Prince's story

I said a while ago that I would write this - so here is the story of my best dogpal Prince.

Master and mistress think he had the hardest life of all their dogs. He was wandering on the streets like me, but he was in the north of England in winter which is a lot colder and nastier than Andalucía.

One Saturday afternoon master and mistress forgot they were in their thirties and were busy watching Top of The Pops 2 and dancing around to music from the 80s.

Bendog (the black labrador) gave his usual single bark but they ignored him.

Later on, master went out of the kitchen door into the garden and asked mistress why she had left the back gate open.

She hadn't of course. It seemed someone had come over the back wall to see what they could steal but when they heard Bendog's bark they opened the gate from the inside and did a runner. Obviously not shutting the gate 'cos that would have slowed them down.

So master decided another dog was in order. A young barky one, as Ben and Paddy were clearly more interested in sleeping than kicking up a fuss.

And next day they found Prince at one of the local rescue shelters. Mistress wrote a tiny bit about how Prince chose them in this post.

Prince had been on the street for months during November and December when it was cold and horrid. When he was picked up by the dog warden he had dysentry and was poorly. He had tablets and stuff at the rescue place but he was still very thin when master and mistress took him home. He was around three, or four, or five - no-one could say for sure.

The rescue people told master and mistress he had been thrown out because the couple he lived with had split up and neither of them wanted him. But they also said something about how it wasn't the first time he had been chucked out and rehomed. Poor Prince. I would not like it if master and mistress threw me out now I have found a fine home.

He was very good and very quiet. But he did not join in with the other two dogs. He always stayed right on the edge of the pack. At mealtimes, he watched the others sit, so then he learned to sit too but he sat in the corner on his own, and when they started to eat he did the same.

Soppy mistress burst into tears the first time she saw him eat and his stomach expanded to show all his skinny ribs. But master and mistress didn't overfeed him, they knew that he needed to be built up slowly and consistently.

Although he was the youngest dog, he never threatened Bendog - who was topdog. After a while he started to mix more and he grew stronger and his body filled out. Soppy mistress stopped crying at feeding time.

Master and mistress were not as chilled as they are now. At bedtime, the dogs had to go in the kitchen because master did not want them to go on the sofas. (haha). One day mistress went to call Prince into the kitchen and he snapped at her. Master offered to take him back to the kennels and she was horrified.

Even though Prince always regarded master as pack leader, mistress would never have seen him go back to the kennels. She thought he had suffered enough as it was. Anyway it was the only time he ever did, so he must have been having a bad fur day.

Master and mistress thought he had been hit in his previous life. He hated it if anyone brought their hand anywhere near his head or did nasty quick movements. They thought he needed lots of love for the rest of his life because he did not seem to have had a very good start. Four or five years of being chucked around, thrown out, and beaten for being a bad dog must be pretty horrid. They wanted to make him feel happy and secure in his new home.

They must have succeeded because Prince became very confident. He decided he didn't like most men, women with short hair because they looked like men, people wearing glasses and/or caps, cyclists, motorcyclists, not keen on horses or big trucks - so barked at them all.

When Bendog crossed the Rainbow Bridge, Prince naturally became topdog. He was getting on well with Paddy and they played happily and had lots of fun times running up and down the beach. They often went camping with master and mistress.

Mistress wanted to come to Spain for her 40th birthday - they had not been on holiday without the dogs since getting Prince. They did not want to take Prince to boarding kennels because they did not want him to think he was being thrown away again.

So they got some dog&house-sitters. This was a hoot. The first "experienced" couple turned up and the guy was terrified of Prince - who realised - so helpfully kept snarling at him. Despite taking their travel expenses, after a few days they wrote to say they would be unable to come.

Mistress sent a very sharp letter to the agency asking for her money back. The interview expenses were refunded and another couple was found pronto. They were both good with the dogs. Prince didn't bother snarling.

Master and mistress told the sitters they didn't need to take Prince and Paddy out because they could just play in the garden but if they did, not to let them off the lead. What did they do? Let them both off the lead together on a nice grassy open space - right by a main road. And they didn't want to come back when called. As if that wasn't stupid enough they actually told master and mistress what they had done.

Prince and Paddy both came with master and mistress on their big adventure through France, Spain and Portugal and ended up living here.

He barked at everyone. He ran up and down our terrace and barked at the gate. He jumped on the table, he nearly jumped over the wall. He had a fine time. All the neighbours called him "El malo". Paddy was "El bueno". That only leaves "El feo" so that must be master because mistress and I are not feo.

Prince was happy to be my friend but Paddy was not. But after Paddy went over the Rainbow Bridge I became a house dog with Prince and we became great pals. We would lie at our gate together and he would bark loudly. Even though I am much bigger and younger he was still topdog, just like when he joined the pack and Bendog was topdog.

He found a fine new trick. Every morning after breakfast, he would go looking for the cleanest whitest possible thing to wipe his nose on. The throws on the sofa, the clean washing, master's beige shorts (not his black ones obviously). Even if mistress called him out of the sitting room, he would laugh, wait for her to turn around, and go and wipe his nose anyway.

Last summer he had a mild stroke while he was asleep. He woke up and he struggled to walk, but after a while he was ok. Master and mistress were very worried because they did not think he was a physically strong dog. He was obviously the runt of the original litter as he was a small GSD. As he grew older his back was sensitive. He stopped jumping on tables.

But he surprised them both - whatever he lacked in physical strength he more than made up for mentally. He didn't run quite as fast to our gate, but he still went to bark at everyone and everything.

And when mistress went to the UK last year Prince knew it was the right time to cross the Rainbow Bridge. She is so soppy. Master and I sat in the patio with him one night and over he went. We stayed with him while he went right over so that he wasn't alone. He went across so peacefully and with dignity. He was around 13 or 14.

Master waited a day before he told mistress because she was visiting family and he didn't want to spoil it for her. But she didn't sleep the night he did tell her. And she still cries now. Even though Prince would do little snarls at her and furlylips. But she was never afraid of him.

Here is our very favourite picture of the three of us: me, Prince, and master (actually it is the only one - mistress had just bought the digicamera). Master is doing furlylips and furlynoses too. Nobody knows whether master or Prince started furlylips and furlynoses first. Mistress thinks it was Prince, but master copies it well now. I wish Prince was still with me at our gate though and I would have shared my blog with him too.

Noticias

1 Mosquitoes

Master jumped up like a demented idiot in the middle of the night and started hunting a mosquito with a can of spray.

Mistress jumped out of bed in an even more demented fashion to escape the smell of the odour-free spray and spent an hour looking at blogs waiting for the smell to go.

I sensibly stayed on my sofa of course.

The impact of this is that she is feeling sleepy this morning and isn't going to put up many pix. Pooh.

2 Driving in my Landy

Not driving in my Landy would be more accurate. They went out yesterday saying something about it was too hot to leave me in the coche while they were shopping so I had to stay home and entertain myself bounding on and off my sofa.

I didn't even knock the huge pile of ironing off the board.

Master is off to Gib today again to do a couple of small jobs but he is going on the bus. So no trip in my Landy there either. Sad Pippadog.

3 Mi blog en español

Mistress and I have been chatting about writing some of my blog in Spanish. As I am a Spanish dog and we live in Spain and Gibraltar we think this would be a good idea.

And master and mistress are always mixing their languages or talking Spanish when they are out. Whether anyone understands them is another matter.

Some of our dogblogpals have said it is a good idea too.

Some clever dogs do two versions of their blog, one in each language but mistress is far too idle to do that, so we will just add a few words and sentences in Spanish.

Ya está. Hasta la próxima.

I'll leave you all with this morning's pirouette while I was waiting for my omelette sandwich.

Going for a - proper - walk

No more of these silly history tours - or at least not here in the Spanish countryside.

It has suddenly warmed up here so I am not going for a long walk at lunchtime, but we had a nice amble up and down the track yesterday evening.

There is a cat at the bottom of the hill. But Misery Master is getting as bad as Misery Mistress and just as I thought we were getting nice and near (ears back, nose twitching, me not the cat), we turned round.

Well they did and I tried to continue down the hill towards the cat but it was a bit difficult. It seems even if you point your head in the direction you want to go in, your body won't follow if you are wearing a lead, and someone is pulling you the other way. Pooh.

Here I am on top of the drain. Thinking about what to do next.

And jumping off.

Anyway, I decided to walk very slowly. Very, very slowly.
I decided to have lots of sniffs and do nothing else. Well, maybe a couple of token peepees, but no more.
That would teach them for silly history tours and turning round just before the cat. It was a pretty black one too and it clearly wanted to play the Runaway Game because it shot into the hedge.

So they had to take me up the river bed. It doesn't look like a river bed because the weather is dry now and everyone can drive up and down, but in winter it is impassable.

Off we went, it was nice and shady although short of cats.

We walked further up until master got bored. So then we walked slowly back down.

I did lots more sniffs.

"That's your lot now Pippa until tomorrow morning." said Master.

Don't care, I thought. I'll just wake you up nice and early anyway.......

Going for a walk - of sorts

We went for a walk. Master and mistress wanted to go to the supermarket and mistress wanted to go to the Tourist Information Centre to get a Calendar of Events and find out what was Going On.

Silly mistress. It is perfectly clear to everydog what is going on in Gibraltar. It is full of cats who want to be my friend. I know this because they all try to play the Runaway Game and I am then meant to chase them. That is what is Going On. Or it would be if I had half a chance.

This walk turned out to be a History Tour. Just because mistress has a history degree she thinks every person and their dog is also interested in history.

Here is the American War Memorial. It commemorates the co-operation of British and American forces at Gibraltar during the First World War. It is quite pretty I think with the shiny gold, but it is a boring picture because I am not on it. The one at the top with master and I on is a much better photo of the memorial isn't it?

Mistress needs to learn this is not a history blog. It is a Pippadogblog so pictures should at the very least have me on them somewhere. So that's mistress sorted out.

Here we are on Line Wall Promenade. The statue is of a sailor and a soldier and is a memorial to the Gibraltarians who died in the First World War.

The guns are Russian and were captured by the British soldiers during the Crimean War. The British Government then presented the guns to the people of Gibraltar.

Master and I are standing outside Duke of Kent House. Mistress took this because she thinks it looks very colonial and reminds her and master of some of the old buildings they saw when they lived in Australia.

Here is the side view of the same building.

Bad mistress. How did she sneak that one in? I am not on it. Pooh.

I was very tired after this walk. I was even more tired with all the silly history lessons from Mistress.

When we got home I flopped in the hallway of our block. I thought it was a good idea to have a nap before I went up the stairs. Master didn't agree and made me get up and go inside the kennelflat for my nap. I didn't see why I couldn't nap in the hallway. There are no rules that say "Pippadog or any other dog can not sleep in the hallway."

And of course my sofa had gone the day before. Although I don't think I had the energy to bound onto it anyway.

No more sofa......or beds...or anything....

Hello everydog. Here I am back from my travels to Gibkennelflat. We had a fine time - well, I had a fine time. We all slept on the floor together - see story below. I found my friend Marmalade - The Cat With The Green Collar - again. I met lots of friendly people who said I was nice. I am not allowed to write all of this now.

Mistress needs to buy me a computer and get Internet access there or I will not be able to communicate with all my good dogpals. (Note to self - give mistress orders about this).

Anyway, I won't start from the beginning of this trip because that will be too boring.

Quick recap, master and mistress bought the flat a few weeks ago and it was full of furniture they said they didn't want. Although the sofa was OK, IMHDO. The last time master was there he sold some chairs and took a deposit on the washing machine.

Originally they had been waiting for someone to contact them about getting rid of the furniture for free or giving it to a charity but it never happened. Mistress looked up Freecycle but it doesn't seem to exist in Gib. So she decided to try advertising on the Internet.

They advertised the double and the single bed, and the sofa bed as free to collect. They figured it was second hand and although it wasn't bad it wasn't new. And, apparently, master and mistress are not good at furniture removals together.

She would have had to find the council office and ask for the stuff to be picked up. Then, they would have had to take the furniture down one flight of stairs. Master would have barked out the orders, expecting mistress to be telepathic, she would have not understood and started laughing, he would have got very cross, she would have laughed even more, and they would narrowly have avoided heavy furniture on toes.

So master was pleased when someone rang to pick up the beds. The guy who wanted the washing machine was coming back too. Then someone rang about the sofa bed. All the large bits of furniture that they didn't want.

That's why we went down this weekend. The guy didn't ring about the washing machine. But the next day the man rang about the beds, and came to see them. When he came into the flat he said to master:

"But you are not racist."

"No," said master, puzzled. (Or at least tries not to be racist, - frequently puzzled though).

"Many people put the telephone down when they hear my voice," said Imran, who comes from Pakistan.

I did not understand this. Mistress tried to explain that some people lack respect for other people, because they come from a different country, or speak a different language, or have a different skin colour, or a different (if any) religion. Well, everydog, I had a headache, I have to say.

And then I got it. It's like me being a dog who comes from the street, isn't it? Even though I might have come from a good place before, and I might have a good pedigree, who knows? And I am a nice dog inside, so does it matter? But people think I am rubbish and no-one wants to know me. Or that there are better dogs out there. Or their fur is a nicer colour. I think that's more or less what mistress meant anyway.

These people turned up and took away all the beds, and some tacky cupboards too. Master was very pleased. They wanted the microwave and he sold it for £10. They told master he could eat at their restaurant or have a take-away.

Master thought a take-away was much more sensible as no-one wanted to leave me in a strange new flat. He said not to send too much. Mistress said, just send whatever you want, it doesn't matter what it is, it will be fine.

By this time it was late afternoon and the sofa-bed woman had not rung. Master told them to take that too if they wanted. So they did. Nobody asked me. Where was I supposed to lie, and play boundupanddown? or boundonandoff?

Pooh. Pippa on the floor.


Pippa on a grotty dustsheet - no compensation for my sofa-bed. Sulk.


Master and mistress were prepared because they had their ThermARest camping mattresses and sleeping bags. No beds, no sofa beds. Everyone on the floor.

Master and mistress had almost given up Imran and his uncle Mohamed for lost - but then they rang at nearly 10pm and asked how m&m wanted their curry cooked. They had been very busy in the restaurant. Mohamed brought the meal a few minutes later. Here is master and Mohamed and me.


The curry was very very yummy. There was enough left for breakfast too for all of us. Yummier. There was even a little bit of rice left for a separate supper meal that mistress made. Three scrummy meals.

Mistress - who clearly wants to be in charge of my blog, when her role should be purely administrative - says this is an important post. A statement or something. Another headache coming on I think.

I want to write about Marmalade, and my other "catpals" - hehe.

But no, she wants to say she thinks recycling things you don't want is better than throwing them out. If you can help someone starting out, that's very good. Whoever they are. If you get a delicious curry as a favour that is even better. They must be kind people. I must say I liked the curry for my breakfast too. Mmmmmm.

Back to travel stories tomorrow, mistress says this is too long a post already. Missed you all, catch you later, and something about mi blog en español tambien. Pipps. Hasta la proxima.

Sausages and tomatoes

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!

Chilled-out Pippadog

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.

Missing post

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.

Back

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.

Bank Holidays and Offices

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.