Sunday 28 December 2008

Goodbye Zaira

I have some very sad news.

There were seven of us here at Xerika until a few weeks ago, but then our friend Zaira stopped living after eating poisoned meat.

Now don’t get me wrong. Most Greek humes are great, but there are some who don’t have a good attitude towards animals. Some humes who keep chickens are worried that foxes will take them, so they put out poisoned food to kill the foxes. Some hunters do it too because they don’t want foxes to kill rabbits and hares before they can kill them themselves.

One night in September – just for a bit of fun - we all escaped through a hole we’d made in the fence, and that was when Zaira found the meat. Less than two hours later, she stopped living.

She was less than eighteen months old and was a bit different from the rest of us. We’d all just turned up at the farm and stayed, but Zaira was an ‘anniversary present’.

You might remember me telling you that Sammy and Rory used to live at Xerika and they helped our mum to make Poppy and me. Well, they also stopped living after eating poison. (See Journey's End.)

Soon afterwards, the local dog-doctor gave Zaira to our humes as an anniversary present when she was a young puppy. They told him it wasn’t their anniversary of anything, but the dog-doc just laughed and they took her anyway because she needed a home. (The dog-doc is a very nice hume, but he sometimes does things to us which we don’t like but are probably good for us.)

The rest of us dogs – Ziggy, Gelert, Tess, Foxy, Poppy and I – miss Zaira very much.

Goodnight, Zaira. We’re all thinking of you still, and I’ll even forgive you for stealing my bone that time. Remember?


Zaira
Born 25th April 2007
Died 16th September 2008

Saturday 5 April 2008

Escape From Xerika










This is a picture of Zaira with two bones. Greedy or what???







(It is night. Ziggy, Zaira, Gelert, Foxy (my mum), Poppy (my sister), Seven, and Buster (that’s me) are all in our dog-house, sitting or lying on blankets.)

ZAIRA: So before drawing this meeting of the ‘Xerika’ Escape Committee to a close, I want to make absolutely certain that everyone is clear what they have to do. Any questions?

(There is a pause and some general nodding.)

ZAIRA: Good. Now I suggest -

GELERT: Raising a paw in the air.) Er….

ZAIRA: Oh, for goodness’ sake, Big Guy. What is it this time?

GELERT: Well, I was just kind of wondering, er…. If er….

ZIGGY: Oh do get on with it, old boy. Some of us want to get some sleep.

GELERT: Er, sorry. I just thought it might be good if you could kind of, er, run the plan by us one more time.

(General groaning.)

ZAIRA: Gelert, we’ve already been through it umpteen times.

GELERT: I just want to make sure. That’s all.

ZAIRA: Oh for -.

FOXY: Perhaps it might be simpler if you just tell us which part of the plan you’re not sure of, dear.

GELERT: Well, I get the bit about when the humes let us out of our area in the morning and then we all go rushing about the farm like demented things…..

FOXY: Good.

GELERT: And I get the bit about rushing round like demented things once we’re on the other side of the fence…..

FOXY: Excellent.

GELERT:
Well, er, it’s the bit in between I’m a bit hazy on.

(More general groaning. Zaira puts her head in her paws.)

FOXY: I shouldn’t worry too much, dear. You’ll be working with me all the time so I can tell you what to do.

ZAIRA:
But he should worry. If he messes up his part, it could blow the whole operation.

ZIGGY:
Quite agree, old thing. One bad apple and all that caper, eh?

ZAIRA: OK, OK, but this is the very last time, so concentrate.

GELERT: Uh-huh.

ZAIRA:
The humes let us out of here in the morning and we rush round like crazy.

GELERT:
Like we always do. Yup.

ZAIRA:
Usually they don’t take much notice what we do at this point and it’s vital we use this time while they’re not watching us.

GELERT: Not watching us. OK.

ZAIRA: That’s when you, Foxy and I leg it down to the weak part of the fence at the bottom of the land - here on the map.

(Zaira points to a map of the farm which lies on the ground and indicates a large red cross on the perimeter.)

ZAIRA:
Meanwhile, Ziggy, Seven, Buster and Poppy will create a diversion -.

BUSTER: Yeah, Poppy and I are going to do cartwheels through burning hoops while Ziggy plays the saxophone and Seven does a tap-dance on his head.

GELERT:
Really? Wow, I’d love to see that.

ZAIRA: (Reproachfully) Thank you, Buster. I think we can well do without your remarks. - Now where was I? Oh yes. This is where you come in, Gelert. When we get to the fence, you push against the bottom of it as hard as you can to give Foxy and I more room to dig underneath.

GELERT: Just push?

ZAIRA: That’s right.

GELERT: As hard as I can.

ZAIRA: Exactly.

POPPY: (Muttering) By George, I think he’s got it.

FOXY:
Hush, dear.

ZAIRA: Then, once the hole is big enough, I’ll signal to the others with three loud barks.

ZIGGY: We will have made sure that the humes are back near the house by now. Buster will have stolen one of their shoes and will be giving them the runaround. Once we get the signal, Buster will drop the shoe and he and Poppy will race down to the rest of you.

GELERT: Where will you be?

ZIGGY:
I’m staying behind as a rearguard - just in case.

GELERT: That’s very brave of you, Ziggy.

ZIGGY: Think nothing of it, old man. A dog has to do what a dog has to do.

SEVEN: And I’ll be staying behind to keep him company.

ZAIRA:
So, Gelert. Are we clear now?

GELERT:
(Confidently) Oh yes.

ZAIRA:
Sure?

GELERT: Yup. And once we’re through the fence, we all rush round and when we get bored we go back home again.

ZAIRA:
Precisely. And now everyone’s clear what they have to do, I suggest we all get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.

GELERT:
Oh great. So what’s happening tomorrow then? It’s just fun, fun, fun all the way round here, isn’t it.

ZAIRA:
(Sighing deeply) Goodnight, everyone. Goodnight.

Wednesday 26 March 2008

Ziggy the Nutter?


Buster here again, folks.

Phew! It looks like Ziggy forgot the bit about me describing him as a nutter at the beginning of his story, so I’ll fill you in on that myself.

Well, to start with, it’s a little unfair to call him a nutter as such. It’s just that he has these fits. The first time I saw it happen, I really had no idea what was going on. He was sitting down and then suddenly started glaring at his own bum. Then he started this low, rumbling growl which eventually turned into a bark.

He barked at his bum a few times and by now he was standing up. Then he suddenly started whirling round and round looking exactly like he was trying to bite his own arse. He was really going for it and looked like he could do himself serious damage if he actually managed to connect.

He was barking and growling all the time and as he spun, his saliva flew all over the place. In fact, some of it hit me on the nose as I watched and I thought, ’Urgh.’ Anyway, the fit lasted four or five minutes and eventually he began to calm down. By now he was totally exhausted.

I’ve got used to Ziggy’s fits now and so have the others and we mostly ignore it and just let him get on with it. Sometimes he has better days than others but even on a good day he has at least a couple of fits.

We’ve overheard the humes talking about Ziggy’s fits and they’ve taken him to Petros, the dog-doc, loads of times for all kinds of tests and things. They’ve also tried various drugs but nobody really knows what Ziggy’s problem is. We don’t really like to ask Ziggy himself and the humes obviously can’t. They think he probably had his tail cut off when he was very young and that it was done badly - something about cutting too short and through a bone rather than between bones.

Poor Ziggy. When he’s not having these fits he seems quite happy and he’s a good laugh. We all hope that the humes will find a cure for him one day but who knows?

Wednesday 12 March 2008

Ziggy’s Story (Part Two)



Ziggy here again, readers. Sorry about the interruption.



So where was I? Oh yes. I heard the sound of footsteps coming towards the shed.

The shape of a hume appeared in the doorway and I froze, not daring to think what they’d do to me. I shut my eyes, bracing myself for whatever was about to happen.

But nothing did. I heard footsteps moving away and I slowly opened one eye. The doorway was empty. Next, I heard the sound of a door being closed and the outside light went off.

I can only imagine that the beam from the outside light hadn’t reached fully into the shed and that where I was lying was still in darkness. Thank Dog that humes have rubbish night vision.

For the second time that night, I breathed another huge sigh of relief and hoped that I could now get some well-earned sleep without any more interruptions. Even so, I told myself, I’ll have to make sure I’m out of here before the humes are up in the morning.

Still, the best laid plans of mice and dogs often go awry, as they say, and of course I seriously overslept, only waking when I heard the hume-house door opening. I didn’t even have time to think. Instinct immediately took over and I knew I had to make a run for it while I still could.

However, as soon as I was out of the shed, I came face-to-face with a female-hume coming straight towards me. She stopped in her tracks and so did I. Once again, instinct kicked in and I immediately assumed the submissive position, lowering my entire body to the ground as far as I possibly could, all four legs spread wide, and my head down but with eyes raised ever so slightly towards the hume. Although I say it myself, I reckon this was one of the best submissives I’ve ever performed in my life and, believe me, I’ve done quite a few in my time. On the basis that submission is the better part of valour, I’d spent many hours practising the pose on my own and I was about to find out if all that hard work had been worth it.

“Hello.” The female-hume’s voice was soft and gentle. “Where did you come from?”

I assumed this was probably a rhetorical question and merely replied with one of my best I’m just a poor stray looking for a bit of love and affection whimpers.

“Rob!” the female-hume suddenly called over her shoulder. “Come here quick!”

Uh-oh, I thought, I’d obviously given the wrong answer. I guessed she was calling for a male-hume and, in my experience, that usually meant bad news.

I heard some sort of grunting noises coming from inside the house and decided to brave it out. I stayed exactly as I was as the female-hume bent down and came very slowly towards me, her hand outstretched in front of her. “And what’s your name then?”

So many questions. Good grief, I didn’t even have a name at the time so what was I supposed to say? I settled for another whimper, which seemed to do the trick.

“Ohhh, what a sweetie,” said the female-hume, who was almost close enough to touch me by now.

At that moment, the male-hume appeared. I tried to sink my body even lower into the ground.

“Oh my God,” he said and I immediately realised he must either be dyslexic or a worshipper of false Dogs. “Where did he come from?”

“Oh don’t you start,” I tried to say but it just came out as yet another whimper. Probably just as well really. I mean, I didn’t want to come over as bolshy just at that particular instant, now did I.

“He’s very cute,” the male-hume remarked as he too came slowly towards me, crouching slightly.

Cute? Cute?? Now I consider myself to be many things but ‘cute’ certainly isn’t one of them. Still, I’d better go with the flow for now I suppose.

Then the female-hume brought the palm of her hand down very gently on the top of my head. I wasn’t sure what to make of it at first as my only experience of physical contact from a hume until then had resulted in various degrees of pain.

“It’s OK. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Well, that’s a relief for sure. But how do I know it’s not some kind of bluff to lure me into a false sense of security and then - whack!

But she then started gently moving her hand backwards and forwards on my head, and I have to say, it really did feel quite pleasant. I later discovered it’s something they call ‘stroking’ and I must say I’ve become very keen on it.

The male-hume bent down and placed his hand very carefully on my back and started the same ‘stroking’ thing. “He seems very friendly.”

Friendly? Yeah, and do I have a choice here exactly? You may not have noticed but I’m seriously outnumbered. Good grief. Not only is this guy dyslexic, he’s obviously a dimwit as well.

Still, it seemed like I was getting away with the whole trespassing thing and I was even beginning to relax a little. Don’t get too cocky though, I told myself. Keep up the submissive bit until you’re absolutely sure you’re in the clear.

“We really mustn’t feed him though,” The female-hume sounded suddenly serious.

Oh well, I thought. You can’t have everything I suppose.

“No you’re right. We’ll never get rid of him if we do and we can’t cope with three dogs.”

The stroking thing continued for just a few more seconds and then the female-hume got to her feet and disappeared back inside the house. Moments later, she was back carrying a bowl of - I couldn’t believe my eyes - food! But didn’t she just say….? Oh well, don’t look a gift-dog in the mouth, and I gobbled it all down as soon as the bowl touched the floor.

“But didn’t you just say…?” started the male-hume as he stood watching me. “Oh never mind.”

“I think he was hungry,” commented the female-hume.

Too damn right I was hungry. Don’t suppose there’s any chance of seconds is there? No, OK, don’t push your luck.

“Anyway, we need to get on,” said the male-hume and with that, the two humes spent the next hour or so carrying all kinds of bags and boxes from the house to the car.

Of course, this was the perfect opportunity for me to make my escape but something - mainly the food - told me that there didn’t seem to be much point any more. Instead, I spent the whole time zig-zagging in front of each of the humes as they went to and fro between the house and the car. All the while, I kept my body as low as I could to the ground, still assuming the submissive permission.

It got quite tiring really but I thought it might be worth the effort if it resulted in a bit more of the edibles. The humes seemed to find it quite amusing although I think the male-hume got a bit irritated once or twice when he tripped over me.

Then, everything seemed to happen very quickly. The humes put some more food in the bowl (yesss!) and gave me a bit more of the stroking before jumping into the car and disappearing off up the track.

Oh well, I said to myself as I swallowed the last mouthful of grub, I think that turned out pretty well in the end. Short but sweet, as they say. Pity though really. They didn’t seem too bad as humes go.

I was feeling quite drowsy after all the food so decided I may as well make use of the nice warm basket while I still had the chance. After that, I’d better get on the road again and seek out my next meal. Who knows where that would take me.

I actually slept far longer than I’d intended and when I woke up, there was a male-hume stood over me. Not the same one as before though, and I was about to panic when he carefully bent down and placed a bowl of food in front of me. I shook my head to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and scratched myself to check that I hadn’t died and ended up in some kind of Dog Paradise.

I looked up at the hume to see if I could gauge what he was going to do next.

“Go on then,” he said quietly. “Get stuck in.”

So I did. Not only then but twice a day for the next couple of weeks when this male-hume appeared with the grub. What a great guy and what an amazing holiday I had, just lying around most of the time being fed regularly and with hardly a care in the world. I had the whole place to myself apart from these couple of chasers who live here but I didn’t bother them and they didn’t bother me.

When the male- and female-humes got back from their trip, I was dreading that they’d want to kick me out. All good things must come to an end one day after all. But they seemed really delighted to see me and I’m still here almost exactly a year later. Quite a lot has happened in that time but that, as they say, is quite another story. Besides, I can see Buster pacing. I think he wants his blog back.

Friday 7 March 2008

Ziggy's Story (Part One)

Now, it has to be said that Ziggy is really a bit of a nutter. Maybe that’s a bit harsh but he does have this habit of…..

Hang on a minute though. First, I should tell you about how he came to be here at “Xerika”.



About a year ago, the humes were going off on some trip or other for a couple of weeks and they’d taken Sammy and Rory (my and Poppy’s dads) to be looked after by some hume friends. Our dads really liked going there as these other humes had a dog called Rosy, who was apparently a good laugh and fancied Rory like crazy. Rory felt the same way about her and I’ve heard the humes say he used to write love poems to her. Personally, I think that’s daft and also too soppy for words.

Anyway, the night before the humes set off on their trip -.

ZIGGY: Not writing about me by any chance, are you?

BUSTER: Er, yes, I am as it happens.

ZIGGY: Perhaps it would be appropriate if I took up the story myself at this juncture.

BUSTER: Eh? Oh yes, right. Whatever you say, Zig. It’s your story after all.

ZIGGY: My thoughts precisely, old chap.


Hello, readers. Ziggy here. Now what’s the young ragamuffin been saying? Hmm… Bit of a nutter, eh. I shall return to this point later.

In the meantime, it was the night before the humes set off on their trip and it was absolutely lashing down with rain. How I came to be roaming the hills on my own at that time of night is quite another story but suffice it to say for now, my previous humes had taken me up there a few days earlier and had just left me to fend for myself.

I’d been managing to find bits and pieces of food and wasn’t in too bad a shape. But when the rain started, I knew I had to find somewhere dry to shelter. I’m really not at all keen on getting wet and it looked like a serious storm was on its way. There was a hume-house I’d seen the day before and although I’d been avoiding such places, this was an emergency and I made straight for it as fast as I could.

Now I hadn’t had a lot of luck recently what with being abandoned and so on, but that night the Dogs seemed to be smiling on me. Firstly, the farm gate was open so I didn’t have to mess about trying to find a hole in the fence and getting wetter and muddier in the process. Secondly, there was a nice dry shed with no door next to the hume-house and, thirdly, there was even a basket with a couple of blankets inside it.

I was cold, wet and tired so I quickly got in and settled down for a good sleep.

The next thing I know, I’m aware of some kind of presence - the way you can be sometimes even when you’re fast asleep. As soon as I woke up, I got the scent of another dog and it wasn’t a pleasant scent either. My eyes focused, and I saw this very wet mangey old mongrel standing looking at me from the shed doorway.

“What the bloody hell do you want?” I barked, jumping to my feet.

“I just thought I’d -.”

“Well, you can just think again, hume-breath!”

“Listen, there’s plenty of room in here for both of us.”

“No there isn’t. So just bugger off.”

“Yeah? You gonna make me, shorty?”

I puffed out my chest and did my best snarl, trying to look as mean as I possibly could. He did exactly the same and we stood eyeballing each other for a few moments, snarling and growling, both wondering who was going to lunge first. To be honest, I don’t really do violence and it’s very rare for another dog to be taken in by my pretence at aggressive posturing but on this occasion, and much to my amazement, the other dog suddenly stopped snarling, muttered something I couldn’t make out and promptly disappeared.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and went to the doorway to make sure the mutt really had gone, edging forward carefully in case this was some kind of trick and he was going to pounce on me when my guard was down. But, sure enough, there was no sign of him and once again I settled back down in the basket feeling a little ashamed that I’d driven off the other dog. He’d been right. There really was more than enough room for both us but I’m always a bit grumpy when I get woken suddenly and -.

Just then, I heard a door opening nearby and an outside light came on. The commotion must have woken the humes. Now I’ll be for it. I lay as low as I could in the basket, trying to make myself invisible, and held my breath. I strained my ears, listening to the sound of footsteps going first one way and then another and then, slowly but surely, coming towards the shed itself….

Oops. Sorry folks, but they’ve just shouted us for supper. I’ll carry on with the story another time.

Monday 25 February 2008

The Great Slipper Robbery

Jeez, did she go mad or what? I mean one lousy slipper. Anydog would think she'd had her leg amputated in her sleep.

Listen up. If humes leave any kind of footwear (including socks), underwear, or anything else that isn't nailed down just lying around in full reachable distance, it's up for doggy grabs, yeah? Now am I right or am I right?

Of course, Gelert had to play the bloody clown, didn't he, and pranced off with it in his gob because he thought the female hume was having a game. That made her even more ballistic.

“Give her back the bloody slipper,” I barked at him, but it was no good. The dumb klutz just kept running up to her with the slipper in his mouth and then sprinting away again just as she got within reaching distance.

Mind you, you had to laugh.

“Gelert,” said the female hume. “Leave.”

Well, she said it in such a wet, imploring tone you just knew that wouldn't do it.

She knew it as well so she tried the sterner approach.

“Gelert!!! Stay!!!”

Now Gelert is a kind of wolfhound type and isn't full grown yet but he's already massive and has a brain that's about appropriate for a very small chihuahua.

Here's a picture of the ‘Big Guy‘, as Petros the dog doctor calls him:



We're all watching and know what's going through his lentil-sized brain.

“Duh, youse wanna chase me and fetch da slippa den? Goo game, yeah? Goo game.”

And off he goes again with the slipper in his gob.

The hume's going hairless by now but the Big Guy doesn't know the joke's over.

“Gelert!!! If you don't come here and drop that slipper right now.....!”

Well, we could all tell she was losing it.

“I'll.... I'll....”

She shot a quick glance at Poppy who was starting to giggle uncontrollably by now and then carried on:

“I’ll will not tolerate...”

We all knew by now that when she lost the ability to speak proper English, something bad was on its way.

“... none of you will get supper tonight!”

None of us? Now wait up here a minute, lady. Time to take action.

Zaira and Seven, being the fastest, sprinted down the far side of the Big Guy, Poppy and I went to his flanks, Ziggy just went into one of his fits (more of that later), and Mum sauntered casually towards him.

Gelert froze, his feeble mind not able to take in the pincer manoeuvre.

Mum went straight up to him, eyeballing him all the time. When she was six inches from his face she whispered, “Drop the slipper, sweetie, or none of us eat tonight.”

Suffice it to say, the dumb klutz's jaw dropped open in horror and the item of footwear fell to the ground.

At that point, the hume stepped forward, picked up the slipper and then patted the Big Guy on the head saying, “Good boy. Gooood boy. Who's a clever boy then.”

Then she saunters off back up to the house, slipper in hand, without a second glance to the rest of us.

Jeez. We're the ones who got the bloody slipper back and he's the one who gets the praise.

There really is no justice in this world. Am I right or am I right?

Tuesday 19 February 2008

Still Seven

A few days ago, I told you that we might have a seventh member of our gang. Well she’s still here and she’s still called ‘Seven’ because we haven’t thought of a better name yet. You have to get to know a dog first before you can come up with a moniker that really fits.

When we got up the morning after she arrived, Seven was inside the gate. We all rushed up and started barking questions at her as we’d done the day before. The humes tried to get us to stop, probably because they thought we were frightening her, but most of us just carried on.

Seven still didn’t have much to say for herself so we got bored after a while and wandered off to do our own things. Then it was breakfast and you wouldn’t believe how fast she could eat. I mean, the rest of us aren’t exactly slow when it comes to the old nosebag, but Seven looked like she was going for the world record. Still, as I said before, she’s incredibly thin - you can see every one of her ribs - so she needs all the grub she can get at the moment.

Even now, a few days later, she doesn’t seem to have filled out much but she does seem a lot happier. She’s got to know the rest of us a bit better and seems to realise that we’re actually very friendly. Some of us have taken longer to make friends with her than others. Poppy was about the last to accept her into the gang and even seemed quite frightened of her. Of course, she denied it when I asked her about it but why else did she keep barking at Seven and then running off?

The odd thing is, Poppy is now closer to Seven than any of us and they play together all the time. I even saw Poppy teaching Seven how to play ‘chase’. Seven didn’t seem to understand the game at all to start with but she’s got the hang of it now and can’t get enough of it. She’s fast too.

As she’s begun to settle in, she’s also been getting up to some bits of mischief - and that’s very important if you want to be a member of our gang. Yesterday, for instance, I saw her nick one of the female hume’s oldish jumpers and then make a sort of nest with it. Later on, Seven went off for a pee and Gelert was straight in there and grabbed the jumper.

Seven looked very unhappy when she came back and saw Gelert chewing away on it and had a tentative game of tug with him. She seemed very wary of the Big Guy though and she gave up after a few seconds. She kept her eyes on him and when we all trotted down the land after the humes, she seized her chance and got her jumper back again.

Here's a picture of Seven and Gelert later on when the jumper seemed to have just vanished.

SEVEN: Um, excuse me, Mr Gelert, but I was wondering if you'd seen my jumper.

GELERT: Well now, there's a thing. It was right here in front of me a minute ago.

Anyway, it’s almost food time so I’ll be off soon. Before I go though, I must just tell you about the fantastic time we had last night. It was so cold outside that the humes let us sleep in the house. They put down all kinds of blankets and things on the floor but most of us slept on settees or armchairs. There was even a fire going for most of the night. Brilliant or what!!!

Friday 15 February 2008

Now We Are Seven???

Well, what a turn-up. Literally. I mean there’s already six of us dogs here and now there might be seven! These humes must be bonkers if you ask me.

Anyway, this is how it happened this very afternoon….

The humes had got a couple of other humes in to help do some stuff to their olive trees. I don’t know exactly what but it seemed to involve cutting lots of branch things out of them. They were only here for about two hours but during that time we had to stay in our private area.

The thing is, a lot of humes in Greece are frightened of dogs. Yeah, believe it! I mean, look at our pictures. OK, so if we’d been allowed out, we’d certainly have raced round barking at them. But only for a laugh. We wouldn’t have actually bitten them or anything. Still, I suppose they weren’t to know that and Gelert is enormous and has got scary eyes, even though he’s really soft as butter.

So there we all were in our private area having a bit of a snooze and occasionally scaring the wits out of these two humes by barking at them when they came anywhere near. One time, we let them get almost up to our fence and then all suddenly started barking at once. Laugh? You should have seen them jump. Poppy reckons one of them actually peed himself but I’m not sure. Poppy makes things up sometimes.

What happened next we only found about later when we heard it from - well, she doesn’t seem to have a name so I’ll call her ‘Seven’ for now. She seems a bit shy at the moment so I don’t know if she’s given us all the details, but apparently she was mooching around just outside the farm gate when our female hume spots her.

Even though she’s doing no harm to anyone and is only looking round trying to find a bit of food, Seven thinks she’s going to get a whack or at least be yelled at, so she immediately goes into submissive mode. (This involves lowering yourself as low as you can to the ground and doing a kind of weaving movement in front of the hume you think is going to whack you one. Nearly all dogs that don’t have homes do this when a hume comes near. It’s a trick they learn very early on after they’ve already had a couple of kicks or the odd thump with a stick. The cowering thing is a dog’s way of saying, ‘It’s OK. It’s OK. I have absolutely no intention of biting you or doing anything else to you that you may find unpleasant’.)

Well, Seven is hugely relieved of course when the female hume comes slowly towards her and talks to her in a low, soft voice. Then the male hume turns up and he does much the same thing. The next thing she knows, Seven’s got a bowl of food in front of her and she can’t believe her luck.

“I’d hardly eaten anything for days,” she told us later, and we could well believe it was more like weeks when we first set eyes on her. You could see all her ribs and she looked totally emancipated.

ED: I think Buster means ‘emaciated’ here.

BUSTER: You interrupting again?

ED: Sorry, Buster.

Anyway, after the other two humes had finished their tree stuff and left, we were let out of our private area and, even though we hadn’t seen or heard Seven yet, we all sniffed that she was somewhere nearby. It only took a few seconds before we tracked her down. There she was outside the farm gate, which was firmly closed, and all curled up on a couple of blankets in this really big open-fronted plastic box. Not only that, but there was a bowl of water in front of her and another one which had obviously had food in it.

Of course, the six of us all started barking at her at once:

“Who are you?”

“Where’d you come from?”

“What you doing out there in that box?”

“Any of that food left?”

The poor thing looked terrified and was shaking from head to tail. We were only being inquisitive, but I suppose six of us all barking questions at her at the same time must have been quite frightening. Fair play to her though, she didn’t run off. After a while, she even answered a couple of our questions. She said she was outside because the humes had wanted to give her a bit of time to settle before she came face-to-face with us lot for the first time. Well, I suppose they had a point there.

I’ve no idea whether Seven will end up being a permanent member of the gang here. She may not still be here in the morning even. Who knows? I’ll keep you posted.

Anyway, here's a picture of her. You can't really tell how thin she is from the photo though:

Tuesday 12 February 2008

Journey's End

Sorry for the slight delay, Buster Fans, as I know you're dying to know the next bit of my story. If I remember right, Mum, sister Poppy and I had just set off to find our dads, who lived on a small farm called "Xerika".....

WARNING:
This next bit is very sad so if you're easily upset, you might want to skip to the next part.

Poppy and I were less than two months old when we set off with Mum to find “Xerika” and even though it was only a couple of miles, it seemed like an epic journey for our short little legs. It was hot too and Pops and I kept wanting to sit down and rest but Mum kept pushing us on. She seemed so excited about introducing us to our dads.

(Poppy wanted me to add ‘and vice versa’ here but I’ve no idea what she’s on about so I’ve left it out.)

Eventually, we reached the farm where our dads Sammy and Rory lived. Pops and I were so knackered, we just collapsed in the shade. Moments later, we were mobbed by three hooligan dogs who we discovered later were Ziggy, Zaira and Gelert.

Mum went off to look for Sammy and Rory, leaving us to the mercy of these huge (to us) dogs who were clearly intent on playing with us.

Poppy and I dozed in the shade and totally ignored them. Then Mum came back looking distraught. (Pops gave me that last word and I don’t know if it sums up the way Mum looked but I’ll risk it.)

“Where are they?” she panted, looking at the other three.

“Where’s who?” said Gelert.

“Sammy and Rory. Where are they?”

Poppy and I watched as Ziggy, Zaira and Gelert looked down at their paws.

“Well?” Mum was getting impatient.

Very slowly, Ziggy raised his head and looked into Mum’s eyes. “They’re not here now.”

“Not here? Well, where are they then?”

“They stopped living. I’m sorry.”

Mum held his gaze for a few seconds and then wandered off on her own.

Poppy and I were too young to understand what was going on at the time, but Mum explained to us what had happened when we were a bit more grown up.

Apparently, about the same time they helped Mum make Poppy and I, Sammy and Rory kept escaping from the farm and generally making mischief. Then, late one night just before Ziggy’s bedtime, he discovered Rory lying just inside the farm gate. He wasn’t living.

In Greece, where we live, there are bad humes who put poisoned food out for foxes to protect their chickens and it seems that Rory ate some and stopped living soon after. Sammy was never seen again and the same thing probably happened to him but he never made it back to the farm. (Petros, our Dog Doc, gets very angry about this sort of thing but I’ll tell you more about him another time.)

The humes dug a big hole, put Rory in it and then covered him up. Ziggy says he saw water coming out of the humes’ eyes but none of us knows why that would happen.

Mum hardly spoke or ate for days after she heard what had happened to our dads but she’s a bit better now. Ziggy showed her the place where the humes put Rory after he stopped living. She goes there sometimes on her own and sits quietly.

Poppy and I are now six months old so we understand a bit more about stuff. It seems there are good humes and bad humes. Thank Dog, we seem to have ended up with some good ones.

It would have been great to have met our dads but they stopped living even before Poppy and I started living. We’ve heard lots of stories about Sammy and Rory from Mum and Ziggy and I’ll tell you some of them one day. I'll also show you some photos of them.

Mum says I should get to bed now as it’s late but I just feel like barking at something.

Saturday 9 February 2008

The Journey Begins

OK, so I've realised I was telling you about how I came to be here at “Xerika” and then got a bit sidetracked by the all important issue of food.

As I said, my mum was a chicken-guard on this farm and she had these two boyfriends – or maybe it was three....

Now listen here a minute. I know what you're thinking and you can stop that right now. Capiche? Having more than one boyfriend at a time is perfectly normal in the dog world and no reason for you humes to start tut-tutting and banging on about my mum being no better than she ought to be or whatever.

So now that's cleared up, I'll get on with the story. Right?

Anyway, these two boyfriends were called Sammy and Rory and it just so happened that they lived on this farm called “Xerika” a couple of miles away.

To cut a long story short, a while afterwards us pups were born. [Ed. On the 14th July 2007.]

BUSTER: What?

ED: Sorry. Just thought I'd add a bit of background information.

BUSTER: Well don't. Just butt out and don't interrupt when I'm on a roll. Right?

ED: Er.... Right.

Jeez, I'm sorry about that, folks. These humes think they're so damn clever. Yeah, well if they're so damned clever, how come they never learned to lick their own bits. Case proved, m'lud.

What happened after we were born is a bit hazy. I mean, give me a break, I couldn't even open my eyes for days afterwards.

The next thing I know is we wake up one morning and Mum says, “Right, kids. It's time you met your fathers.”

[Ed. It is not commonly known that a litter of pups can be sired by more than one father.]

BUSTER: What did I just say?

ED: Sorry.

So Mum gets up and shakes herself, ready for the off.

“Mumma forget stuff,” says I. (And before you all start having a go, I was a very young pup then and didn't always talk like I do now. Right?)

“What stuff is that, ********?” (I absolutely refuse to make public my mum's pet name for me when I was a pup.)

“Mother dearest, it would appear you are tethered to a chain and are totally incapable of venturing more than a few yards,” chipped in sister Poppy. (Oh, all right, she was always a bit further advanced than me.)

Mum gave her one of those grins she does and says, “No problem, sweetie.”

In an instant, she was off the chain and off up the track before you could say Jack Russell.

“How she done that?” I looked at Poppy, wide-eyed and four-legged.

“No idea, sweetpea, but she done it nonetheless and I suggest we leg it after her toute suite.”

Toute suite? Toute bloody suite??? Smart and pretentious. What a bloody combination.

It turns out later that Mum had done the Houdini trick loads of times, but more of that later.

IT'S SUPPER TIME AGAIN!!!!

Saturday 2 February 2008

Who Pooed?

Jeez! What a night. We've got this great apartment that one of the humes built for us and we're all nestled in all cosy like and someone takes a dump in there, right in the top corner. Stink or what? Zaira reckons it was Ziggy that coiled one down but my bet's on Gelert. They all denied it of course but I watched them all later and Gelert didn't do one for hours after the rest of us.

OK, so where was I?

No idea, so maybe I should introduce the rest of the family here so you know who I'm talking about.

First off, here's my lovely mum, Foxy, with my sister Poppy and I when we were only about eight weeks old:



Then here's my twin sister, Poppy, when she was about four months old. Yeah, we don't look much alike but we were still born about the same time. Incidentally, we had three other brothers and sisters when we were born but I've no idea what happened to them.



So that's my, as it were, blood family. I'll introduce you to the others in a bit. To be honest, the sun's just warming up now and I need a bit of a snooze. Back later.

Wednesday 30 January 2008

My Name is Buster. Believe It!

See my picture at the top? That’s me. I’m Buster. You girl dogs out there are panting already. I can hear you.

I don’t like to use the B word for girl dogs ‘cos I don’t think it sounds nice. But don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t mean I‘m not hot stuff, because I am. Not that I’ve done that kind of thing yet as I’m far too young. I’m about five months old as it happens, which makes me about three years old in hume terms.

OK, so now we’ve got that over with I’m going to tell you my story. Not just my story but the story of all the other five dogs, two chasers [Ed: “Chasers’ is one of many terms used by dogs to describe cats.], and two humes [Ed: ‘Humes’ is the word that dogs often use to- ]

BUSTER: Are you going to keep interrupting like this or are you going to let me tell the story as it is?

ED: Sorry, Buster. I just thought that -

BUSTER: Well, you know what ‘thought’ did, don’t you.

ED: Sorry, Buster.

Jeez, these humes!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes….

You lot were wanting to know how I ended up here with five other dogs, two chasers, and a couple of humes. (And if you didn’t want to know, why did you click the thing on your computy?)

First off, I was born on some kind of farm in Greece. Not a real farm. Just some place they kept chickens up in the hills. Scrapland. Anyway, my mum was employed there as a chicken-guard. Jeez! You should see my mum. Soft or what? Don't get me wrong. I love her to bits. But if old Foxy comes looking for a chicken dinner late one night, she's so soft, she'd just say something like, “Oh hello, Mr (or Mrs or even Ms) Fox, if you've come looking for a late night chicken dinner, I have to point out that it's my job to prevent you from harming a single feather on their heads.”

The thing was, she was kept chained up all day, every day all year round with about a 5 yard radius. A lot of dogs in Greece spend their entire (and often short) lives like this and Mum was treated better than some of the others. At least she had water most of the time and bread and sometimes some meat bones. Some of the other poor suckers didn't even have that much. My mum told me horror stories about chicken-guards like her who had almost no food and hardly any water even when the temperatures went crazy in the summer.

More of that later but, in the meantime, I need to tell you how I got here to “Xerika” and how I ended up with two humes, my mum, my sister, three other dogs and two chasers.

Hang on a bit though. Food's on the way so I'll have to sign off now to fill myself. Talk to you more tomorrow if you're still around.