I get into training

Apparently, the O Limb Picks involve humans running and playing games, just like me and Ferney. They throw things, play with balls and other toys and generally have a good time. So I’m going to contact that nice Lord Coe, who seems to be in charge, and suggest the Dogs O Limb Picks. I think they should be held in Barking or the Isle of Dogs, both are near where all the humans are going to be having fun.

Here are the events:

Long distance running — I think Ferney will get a medal here.

Catch the Frisbee.

Hunt the bone.

Fetch the stick relay.

100m sprint after a cat.

Hide and seek.

Tail wagging.

Tugging contest — probably my best event.

Ball chase and return.

Obstacle course.

Find the truffle — I’ll give this a miss. I know my limitations.

Here are photos of my friends Pippa and Merlin practising. I think they might do quite well.

I'm expecting visitors

I’m very excited because my Aunty Olivia, Uncle Derek and cousin Victoria are coming to visit me in six days' time. I do manage to contain my excitement but, between us, they find it more difficult. They produce a sort of Rupert advent calendar to count off the days — you can see Aunty Olivia with it here. Of course, when they arrive, I make a great fuss of them and spoil them — not just because they bring me presents and give me treats when they’re here, but because I love them lots. I'm such a good host that I even let them play with my Frisbee and take me for long walks. This time, I might even teach them to hunt truffles and give them some tips from my drama classes.

Sadly, once they leave Linda and David are pretty strict with me and all I hear for days is, “You’ve had enough treats!”. I restrain myself and do not retaliate by saying, “And you’ve had enough wine!”. But they know what I’m thinking! Then I take a prolonged nap — all those extra walks, cuddles and games tire me out.

I am a great actor

It was my drama group today. We did a scene from A Midsummer’s Nights Dream. I played two parts — a dog belonging to the man in the moon and a lion. It’s a good job I can multi-task. I hadn’t realized the man in the moon had a dog, but I just listened to directions and improvised.

Everyone agreed that my portrayal of a lion was pretty scary. I had them running in all directions. I thought I heard Linda say that it was actually a wasp that caused the panic not me.  However, I have to be honest here — I think she was a little bit jealous because all she had to do was pretend to be a wall. How much acting is involved in standing there being a wall with a hole in it? Not that much. My lion, though, was worthy of an award.

There were a couple of unfortunate misunderstandings. It was only after I’d brought them my Frisbee that I found out they were talking about Thisbe. However, I don’t think I spoilt a particularly dramatic moment that much by dropping my Frisbee at the foot of Linda’s wall. Then, when I saw Gavin lying in the floor, I thought he’d had too much wine so I started to lick his face. In fact, he was playing dead and helping him wasn’t very lion-like behaviour. It also made him sneeze.

I hope things improve next week. I might suggest we do the Wizard of Oz. I could be Toto to Linda’s Dorothy.

I got a bit bored after a while, so I went to find David and took him for a walk.

I'm not a working dog

It’s amazing that in this day and age, there are dogs who still have to work for a living. I understand that some have a vocation, like guide dogs, and others are born into their roles, like sheepdogs, but personally, I draw the line at menial tasks. As regular readers know, I have tried to help out in the past, but decided truffle hunting was not for me — they were just too quick for me to catch.

Take Twister. He’s a friend of a friend. He likes to pretend he’s a guard dog — that’s OK, I do that too. We both give a few barks at the postman to show him who’s boss. But Twister actually goes and fetches the post too! Can you believe that? I didn’t think it could possibly be true, then one of my informants sent me a photo. There’s no doubt about it — Twister definitely has the weekly advertising circulars in his mouth. There’s no excuse for it, unless there’s a special offer on dog biscuits at Lidl and he’s bringing it to his humans’ attention. Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case. “He’s trying to be helpful,” said Linda. Perhaps. But I think it’s a step too far. Next thing you know, they’ll be sending me off to get the bread and croissants. Besides, if we dogs did all the work, what would our humans do? They like to keep busy and I know Linda and David really enjoy cooking me tasty meals, brushing me, taking me for a walk, playing with me and generally making me happy.

Needless to say, I also send my humans to fetch the post. I watch them carefully, though, in case there’s a large parcel. Large parcels are usually addressed to me. They generally come from Victoria, who sends me nice gifts from England. If Linda or David bring in a large parcel, I have to sniff it carefully to check whether it’s from Victoria. If it’s not, I let them open it themselves as it’s likely to be something quite boring.

I’m now going to go and have a serious woof with Twister. He’s giving us dogs a bad name. (I've included his photo so you can recognise him.)

Good news about Kostas

I'm sure all my readers will be pleased to know that Kostas (the second cutest dog in the area) has found a new home with some delightful people near Caylus.  They have horses, cats and a Bernese Mountain Dog so he won’t be wanting for company.  I hope we'll be able to meet up one day.

I entertain my friends

I do enjoy entertaining. It’s lovely when my friends come round for lunch or supper — it does Linda and David good to socialize too. The problem is, these occasions can get quite boring. I always make a point of going to greet my guests when they arrive, and they all make a great fuss of me — as is to be expected. But once they’ve had a glass of wine and a few peanuts, they often forget I’m there. They’ve been known to step over me when they leave the room without acknowledging me. I think I’ve even heard people mutter, “Rupert, will you please move out of the way,” but maybe I was dreaming.

They talk about such tedious topics too. I confess I’m getting fed up with their fixation about art. Some lovely people came to visit at the weekend and the same old subject came up. Tell me, how can a book about black and white drawings generate so much interest? I must tell Linda never to buy me a plain bandana, though, even if there are 50 shades of grey to choose from. Give me red and white spots any day.

I try to steer the conversation around to dogs, but the humans’ attention span is not good and they veer off onto other subjects. What did they talk about the other day? Chickens! Donkeys! Shopping! Men cycling around France! And food. They can spend a long time discussing food. At our last lunch, I feasted on some delicious liver while they had to make do with duck and a fancy sauce.  Some of the guests even asked for the duck recipe. This was rather shortsighted of them — they might need to practice cooking the liver dish before my next visit to them. I confess, though, that I was a little jealous of the lovely cake my friend Glynis made for the occasion. I think I might ask her to make one for me for my birthday of a poodle wearing a colourful bandana. I’m sure she’ll be able to include liver or steak in it somehow

I have a busy week

It’s been a busy week. It was the monthly quiz a few days ago. It’s always difficult because everyone wants me on their team. There weren’t enough doggie questions, though. Of course, the one asking what kind of dog detective Colombo had was easy for me. Although I think he would have been better with a poodle, he actually had a Bassett Hound. How many of you knew that? I may volunteer to set the questions next time.

Then Linda went off to a discussion group where they talked about superstitions. (I think this was because it was Friday the 13^th.) She came back and said that they hadn’t mentioned dogs at all. (Well, she did tell everyone about my blog and apparently someone said my ghost writer should get out more. I’m not sure what they meant by that.) So I googled some doggie superstitions for you, and here they are:

1. If you scratch a dog before you go job-hunting, you’ll get a good job.

2. A strange dog walking into your house portends a new friendship.

3. Meeting a dog – especially a Dalmatian – is considered good luck.

4. A dog eating grass means it will rain soon.

5. If you see three white dogs together at the same time, you will have good luck.

If anyone is going for a job, you are welcome to come and scratch me beforehand. I draw the line at going into any unknown houses, though, you don’t know who you might meet. (Anyway, I’m not a strange dog, I’m perfectly normal!) And I think there’s a mistake in number 3 —  somehow Dalmatian has been typed instead of poodle.

I promise not to eat any more grass. Linda is always telling me to stop munching it. You don’t think I’m responsible for all the rain we’ve had this year, do you? Perhaps I’d better stick to steak.

PS: I’ve also heard that people are superstitious about black cats. That Kandy had better watch out.

I'm amazed

I had a bit of spare time today, so I asked David to have a look at some of the statistics on my blog. I was amazed to find that very nearly one thousand people have read it so far. Thank you! I never dreamed that the musings of this humble poodle in France would attract so much attention.

As one would expect, the majority of my readers are in France. These are followed by those from English-speaking countries. (Today, though, only one from Australia and none from New Zealand. They do bark a kind of English there, don’t they?)

The big surprise was the number (23) from Russia. I never dreamed that I’d be popular there. Do you think it’s the KGB following my blog? Or perhaps Mr. Putin wants to get a better insight into canine thinking in the West? In any case, they’re more than welcome. I’d love to hear come comments on a dog’s life in Russia.

Another surprise was that I have a reader in Iran. Maybe it’s their President; he of the unpronounceable name. It would be wonderful if my blog could help foster better understanding between the East and West. I’ve said it before: “Dogs of the World unite – in peace!”

I’ve also had some lovely comments on the blog; they’ve all been published for you to read. Please, please keep them coming.

Well, it’s a warm afternoon, Linda is off solving the world’s problems at a ladies’ lunch and David is tired of taking dictation so he and I are going to have a much needed nap.

Barks and woofs to all.

Rupert

I get a makeover

Good grooming shows. It takes a lot of hard work to look this handsome all the time. I couldn’t manage it without the help of my friends at Funky Toilettage. It’s an interesting shop, about 40 minutes away in Villefranche. It sells toys and treats and even has some friendly dogs to socialise with — some of them look almost as good as me. I confess, though, that I wish it had a more upmarket name. It probably sounds better when you say it in French than bark it in English. Still, I go there every five weeks or so and suffer in silence while they give me a makeover. My personal groomer is really nice. She takes a lot of care and about 4 hours to make sure I leave looking my best. I like her a lot, but once I’ve greeted her I’d just as soon leave because I know that I’ll have to be good and stand really still for the next few hours. Ah, the things we do for our public!

Let me explain. We poodles don’t have normal dog hair. Our “hair” is much more like fine wool than anything else. This has its advantages; we don’t shed, we don’t smell bad and our coat protects us from cold and water very well. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it just keeps growing, so if we don’t go for toilettage regulary, it gets too long and is hard to manage. Then we end up having some really bad hair days.

Perhaps you’ve seen my relatives who are groomed for dog shows? Custom and the rules mean they have to have silly looking haircuts. Poor things. I’m more than happy with my “town and country” cut. It looks good and is very chic and practical.  

Linda told me that it costs more for my grooming than hers. Between us, I have to say that it shows. It’s not that Linda doesn’t look good — she looks lovely most of the time. I just think that she would benefit from a few sessions at Funky Toilettage herself.

I’m quite a natty dresser too. I have a spotted bandana and an American-themed one I wear on Independence Day to please David. Linda prefers me in my diamante collar, but I think it’s a bit too much for a trip to the local bar. I get the impression the village dogs find my collar amusing, but I rise above it and let Linda deal with them.

It’s quite hot here at the moment, so I’m going to ask David to lend me a sunhat. I did hear someone say that I could wear a knotted handkerchief instead. I have just two things to say to that: (1) Only common dogs would wear such a thing — I wouldn’t consider it, even if you offered me a hanky with an R embroidered on it. (2) We are in the South of France, not Blackpool.

David and Linda kindly took some pictures so you can see just how good I look. You can see how worn out I was by it all in one of the photos. I’m wearing the diamante R on my collar just for you.

I want to help Kostas

Now, I had a pretty bad weekend. Linda and David were off gallivanting at a wedding and then a tennis party, so I was left alone. That wasn’t much fun, especially as I’d just come back from a session at Funky Toilettage (more about that later), so was looking my best. I really don’t know why I wasn’t invited. They would have ended up with some really good wedding photos. I hope your weekend was better.

But as bad as my weekend was, I’m now going to tell you about a little dog who deserves some great weekends. Kostas was found by some dustbins in Greece. He was rescued by some very kind people and brought to France at great expense (that’s how he got his name). He’s been neutered, micro-chipped, jabbed and passported and is all ready to go to a new home because the kind people who brought him back can’t keep him as they already have three dogs. He’s only four months old, so can anyone help find him some forever humans? Here’s his photo. Doesn’t he look cute? (But not as cute as me, of course.) Oh, I understand that his English is pretty good and he's started to learn some French too.

If you can help, contact Victoria China on vikkichina@gmail.com

I join in the fun

I don’t like to brag, but it’s true to say that my standing in the community rubs off on those close to me. Take Linda, for example. She is President of a thriving local women’s group, FiFi — check it out (www.fifi82.org). Although the group is successful, it hasn’t got everything quite right. For one thing, I’m not allowed to join because I’m male. David and I sometimes feel quite left out.

Anyway, Linda occasionally sneaks me into meetings  — don’t tell David or he’ll expect her to do the same for him. I think she feels more confident if I’m with her and it’s nice for the other ladies to meet me.

A couple of days ago, there was a coffee morning locally. A lot of nice ladies came along and we were all happily sitting outside drinking our coffee and eating some lovely cake. Then it started to pour with rain. Some less hardy souls like Linda scurried indoors, but others of us are made of sterner stuff and we simply moved into the garage. We must have been on a bit of a slope as water started to pour in. I had to rescue Jean’s handbag several time. She was very grateful.

I think sometimes they forget I’m there. They started talking about a book that someone described as “raunchy”. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but I got the impression that Linda won’t be reading me extracts at bedtime. (I thought it was a book about art as they mentioned “shades” and “grey”.)

Later, I took part in Linda’s drama group. That was good fun, although the humans did look a bit silly pretending to be other people. I tried to interest them in a bit of improvisation using my toys, but they didn’t want to play. I decided to be Lassie, but no one noticed, so I had a little nap as I was worn out from running with Ferney earlier. I dreamt that everyone was applauding me. When I woke up, I think they actually were. I might ask Linda if Ferney can come to the drama group too — we can show them how it’s really done.

Here’s a photo of me playing with Ferney. Now you’ll probably understand why I need the occasional nap.

I want to hear from you

I would love to hear from you, but I know some humans find technology a bit tricky, so here's how to do it.

To reply directly or comment on any of my posts, you can go to the end of the post where just below the last sentence you will see a bunch of small hieroglyphics. Just above those it shows the time I posted my information. Just to the immediate right of that is written "no comments:". If you hover your mouse over that and then click, it will bring up a window which allows you to comment. There's a nice box into which you can type your comments. Easy when you know how, but not obvious at all. I do wish these programmers were more intelligent!

You can also sign your comment from gmail, twitter,, etc.  You will see a box below where you comment that has a drop down list with these plus other options. When ready you click Publish. I do think they make these things harder than they need be, but I guess the want to cover all the choices and options.

In any case, the more comments the better so far as I'm concerned.

Why I don't like cats

In a recent comment, one of my followers said she thought I was a bit hard on Kandy the cat. Maybe so, but let me explain why I’m not at all keen on felines.

My dislike stems from when I was about six months old. I had just settled into life in France when my very existence was threatened. It happened this way:

One day Linda spotted a sick cat in our field. It was a Siamese version. David gently placed it into a box and took it to a vet in Villefranche, about 40 minutes away, because my vet friend Huguette, who lives nearby, was away at the time. I’ll tell you more about her at a later date. The vet said the cat was dehydrated and starving. They gave him a number of injections, intravenous fluids and kept him in hospital for three days. The speculation was that he’d been chasing lady cats, but had been beaten up by the competition. Served him right if you ask me.

Linda and David brought him home, having paid €350 for his care, and began nursing him back to health. I was friendly enough to him, but he didn’t seem to want to be friends with me.

He became very jealous of me. He didn’t want me anywhere near Linda. If I came close he’d hiss, extend his claws and strike at me; all for no reason. I had to walk a long way around him to prevent being attacked. This was terrible; I’m very good natured, but enough is enough.

By now cat was fully recovered and with Linda’s care and brushing, he was looking very good. But Linda and David decided he had to go since he wouldn’t act in a civilized manner. They took a photograph of him and put it in the window of the local shop, offering him to anyone who would give him a good home.

We started getting calls. (Well, he was pretty and butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth when he wanted something.) Around this time Linda took him outside with her. He climbed a tree and looked at her as if to say: “Look at me, aren’t I just the bee’s knees and what every lady cat wants!” With that he jumped down and disappeared. Although David and Linda searched for him for three days, he was gone. For good! I didn’t join in the search.

Good riddance I say. He was the bane of my life. But now you know why I don’t trust cats.

I'm on the right track

I have a very good sense of direction — I think there must be a sniffer dog somewhere in my pedigree. I know I didn’t do too well hunting for truffles, but the impish little things kept hiding from me.

The other day, I went for a ramble in the woods with Linda, Ferney and Ferny’s human Amanda. Ferney and I spent a happy half-hour sniffing through the undergrowth hunting for treasure. I did find something and took it to Linda. I thought she would be pleased, but she wasn’t. “Ugh,” she screamed, “Put it down at once”, so I did, but I still don’t know what it was I found.

Anyway, Ferney and I were playing, Linda and Amanda were, as usual, gossiping. Suddenly, Linda stopped and asked: “Does anyone know how to get back to the car?” I didn’t. I’d been too busy playing to watch where we were going, so I shook my head. Amanda didn’t seem to know either and because we had been walking for a long time, Ferney had fallen asleep. Linda and Amanda looked around, trying and find some clues as to where we were. I decided Ferney had the right idea, so had a little nap too. It was all getting quite boring.

In the end, Amanda found some sort of animal track, so I was able to lead everyone back to the car safely. Ferney grumbled a bit when he was woken up, but I was quite proud of myself for taking control of the situation and rescuing us all from the woods.

I decide to stay at home

As you may have noticed, I love my food. David and Linda are foodies too, though their tastes are a bit different to mine. Once a month, they drive half an hour each way so that they can eat fish and chips and mushy peas out of a cardboard box in a hot, noisy bar. It doesn’t sound like my idea of fun. They argue about it too. Linda says that real British fish and chips — which these are apparently — are the best. David maintains that you can get better fish and chips in America. Give me a nice steak any day.

They went the other night. For some reason, Linda always puts of bottle of vinegar in her bag when she goes to fish and chips. I suppose she needs something to fight off muggers if I’m not around.

I decided not to go. There are always too many annoying little dogs around — they have no idea how to behave in company. I was sorry to miss Percy, though, who is OK and very well behaved. He’s a miniature poodle, so he looks a bit like me, only a lot smaller. That must be pretty difficult for him, but I expect he’s learnt to cope.

So, I opted to stay home and watch the tennis on TV. When they got home, Linda and David were very boring. Their only topic of conversation seemed to be fish and chips. I’d better force myself to go next time, if only to see what all the fuss is about. I think, though, it might be best if David reserves a quiet table for us.