same stage as others who are full-sized "human beans" but they did a passable job of creating the illusion of different sizes by using a variety of techniques including our favourite - the miniature puppet versions of the Borrowers, whose little arms moved, and who seemed able to walk around the stage. We never quite figured out how they did that.
The kids loved it, and that's the main thing. Some of the adults, though, found the seats too small and too close together - Steve and I were both very glad to get up and walk about in the interval - me, because the seat was too high for my short legs, and Steve because there wasn't enough space for his longer ones. I seem to remember the seats downstairs in the stalls being a lot more comfortable - something to remember if you're planning to book there.
KESWICK SHOPS CLOSED AGAIN
Once again, though, Keswick missed a trick by not opening up for business on a bank holiday when a lot of potential customers were wandering the streets looking for something to do. I'd hoped to grab an espresso in one of the excellent coffee shops that have sprung up in recent years, but they were all shut. The few cafés that were open were doing a roaring trade, funnily enough, and the only other shops open were the outdoor gear shops, which, I suspect, never close at all, as of course there is a constant demand for yet more fleece jackets.
INTERNET DODGERS
The obvious questions are, (a) why would anyone want to dodge the internet and (b) assuming such people do exist, why do they need a café in which to do it? Oh, and is that somewhat pissed-off looking Santa one of said Internet Dodgers? At least they've got a satellite dish, so while they're studiously avoiding the internet they can amuse themselves with sky TV.
EVEN CHRIS IS AT IT NOW
Hmmm. Even Chris has now started a blog, and plans to write something every day! I can't believe he'll keep it up: well, I didn't manage it, did I? The minute life started getting busy, and things worth writing about started happening, I ceased to have time to write them down, and the blog got forgotten.
However . . . let's see which of us drops out first, eh?
CHRISTMAS DAY
This is Smokey Joe, my in-laws' new young lurcher. She's a nice wee dog, and seems - so far - well behaved.
Pretty decent Christmas. Nothing awful happened, despite having 8 people (with a 60-year age gap between the youngest and the oldest) and 2 dogs present, as well as 2 more dogs and 2 cats absent (i.e., left at our house while we had Christmas dinner elsewhere). Even finding the poor cats had been left outside in the rain all afternoon didn't cause any particular trouble. They just came inside on our return, licked themselves dry and settled down for the evening. Everyone got at least some presents they were really happy with, nobody was sick, nobody fell out with anyone else, and even my flat tyre was only a little bit soft and worked fine once we found a garage with a working air machine.
We are now looking forward to a family trip to see The Borrowers at Keswick tomorrow afternoon.
You know, I love fireworks. I love big brassy displays like the ones at Edinburgh Castle, or over Whitehaven Harbour. There's nothing quite so exciting as those awe-inspiring pyrotechnics.
However.
I'm not a dog. I'm not a cat either, though I have to admit I'm one of those people who wouldn't mind coming back next time in feline form, so long as I can live with a nice soft-hearted old sweetie. Cats and dogs hate fireworks, and we have two of each.
I took the dogs out before darkness set in, hoping there wouldnt' be too many bags and crashes, and it seemed fine to begin with. We went off down the lane as dusk fell, and by the time we were coming back up it was nearly dark. I could barely see the dogs. There was enough light in the sky to see the path, though, and not wanting to damage my night vision I was reluctant to use my headlamp. From time to time I called the dogs, and they came running back, so I knew they were nearby.
And then one time, only one dog came back. No sign of Ghyll. I'd seen him disappear into the gloom somewhere in front, but he wasn't responding to shouts or whistles. The headlight didn't help either. We searched high and low, but there was no sign of him, so I put Pace on her lead and we hurried back home, whistling and calling his name all the way.
Almost back, my phone rang - Ghyll had returned home alone, causing Steve to think some awful fate had befallen Pace and me, of course.
We were glad that he had the sense to go home, at least, but I've no idea what spooked him. There had been a few distant fireworks, but nothing major. I guess my idea of major is different from his. I think I'll wait until after the 5th before taking them out in the dark again.
So, the dogs were safely back indoors, but the cats had been out all day and there was no sign of them at all. This is their first Guy Fawkes, really, as last November they'd been too small to go outside. Up and down the veg garden I went, fluorescent lamp in hand, shouting, "Pussycats!" as I went, but the bangs, by now, were nearby, and loud, and cats are small and able to vanish inside a hedge, so there wasn't much chance of finding them.
Finally Aineko came running back inside, but it was an hour later before her nervous brother made an appearance.
I guess we're lucky. All of us - 2 humans, 2 dogs, 2 cats - are safe and well and indoors tonight, but you can be sure the casualty units of hospitals up and down the country are full up this weekend with silly kids who've got too close to explosives and didn't know any better than to get injured. Some of them will die. Some will be scarred for life. They deserve better from us, who are a bit older and a bit wiser and a bit more experienced in life.
It really is time we banned fireworks from general sale. It's crazy allowing ordinary people to set these things off in their back gardens, let alone letting them fall into the hands of people who may be far too young to understand the dangers. Big licensed displays can be put on in every town and village: if everyone in a community contributed to their local firework fund the money they'd have spent on their own back garden squibs, can you imagine what a nice big show they could put on? And surely it's more fun to stand around in the company of your friends and neighbours enjoying something like this all together?
Sure, the dogs & cats would still be scared, but it would be just one night, not a fortnight leading up to it as well.
Don't you just love those instructions translated into English by well-meaning manufacturers, who not only don't speak English, but don't even use our alphabet?
Here's a little gadget I picked up at a stall on Keswick market. Looks like it might come in quite handy - a little LED lamp that holds on to your head with elastic, leaving your hands free. Just as well it's easy enough to figure out how to work it without instructions, though.
Let's see now.... How do we fit the battery?
BATTERY REPLACEMENT
- 2 Twist off the shot's direction
- 2x Cr2032 3V Lithium Batteries [Yeah! This bit makes sense!] auording to cubic use. [huh?]
- Please remove the batteries when it will be enlightened.
Right. I think I've got that. I think. Now what?
FLASHING MODE [ooh this sounds fun]
- Tw'st off the "on"'s direction
- Can testing the shot' salfitude
Lower down we find,
Turforwation of product, which of course is something I really needed to know.
I was pleased to see on the front, though, a label saying,
DREAMING OF THE OUTDOORS" which I thought was rather sweet, and they sign off with,
Had a wonderful time. the chinese manufacturing!
Now, how many Western manufacturers (assuming there are any left) send you on your way with such a pleasant sentiment?
Took the dogs for a quick dash down to the river early this afternoon, but got slightly delayed by Chris phoning - I kept expecting the signal to disappear, so I walked more slowly. (No, I realise this doesn't make very much logical sense, but there you are, that's how it happened.)
Amazingly, we still had a signal by the time I reached the field at the bottom, beyond Roseghyll. It's quite interesting trying to carry on a telephone conversation while (a) taking photos and (b) attempting to throw sticks in the river for your dogs without (c) dropping your phone in the water or (d) getting your camera wet. I'm surprised I didn't throw the phone for the dogs to retrieve while taking photos with the stick and talking to the camera.
At one point Pace found a small plank, which she insisted I threw for her. It was so heavy it went whizzing off downstream rather fast, and Pace almost went with it. Visions of Baby Roo flitted through my memory.
Above - Pace finds a plank
COWS
Last week, it was cows. The cows think they own the field. Well, I suppose they do spend more time there than we do, but still....
You go down to the water's edge to throw sticks for your dogs, get the dogs nice and wet, and then, when you're ready to go, you find the field, previously apparently empty, now contains a herd of curious Fresians, staring languidly down at you.
I don't mind cows. They're slow and harmless, and the worst thing they do is create mud and shite in the places I want to walk. Other than that, they're just fine. And they've got rather nice eyes, too. Ghyll, however, isn't fond of cows, and gets somewhat spooked by their silent gazing. So he barks at them, rather loudly, until they shrug their shoulders in an impenetrable bovine way and wander off.
Above - the cows who think they own the field.
Last night I went out in the garden after dark to get something from the car. The Security light went on, and I looked across the cobbles. There was Aineko, out in the middle, crunching something. At first I thought it was a bird, but as I got nearer I realised it had fur. Oh. My little cat had killed a small rabbit and was in the process of eating it, head first.
Right. OK. I can handle this.
So I sort of slunk away back to the house and left her to get on with it.
Above - could it have been this one?
Rabbits are a pain in the bottom around here. They eat everything we try to grow in the veg garden, and dig holes. They're a bloody nuisance. They are also incredibly cute. It's very hard to reconcile these feelings. I remind myself that cats are predators, and rabbits are prey, and this is the way things are supposed to be. Rabbits are not an endangered species. They don't behave like the ones in Watership Down. It's perfectly OK and fine for Aineko to eat them, and I should be proud of her.
I suppose I am, sort of. Just don't make me watch her do it.
I went out later and found a few furry bits. Most of it was gone.
