🎶 What's it all about Alfie?

Over the past few weeks Alfie had visited the beagles many times, invited or uninvited, I'm not sure which. As soon as our backs were turned he was gone, quick as a flash through his secret escape route in the garden, the tunnel of love.
One morning as Himself answered a knock on the front door Alfie had pushed past him and was off like a shot down the road with himself in hot pursuit. Luckily, he was caught by a neighbour several blocks away, his reputation as an escapologist has spread.

All these episodes had done nothing to lower our blood pressure. The only consolation was that when Alfie returned he appeared very repentant and when straight to his basket, either from guilt or exhaustion.

They say if you survive the panic and fear caused by traumas in your life, then bonding occurs with all involved. Well the three of us had bonded.
We had now bonded so much with Alfie that he went everywhere with us.

Preparations were made for him to travel in the car. Himself had covered the back seat of the fiesta with a plush, paw patterned blanket, though Alfie much preferred to travel in the front drivers seat. Alfie turned out to be a fairly good traveller, the only exception was if he spied a female dog out the window - then all hell would break loose.

We took him on several trips with us. A lovely day was spent exploring the Cotswalds , visiting the villages of Bibley, Stow in the Wold and Upper and Lower Slaughter. The sun was shining, the sky a brilliant blue and it was so warm we actually sat outside for lunch.

Another day we headed south to the towns of Crediton and Tiverton, these were Himself's old stomping grounds, he lived here 30 years ago. We were on a mission to find two of his favourite pubs and the house in which he lived.
We scored one out of three, The Ring of Bells, pub - now closed.

We arrived about 1 pm at the 'Mare and Foal,' a charming old building just outside Crediton. Himself took Alfie for a stroll while I went inside to enquire if they were serving lunch and could I bring the dog in with us.
"LUNCH, I haven't had mine as yet ", said the publican, but by the look of him he had never EVER missed a lunch in his life - he was a giant of a man.
Luckily the response was yes to both questions.
On entering Alfie was delighted to find that a cute little Labra-doodle lived in the pub. Her name was Daisy and as soon as they set eyes on each other it was love at first sight. Both tails starting wagging and they chased each other around the tables and under the chairs, knocking each other over and generally having the time of their lives. It soon became obvious how attracted they were, by the amount of mutual licking taking place.

The publican witnessing all this frivolity asked "has he been done"?

Has he been done for 'breaking and entering' - yes.
Has he been done for loitering with intent - yes.
Has he been done for 'disturbing the peace' - yes, but "just what did he mean?"

Himself being always on the ball , replied that Alfie wasn't desexed.

Before Daisy knew it, she was picked up by big beefy hands and placed gently behind the bar and the bar door locked firmly behind her.
Both dogs were distraught at the turn off events and began to whimper inconsolably.

Alfie kept his whining up until the publican brought out lunch. He only then decided that there was something that he enjoyed better above all other pleasures in life and that was a plate of twice cooked chips!

Is that what it's all about, Alfie?

A case of mistaken identity

Ever met someone whom you thought you knew and then it turns out you were wrong, that it was just a case of mistaken identity. It happens with monotonous regularity to himself. He is not only mistaken for acquaintances, past work mates or a friend of a friend, but usually it's for quite a famous lookalike.

Rolf Harris, Kenny Rogers and now Steven Speilberg, there seems no end to the list of celebrities that himself has been mistaken for???

Last week in Bath we went to see a Steven Speilberg film, Lincoln. On our way there we popped into a nearby grocery store to grab a few snacks for the movie and guess what, it happened again. The shop assistant asked Himself if he was 'Steven Speilberg'?

Himself is becoming a tad deaf lately and didn't answer straight away, giving the poor chap some false hope that a celebrity had walked into his shop.

But being an honest fellow, 'who wouldn't tell a lie', he revealed the truth, letting him down gently by saying he was not the first to mistake him for Steven Spielberg.

Will the real Chris please stand up.
You be the judge, check out the photos below and see if you can tell who's who.

LOST - ONE BLACK LABRADOR

LOST - One black Labrador answering to the name ALFIE. Friendly, loving, playful, a substantial reward is offered for any information leading to his whereabouts.

A trusted housesitters worst nightmare had come true, we had lost the dog.. He was somewhere outside on a bleak cold February night with temperatures close to freezing.

The 'Trusted Housesitters' advert, had said, a challenging escapologist pooch, why hadn't I paid more attention to those words. Being a teacher I had written numerous reports, of all people I should know the true meaning of the word, 'challenging' - avoid, avoid, avoid, at all costs especially if you value your sanity. But yet we had taken on this job without a second thought. I have been on holidays way too long.

Himself had been watching the late night movie and nodded off towards the end. During the split second that his eyes had closed Alfie had made his escape. Himself had sworn that all the doors had been closed, in fact he had woken me from a peaceful slumber to inform me of the very fact. Now after searching the house and the gardens at 1am in the morning, I was now wide awake and full of dread about what could have happened to Alfie.......?

"Was he lying bleeding, the hapless victim of a car accident.
Or could he have been knocked senseless on slippery rocks after bounding headfirst into a stream.
Worse still had he been taken by dognappers or been set upon by wild beasts.
More likely, he would be freezing to death in the open fields with no shelter."

There was no end to the disturbing images,my imagination was running wild on overdrive. Sleep eluded me and I tossed and turned until the grey light of dawn, crept in through the bedroom windows.
Unlike himself who matter of factly said Alfie would turn up in the morning and had promptly taken himself off to bed, and within minutes was softly snoring.

The morning arrived and with it a phonecall. Alfie had spent the night at the neighbours, arriving there just before midnight.

Himself collected him and brought him home. Alfie was very subdued. He made a beeline for his basket, consumed a couple of 'Bonio' beefy, biscuits, washed them down with water from his bowl and then went straight to sleep, exhausted from the nights adventures.

Apparently it appears thar Alfie is very fond of the two nice little female beagles who reside down the lane at the neighbours house.

Crime doesn't pay or does it?

They say crime doesn't pay, but I'll let you be the judge.

Recently every second person we meet, on finding out we're Australian, has asked about the allegations coming out of Australia of match fixing, drug taking and organised crimes involvement in sport. It has been widely reported as big news over here, with the media revelling in the story. The biggest Australian story since the radio hoax. Well I must say it's been a change to hear some news being reported from home, even if it is bad, we don't usually hear much about Australia on the TV, radio or newspapers.

However, In between stints of caring for pampered and eccentric pets, we've had our own brush with crime, to be true, organised crime. The story unfolds while we were minding Buffy, the Chesapeake Bay Retriever in Wales.

Buffy in his heyday was a magnificent specimen of his breed, powerful, muscular, with a sleek coat and fast loping stride. These dogs have a keen sense of smell, which enable extraordinary tracking abilities so that they can hunt down and catch prey in one ferocious bite of their wide powerful jaws. However, with the passing of time, as sadly happens to us all, Buffy was no longer the dog he was in his youth, suffering from failing vision, hearing loss, arthritis, incontinence and irritable bowel syndrome, to name but a few ailments. However he still retained his keen sense of smell and was able to track down someone nibbling on a choccy biscuit, several rooms away, on the floor above and behind closed doors. These days the wide powerful jaws were only used for crunching the occasional doggy dentastix.

So it was not surprising that Buffy hadn't heard the neighbours house alarm going off frantically into the night. What was surprising, was that neither had the rest of us.

I answered the doorbell that night, to a man enquiring if I'd heard the alarm and rung the police. On replying no to both questions, he said he was new to the cul de sac, but a short time ago, he had seen a young man in a hoody and jeans, running down the street. He was going to check with the other neighbours and if they hadn't informed the authorities, he would. Closing the door I thought to myself, what a nice man and how fortunate Buffy was to live in a street where everyone looked out for their neighbour.

Later that evening the doorbell rang again. This time it was the distressed homeowner. I ushered him into the lounge, pointed him in the direction of a comfy armchair and placed a whisky in his hand. As he sipped away, he calmed down and was able to tell us of the break in and how the robbers had brazenly, totally removed the two French living room doors from their hinges to break into his house (similar doors to the ones pictured in the photo below).

I enquired as to whether the police had any leads, mentally picturing the youth with the hoody, running away with the stolen booty. He said he had only just called the police to inform them and as they weren't aware of the incident they hadn't arrived as yet. Strange I thought, I told him that one of the neighbours had dropped in earlier, had called the police and possibly had got a good description of the thief. Maybe police communications hadn't relayed the message as yet, being new to the area I wasn't sure just how long was the police response times. It hadn't been that long, only 4 hours since the call - the night was still young.

Weeks passed by and we had moved on, I thought no more of the incident until Buffy's owner contacted me. Apparently the police had caught the villains, two escapees from prison. Another neighbours CCTV footage had assisted in their apprehension, combined with the details I'd given of the night in question, there was enough evidence to charge them. One of them had actually admitted to knocking on my door and enquiring as to whether I'd rung the police.
An open and shut case of when crime doesn't pay.

Recently we had our credit cards scanned at an ATM, something you hear about happening but never expect it to happen to you. Fortunately, by chance I had happened to check our balance on the cards (didn't want to be caught short on my next shopping trip). It didn't look quite as healthy as it should have been. On further investigation I saw that money had been taken out in 5 equal amounts over 2 days. The money had been withdrawn from, you'd never guess where - Melbourne, Australia.

Is it really true that Australia is the home of organised crime?

The cards were immediately cancelled and while I await new ones there will definitely be no more shopping expeditions for me.

Our Somerset Snug

Alfie the big black Labrador, looked at me beseechingly and raised one big black soft paw and placed it gently on my lap. At the same time he dropped a tennis ball at my feet, 'anyone for a game?'
I was sitting on the couch in the conservatory, looking out across the picturesque, stone-walled fields of Somerset. The potbelly stove in the corner was flickering warmth throughout the room and the sunlight streaming in through the tall, glass conservatory windows, all added to the cosy atmosphere and my growing reluctance to play any sort of ball games. I tried to avoid looking into those pleading eyes, and to ignore the second paw being surreptitiously placed next to the first on my lap. Alfie is a con man who knows if he keeps the pressure up sooner or later I'll cave into his doggie demands.

We had been here for a week since our visit to Brittany. The house is a converted Methodist church set high on a ridge near Bath. It is very comfortable with 4 bedrooms, bathroom and ensuite upstairs and lounge, study, dining, eatin kitchen and conservatory on the lower level.
I was particularly impressed with the kitchen, being newly renovated it had the latest in everything.
Corian bench tops, glass cooktops with finger touch controls and fantastic corner cupboards which floated out on sparkling metal slides, capable of displaying all their secret treasures in one glance. At home you were in danger of suffering a back injury when retrieving a utensil from the corner cupboard. The pantry glided out and could be easily accessed from both sides and the metal slide out trays, behind the cupboards contained every kitchen appliance that one would ever need.
This was going to be my new kitchen back home, I excitedly told himself, who didn't seem to hold the same level of enthusiasm about any of my projects that might involve his participation. He probably just needs a little convincing?

It has been hard to tear ourselves away from this very comfortable abode, however we did manage to make a trip to Glastonbury during the week. The town is the home of Glastonbury Abbey purported to be the earliest Christian sanctuary in Britain and the buriel place of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere . It certainly would have been a magnificent structure in its day, towering above the landscape and the proportions of the cathedral were gargantuan in length and size.
The town itself is a mix mash of history combined with modern day magic and alternate lifestyles. We saw a few residents walking down the street without shoes, and I'm sure it wasn't because they couldn't afford to buy them.
Lunch was at the oldest pub in town and in Britain, the George and Pilgrim Hotel. We consumed enormous helpings of the roast of the day in front of a roaring fire. There was enough food on our plate to feed a family of 4 for a week. They haven't discovered the meaning of a light serve in UK pubs as yet.

The hike up to the top of the Glastonbury Tor was not made any easier after partaking of the lamb roast, 3 veg, numerous boiled and roasted spuds and Yorkshire Pud! It was a steep climb, with numerous steps winding back and forth up the hill..
At the top we were met by a lone man, in a long grey ankle length coat, who appeared to be just standing there awaiting our arrival. His hair, long flowing locks, were buffeted by the wind so much so it was hard to see his face, let alone the big earring dangling in the breeze. A guided tour hadn't been an option and only crazy Australians do the climb in winter, so we were at a loss to explain his presence.
However he greeted us warmly and told us of the history and the mysteries of the place, where we should walk and where was the best place to stand to avoid the wind. It only took a few minutes to walk around the structure it was about 4 metres square and 5 times as high.
Returning a short time later, our friend had disappeared and was nowhere to be seen - an eyrie encounter to contemplate on our way home.........

Alfie has now started to up the anti, he has raised himself up so we were both on equal footing I could no longer look away from those pleading, penetrating eyes. A low whine emanated from somewhere deep in his belly and his tail has started a rhythmic thump much like the crowd does when clapping in anticipation of the next act. Two paws were already on my lap and before I knew it a third was raised and then looking exceedingly guilty he raised the fourth and squeezed his body in between Chris and I on the couch. After making himself comfortable and settling down for a snooze, I knew Alfie had won out again.