Mmmmmm Sosleboslers - ok I mean sausages - and toms for second breakfast today.
Hurry up master give it to me.
Put the camera down mistress and give me sausages. Now.
At last, yum yum yum yum.
And here's a pirouette in case there's any more to come.
Note from mistress. He was sitting as good as gold and then upped to do a pirouette. Normally I end up with a totally empty shot or just a flash of tail. He moves so fast this is as good as it will ever get!
Here we all are happily outside on my terrace. (I say we, mistress is behind the camera obviously).
What are you doing master? Have you got food there?
Mistress has finished her papers (for now....).
She's even found the missing posts.
And master is chilling with me. Shaking paws.
Just stroke my face a bit more master.....
Heigh ho. I have a hard life.
Mistress has just discovered one of our posts has disappeared into thin air. Including your comments. Spooky.
Has this happened to any other dog?
No, she didn't hit the delete button.
She will repost it tomorrow - it's an old one but she is not pleased.
Ruff from Pipps and mistress.
Yippee!! Master is back.
There are three good reasons for that - in no particular order....
I get twice as much buttered toast (ie half from mistress, half from master = one full ration for me and half each for them).
I get twice as many loves and pats.
Mistress will be distracted and leave silly papers alone and become her usual smiley, happy self.
And - I get to manipulate master much better. Hehe, planning tomorrow's 5am alarm call and 20 peepee runs between breakfast and lunch.
Anyway, just to show how pleased I am, I have let him put up boring pix that don't have me in them.
Here is a parade that happened on Saturday.
On Saturday night master was working very hard in the pub until 2am. He was playing pool with some Swedish people. One woman asked him if he was married or gay because he didn't seem interested in women. (This one has lost me everydog although mistress was ROFLAO).
They asked him to go and look at their tall ship and offered to show him round.
Here is a tall ship - and a tall story.... 
Mistress told master they wouldn't turn up to show him round. After 45 minutes waiting down at the port for them, master had to agree. Mistress thought that was funny too. Serve him right for playing pool until 2am or something she said.
And here is the repainted kennelflat - looking a bit better without the orange and blue hey pals? Now when I go in, all nice and wet and dirty, that white paint won't be white for long will it?? 
Master has already taken me out for a walk. He tried to tell mistress to take me out again, and she looked at him, rolled those funny green eyes, and totally ignored him. Told me to stop trying it on. Ah well, good times, bad times.
Today is a Bank Holiday here in Europe. Mistress has tried to explain this to me everydog so I hope I've got it right.
I thought all days were the same. I thought they were all holidays too. Not that you do the same thing every day. For example, we go for different walks (although we always go for some), or we go driving in my Landy, or we go camping, or we go to our new kennelflat.
But mistress says no, they are not the same. So it must be true. From Monday to Friday some poor people have to go to a place called "Office".
They go out in the morning (leaving their companion dogs behind - pooooh - this sounds rubbish already) and come back in the evening. They usually bring "papers" back home with them, like the stuff that mistress has been messing with for the last two days. Apart from doing things with these papers, they don't have time for much else apart from grabbing something to eat and falling into bed. Sometimes they exchange a couple of sentences with their partners and their dogs.
On Saturday and Sunday they don't go to Office. Although they still might have lots of "papers" to work on. Well, I have to say right now the obvious thing to do is not go to Office at all, but work on these paper things at home. Pippadog has cracked it.
No, says mistress patiently. It doesn't work like that. She used to go to Office too.
The best days of the week are Friday and Saturday - according to mistress. I would have thought they would be Saturday and Sunday. But no, - Pippadog is wrong again.
Friday is cool because when you wake up in the morning you know it is the last working day of the week in Office and you have a weekend in front of you. It is called Poets Day. This means you can go home early because tomorrow is Saturday. Although mistress says she didn't go home early very often, but the idea is there.
The very best day of all is Saturday. This is because when you wake up you have a moment of blissful euphoria. I think what mistress really means is, that it is like dreaming about chasing a cat, and just getting your paws on top of it. And then you wake up, happy that you caught it and a whole day ahead of you to do it all over again.
Nearly Pippa, you've got the right idea. So, mistress says, the blissful euphoria is that wonderful moment when you realise you do not have to go to Office that day. Or even the next day. Two full days off. And then, although you can stay in bed which you normally want to do - but can't, you don't want to do it on Saturday because you are at home, so you spring out of bed.
Sunday should be good, and often you can go for a long walk in the morning. But there is a Big Cloud looming over Sunday called Back to Work on Monday. And sometimes Sunday afternoon or evening is spent on Papers. I am beginning to think these Papers need chewing up.
Anyway a Bank Holiday is when people in Offices stay at home, although some of them still might have to do Papers. Mistress says these rules don't apply to her any more so it was ok for her to do Papers today - at home - of course, or Pippadog would be putting his large paw down.
I'm glad I'm a dog. Oh and we have just had such a good walk, we spotted sooooooo many cats that I tried to chase and mistress would not let me. She would not let me drag her under a car, into the bushes, or halfway down the hill. Boring. This Office stuff and Papers is going to her head - she needs to stop being so assertive.
Anyway, I'm glad she doesn't go to Office anymore. I don't think anyone else should have to go either.
Hey mistress, where is my pic? Why have we got a calm and serene coastal pic? I am not on it. It's rubbish. Bring back Pippapix.
Edited by mistress to say the pic is to show there is life after the office. Honest.
Pippadog does not have a promising new career ahead of him as Dr PippaFreud the pyschoanalyst dog.
In fact I would go as far as to say that I have screwed up totally. Just as I had put mistress down for an idle toe-rag who drifts from this to that she completely wrong paws me. Big time.
We went out this morning. She didn't play any games at getting-up time. I went in nice and early to try and get her out of bed because, remember, I can see the kitchen clock, and she can't.
She didn't say anything, didn't pretend to be asleep, just lay there, and then - chung - out of bed. Exactly the same time as yesterday. Is this woman spooky or what?
I took her for our walk and we met a couple of nice small new amigos. I decided it wasn't the day to be difficult, so I did waggy tails with them. In fact I even missed - oops I mean I chose to ignore - the two marmalade cats on the wall just up from my corral.
When we got back she made a coffee and had a cursory glance at emails and Land Rover forums (this is a morning ritual for both of them). Then I got my yummy breakfast. Immediately.
I was so surprised I only had time for one tiny bark. And mistress has got something called tins in its ear. I think. Anyway, it means she can't hear properly out of one ear which must be difficult.
Us dogs with super hearing, super smell, and super eyesight know that must be very hard. Mistress has rubbish eyesight, so if her hearing is down to 50% life must be difficult. And barking doesn't help.
And after my breakfast, she vacuumed up my dogs fur (and emptied the vacuum cleaner - seriously rare), washed the dishes and pans (uh??), watered the garden, stripped the bed, put a wash on - I cleared off outside for a lie-down as I was getting pretty tired watching all this, I tell you.
But just as I came to check on what she was up to next, she shut the door and picked up her keys. "Goody," I thought, "We're off for a walk." No, wrong again. She was off to the shops. She never goes shopping. But she came back with butter. Mmmmmmm. And we had buttered toast and grilled tomatoes. Serious yum.
In fact, in all the flurry of activity, I had forgotten I had not had a second breakfast. Mistress doesn't always have breakfast so then I miss out. And I have to say she was so busy today that she put the bread under the grill but then realised she had forgotten the tomato. But, all was grilled in the end and we happily ate our tomato on toast.
And then, she tied up her hair. (She had already put on her smart trousers and boots) and sat down at the table. With piles of papers. She did not move for hours. I thought she was poorly so I left the gate to come in and lie next to her and support her. I don't know if I helped.
At lunchtime, she beamed at me and we went for our walk. I was very well-behaved. This was not a mistress to argue with.
She came back and sat at the table again. Master rang to distract her. She sorted him and made a few more 'phone calls too. Back to papers. Meantime she made some lunch and ate it at the desk and table.
After 12 hours of this, she said: "I'm tired now Pippa. I'm going to have a rest before I start again." Fine by me mistress, I'm totally stunned. I have not seen a mistress like this before. (Note to self - have a dog to master chat when he returns.)
Then she gets up, we have a super long walk, up and down the hill, up and down the river bed, mistress cool and chilled, and me not putting a paw wrong. Oh no. I might not be Dr PippaFreud, but I am not totally stupid.
I wonder what will happen tomorrow? Oh, and I sneaked a look at some of the papers she was messing with. Legal complaints or something. Nothing of importance to us dogs though.
I decided I would try a different tack with mistress. Instead of despairing at her incompetence and going off to sulk, I thought I would try and understand her.
That's a bit deep isn't it everydog? But I think it's working.
For example, yesterday morning I went in a few times and got no response from her. I couldn't work out if she was playing the game or whether she was really asleep.
Then a bit later I ran in and stood by her side of the bed. She opened her little green eyes sleepily and said: "Hello Pippa darling. Oh, it's daylight, it must be time to get up and take you out." And she did - there and then. I was lost for barks.
So I thought about it for a bit and then realised she always goes to bed a bit later than master. We can't watch our Spanish soap together any more because the TV bit the dust and master threw it out, so she looks at the internet for a little while. And then master tells her to go and curl up in bed with him.
Now because master is not here, she doesn't have anyone to curl up with. I think I might ask her if she wants to curl up with me on my sofa. There is always plenty of room because at night I always curl up very small. This is important because then you are safe and protected and people can't see you. Perhaps it doesn't matter too much in the house, but I learned to do that on the streets.
Or I could ask her if she wants me to jump on the bed with her. But she seems to take up most of the bed on her own, although I am sure I could find a little Pippaspace.
So basically her day runs an hour later than master's. Including taking me out at lunchtime and in the evening. And she doesn't fall for the old "I want a peepee" routine when all I really want to do is run out on the street and investigate all the smells from the cats and dogs that have just wandered past. Master always falls for that one, so she's a bit too cute there.
She's a mustard addict. Master normally does the washing up so I haven't particularly noticed this strange trait before. But when she eventually gets round to swilling a few dishes and things, she always sticks her finger in any left-over dressing that she's made.
They both like mustard, and she's always used it when she's made French dressing (hey, everydog I'm learning about cooking!). Last year though, she discovered a recipe for mustard dressing which involves vast quantities of Dijon mustard - we're talking tablespoons here not teaspoons - and she makes the stuff nearly every day and then gloops it over fresh artichokes.
In the morning when she tidies up, she sticks her finger in it and goes Yum. Before breakfast! Ugh. With her black coffee. About the only thing I can say to that is at least she doesn't give me artichokes and dressing for breakfast because I WOULD NOT EAT IT. Oh no. Pippadog is not a mustard addict.
Now the next one I haven't quite sussed. When master said he was going to go and do some work on the kennelflat, she said: "Oh, that's good. It will give me chance to get on with the paperwork, cleaning, ironing, dusting, gardening, and spend a bit of time with Pippa, because you won't be around to distract me."
What does she do instead? Spends most of her time doing that tiring Internet stuff that leaves her baggy-eyed. Why does she say she's going to do the other things? I don't understand this one. If she doesn't want to do the other things, why not say: "Oh that's good darling, I can spend even more time messing around on the computer than normal."
Anyway so long as she keeps the strawberries watered - do I care? We get along pretty well together. And she never tells me off for eating strawberries, and they are hers. She just laughs and walks off. To do...well, something.
What sort of a question is that I ask? It's quite clear that I found master and mistress on the streets in Spain, and they are now very LUCKY.
There aren't many stray Brits wandering around here that get picked up by a fine (Spanish speaking) dog like me. Oh no.
Mistress still wants to ask. She doesn't really mean "Who chose who?" or if she does, she also means, if you didn't get to choose your humans - why did they choose you?
Simple really, she says.
So here are her examples. (Yawn, it's my blog, it's not fair, off to sulk. I would rather write about lying in the sun, or on the sofa, or under the table. Or.....CATS!!)
Dog number one. Ben. Adopted/rescued so many years ago that mistress is not prepared to confess. A black Labrador puppy from a Blue Cross Home in the UK.
Mistress had come from a doggy home (Boxers and a Rhodesian Ridgeback). Not a cat home though. Master came from a doggy home too. Small mongrels. And some cats. Hmmmm. Yummmmmm. I don't mean they lived in dog rescue homes, I mean they grew up with dogs.
Apparently this Ben actually had pedigree papers. He and his sister were the runts of the litter, so they got discarded - that's what master and mistress were told. But they could get the pedigree papers if they gave a larger donation to the shelter.
I don't think they knew what they were looking for. A dog, preferably a puppy to give a home to. They weren't into showing dogs so the papers didn't matter. There were some nice tiny puppy Dobermans or Rottweilers at the kennels too but they were too young to leave, and master and mistress wanted to take a dog home with them.
So they took Ben. The kennels people wanted them to take his sister. These days they would have done, but it was their first dog together and they thought best to start with one. (Not necessarily true.....) And master thought the dog was a nice assertive puppy. In fact these days they would actually go for older dogs because no-one ever wants them. They just don't look so cute.....
I guess they were part-way down the rescue road. Mistress so wanted a rescue dog, but had been used to big pedigree dogs. So in the end getting a pedigree albeit without papers was probably similar to going to a breed-specific rescue society.
Next dog. Paddy. The one dog who always listened to mistress and not master. Not that mistress was going to take him. For some reason they had decided another companion was in order, so they went up to the local rescue shelter (master and mistress had moved house and area by then) which was pretty grotty.
Mistress saw this cute little puppy lying at the back of one of the kennels with big eyes. "No, we're not having that one," said master. "We'll have this nice barky one here. He so wants to leave these horrid kennels."
Mistress looked at him. He was pretty mis-shapen. (The dog, not master, although.....) He was barking a lot. Anyway - she was still being a bit pretentious - he was black like the labrador. So they would look cool together. And he looked slightly like a labrador. In fact on his papers he was a labrador cross. Either crossed with a setter, or possibly a cocker spaniel. He was six months old or so, and he was apparently an ok dog, but his owners didn't want him. They never do.
He was called Ludo. Mistress didn't think that suited him. She was convinced he was part Irish setter cross because he had beautiful feathers on the back of his legs (she had always wanted a setter, along with every other dog in the world). He had red bits on his chest (they went very white many years later). So they called him Paddy (Irish setter - yes?). Although she did think later they should have called him Rags, or Ragamuffin, or Bag of Rags. The right names always come later.
And then there was Prince. Another house move, another rescue centre - this time in a city. There were at least two in the same city in fact, and master and mistress went to both of them. Absolutely full of unwanted dogs - bursting at the seams. Big dogs, little dogs, puppies. You name it. And people going there on a Sunday afternoon for a wander round with their children to look at the nice doggies (not to home them - just to look at the nice doggies in cages). Mistress came away from the second one in tears.
They went back to the first one. Master had always fancied a German Shepherd, (and there were lots), but they obviously needed one who was able to get on with other dogs. They still had Ben and Paddy, who were ageing happily and not barking quite as much.
When they walked into the kennels, Prince barked LOUDLY. They walked all the way round and he barked again. And then they left. But they ended up with him - because he was another barky dog who said "PICK ME - please?". I think there was a bit of desperation in that bark and I will write Prince's story later 'cos we were good pals.
Oh, for the record - Ben reached nine or ten, Paddy was 15 or 16, and Prince died last year aged around 13. I think.
So. Mistress is trying to make my blog serious, and it is meant to be about sunshine, and Spain, and strawberries (and a little bit about cats).
To those of you humans who have not been found by your dogs (like I found mine!!), what made you choose your dogs? Did they bark a lot (like Paddy and Prince)? Did you go for a breed within a rescue home (like Ben and Prince) or just a funny dog like Paddy?
Or did you get your dogs from a breed-specific rescue centre?
If you buy from a breeder, and you have read all the way down this rescued dog saga (which I would be surprised about) - what do you choose and why?
And finally - if you have ever rescued a dog and then decide to buy one - why do you do that?
I think mistress needs to lighten up and go grab a glass of wine on pawty weekend. But hey, we'd both be interested in any responses. Ruff, Pipps and Serious Mistress. (Master definitely needs to come back soon!!!!)
Well, I've changed my mind.
Master needs to come back veeeeery quickly.
I could not believe what happened this morning. I went in to wake mistress up as usual. I take this role very seriously as waker-upper of the house.
It is important to wake everyone up, particularly at a time when I am feeling active and lively and want to go out.
Now usually I run in and three things happen.
Master and mistress play dead.
then a bit later
They say "go away - come back in five or ten minutes".
and then
Master says, in his special kind voice "hello Pippa, what a good dog you are, of course I'll get up now and we'll go out".
Then I run in and out holding my tail high, and sometimes I will make a few hrrrrmph noises. Then I go back in to check on master's getting dressed progress (he's a bit slow these days), and sometimes I will have a nice big stretch and lie down next to him. And he says more nice things to me.
Mistress says "ug" and "turn the light off". This should have given me the clue.
So I ran in and out. First she played dead. That's ok, I don't mind playing the game - once or twice. Then she yawned and stretched. And then nothing. Nothing at all.
In and out I went again. I went to both sides of the bed. She looked at me and said "Hello, Pippa. I've no intention of getting up yet." And WENT BACK TO SLEEP.
The only good thing to be said is that when she finally started moving her lazy body out of the bed, she gets dressed faster than master. Just as well isn't it?
So I walked her further than normal. I thought it was the least I could do for her. Then when we turned round I put on my best cat-hunting look. Pippaontheprowl. Nose sniffing, ears back, face down and looking under cars, in bushes, on walls.
That gave her a bit of a shock. And as luck would have it, we saw one of the horrid marmalade neighbours that go in my corral and make it smell nasty.
It was walking down the back street just as we were coming down the track. Misery Mistress made me stop and wait for it to get well out of the way, and then made sure we went in the opposite direction.
Could things get any worse? Yes. She went back to bed then. The only reason she was tired was because she had spent half the night reading my pals doggyblogs. Why she tries to read over a year's worth of blogging in a couple of hours is beyond me. Poco a poco mistress.
Needless to state I've only just had my breakfast. No sign of cheese and wine with it either.
I am resigned to a gloomy weekend where I am clearly not going to be in charge at all. Disappointed Pippadog. 
I shall have to eat all the strawberries so there are none left for her. Hehehe.
Hehe I'm in for a good weekend.
Master has gone off to decorate the kennelflat and get rid of the horrible colours, and suffer the fleabites (note to mistress, she must print off the advice on fleabites from Butchy and Snickers mum).
Mistress has started advertising the current furniture on the Internet and was a bit surprised to get a 'phone call for some chairs an hour or so after she had put the ad up.
Anyway master is dealing with all the hands-on side of that down at the kennelflat, we are the thinking-side back here at HQ.
When mistress first started using Internet thing many dogyearsago it was mainly for research at work, so she is a bit naive on this whole idea of selling stuff and getting money.
Still she can't be that stupid so she needs to pull her finger out and learn.
So back to the good weekend. I just get to idle around really, manipulate mistress a bit, eat lots of strawberries, try and pull her over on cat hunts, and lie on the sofa.
She says there is some TOPDOG party going on involving cheese - mmmmmm - for me, but I've not had any since breakfast time when I ate most of their cheese sandwiches, and the party should involve some wine for her.
I don't care about wine or beer. According to mistress their labrador used to like sherry, their Xsetter/lab wasn't interested in anything to drink, and their German Shepherd would have the odd beer - well, he was German - when he was young.
But mistress says alcohol is not good for doggies so best for her to drink my share at this cheese and wine party. Fine by me - so long as I get her share of cheese. Drooool. Big time droooooooool.
And as master isn't around to distract her this weekend, she can write lots of doggyblog posts for me. Although she has hardly done very well so far. It's taken until now to write anything. Too busy reading my pals' blogs. She's only jealous 'cos I have lots more Internet pals than she does.
Anyway hope to see some of you at this party if mistress can ever find it. If not it will be cava and cheese here in the house. On the sofa. Ruff. Idle Pipps.
Mistress wants to edit my post. Pooh. And it's nothing to do with party weekend. It's a bleat about the woman who was in the flat. Mistress has looked at the photos on my blog and realised the woman nicked off with the taps on the bathroom sink and changed them for bog-standard chrome. And she's only just noticed? I mean, do I care??
.JPG)
.JPG)
