Stormy Weather - It's a no brainer

This is Molly's blog. Molly is a rottweiler who joined us from Battersea Dog's Home in March 2013. Having had a tough start in life, she's blossomed into one of the 7 great dogs (ref: Dean Spanley - a must see film for doggy people.) She's gorgeous. I wondered what it might be like to see life through her eyes and write about her experiences from a human perspective. It may or may not work. There's only one way to find out. 

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When the Gods go bowling, a walk is not a good thing. (It's the only time!)

Sometimes, lying on my back, my legs stretched out, the peace and calm of the world lying on my belly with the soft sweep of my humans' hands, my thoughts drift to another place. I don't know where it is, but it smells good. It sounds good, too, mingled with the warm, gentle sounds coming from my humans. That's a good place.

A lot better than outside in the thunder and the rain and the lightning that drove even the cats into hiding and foxes underground and the birds into the trees and the squirrels into their secret holes. Yeah, thanks a lot to the big human who got me all excited about going for a walk, grabbed my bag, filled it with treats and pooh-bags, got me to sit for a collar and a lead - and hey, those are excited farts, not toxic ones! - and then led me out into a darkening morning. We hadn't even completed one over before the rain came. And it came hard. He was alright, huddled into his waterproof skin.  And that's something, where's mine? It's all very well getting me out and about for excitement and exercise and smells and playing and running and jumping and meeting new dogs and old dogs and friends and strangers and wheels and boxes and bags and leaves and earth and grass and the like, but where's my removable waterproof skin?

Just at the top of the hill, about as far as we were going to go, the sky got really big and wet. And then it burst. I mean it. The sky literally burst. I thought I was wet on the way up the hill but what happened on that hill was just wrong! The ground wasn't hard any more it was moving. Racing away down the hill. My human was laughing in that weird kind of this is fun when it isn't sort of way. And that weird air hand was pulling at my ears and my mouth and my tail, pushing me this way and that. The leaves in the trees looked like they were one piece of tree, catching in the air, moving like a sheet on the washing line. And then the noise. Now I'm not really frightened of anything, although wheels on wheely-bags are the work of the devil, but that noise from the sky was like a thousand heavy balls hitting a wooden floor all at once, cracking the clouds with their laughter. I could feel my fur tingling as it was plucked at by the air.

Yeah, we'd had enough. I pulled him, he pulled me. We were home. On a towel! Under a towel! Biting the towel! Throwing the towel in the air! Catching it, biting it, swinging it, growling at it, barking at it. And it still got me dry, sucking all the water off my back and legs and leaving me tingly and bouncy and soft and shiny.

And then food. I like food.

And then sleep. I like sleep. Especially lying on my back with my legs stretched out and my mouth open and my tongue hanging out and my humans' hands sweeping softly on my belly. I am at peace.

Hey, maybe this walking in the storm thing isn't so bad after all.

Life. It's much easier than humans let you believe. 

And So It Begins

This is Molly's blog. Molly is a rottweiler who joined us from Battersea Dog's Home in March 2013. Having had a tough start in life, she's blossomed into one of the 7 great dogs (ref: Dean Spanley - a must see film for doggy people.) She's gorgeous. I wondered what it might be like to see life through her eyes and write about her experiences from a human perspective. It may or may not work. There's only one way to find out. 

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It's funny when you first wake up, stretch, sniff, scratch, stretch again, offer yourself for a cuddle and a scrabble. It just seems to get the juices flowing. Sometimes literally, that's when it's good that the back door's open. It's also easy access to squirrels, pigeons and foxes. 

That unseen hand that ruffles the tops of trees, now that's something I'd like to get my teeth into. But I'm always just that little bit late; always just slipping through at the last minute. Almost like it's not quite there. Makes a heck of a lot of noise, though!

This morning's gallop to the back of the garden resulted in a cloud of pigeon feathers and the frantic scrabbling of at least 2 rodents with bushy tails as they hurtled their way up the big tree at the end. If they weren't squirrels they'd be chicken! Arf!

Main topic of chat round the breakfast table was alcohol. Usually that's just my humans grumbling about how it made them not feel right. But that's HOURS after they finished wobbling around the living room, singing, or slouching on the table in the kitchen. There's also that fumbled scrabble of my ears and the too-loud murmurings of affection. Still, it's better than being shut away like that grumbling old cat. Although he seems happy enough. I'll never understand cats. Spiky little furballs! I nearly got him when my boyfriend, Harvey, popped over while taking his human for a walk. Dog, can that cat scratch and jump. Like some mental ninja! My big human, Mars, got me just before I could properly introduce myself - like I've been trying to for 18 months! Then he grumbled about some carpet burn on his knee. I heard my other human, Claudia, say "Big Girl's Blouse". That made me laugh. But I don't know what it means. 

Anyway, alcohol was what everyone was talking about on the news. Grumbling about telling people about sugar content and units and how it's really just a new ploy to get women to stop drinking because it makes them fat. Nothing about the blokes and their run-stopping bellies. And nothing about how it makes you stupid and heavy-handed and unbalanced and loud and smelly and shouty, confusing charm for volume and being way too brave. Normally when that happens I just go and lie in another room and let them get on with it. Much more fun. Especially after long walks. 

Walks are good. I like walks. I like reliving them. That's almost as much fun as being on them. Remembering the smell of the earth and taste of the grass and feel of the water on my paws and the mud in my claws and the air with its unseen hand flapping my ears and tugging at my face when I run; all the sounds, the birds singing, the people talking, other dogs talking and shouting and laughing and grumbling and passing on the news. 

I've got a motto: If you can't eat it or play with it, piss on it and walk away. 

Life. It's much easier than humans let you believe.