An afternoon walk in the English countryside

Aunty LLG pleeeease can we go for a W. A. L. K?



I need to roll in fox sh*t, sniff stuff and bespatter my snow white coat with mud.



Oh look. There's glamorous @wardrobeslave in her new belted Burberry winter coat. With winter 2009's latest accessory: a dog lead slung insouciantly around the neck.



That's quite a large stick Zelda. Are you sure you can manage it?



Zelda: if you shake yourself all over me you are dogtoast.



Hey woofs: do you think you could all come here so that I can get you (visibly) in the same frame?



Could you at least face in the same direction?



Okay. I get the message.

You could not care less about my need to document every waking moment of my life.

Posetta Baddog trying my patience

Someone please explain to me why, when there are three super luxe dog beds in the house, Posetta Baddog finds it necessary to curl up on the contents of my overnight bag? Specifically on my cashmere scarf and sequinned cocktail dress.

Basset Hound sitting: not quite the sinecure it would seem

I’m dog-sitting in the bucolic depths of New Jersey this weekend. This can basically be translated as having 100lbs of Basset Hound perma-cleaved to my side. They hop, skip & jump along when I head to the loo, sit on the kitchen mat whilst I cook, neatly positioned in between the stove & sink, ready to catch falling snacks and help me break my neck and, when I head upstairs, they sit in the hall whimpering until I come back down.

At night they sit steadfastly at the base of my bed alternately whining and staring at me until I relent and let them hop up. They sleep comfortably, me not so much, one at my feet, one at my side, both on their backs, hind legs upright, spotted forepaws curled on their chests, snoring and occasionally whimpering, no doubt blissfully chasing squirrels in their doggy dreams.

I am woken at 7am each morning by the puppy jumping on my head, demanding to be put down on the floor & thence to the joy of squirrel abuse on the lawn and a hearty breakfast of champions after. During the day I write on the sofa with the puppy keeping my toes warm, and the senior hound lying sentinel at the foot. If I should chance to move, then they go all alerti-dog, ready to vanquish intruders, attack squirrels or scarf my lunch if I am not looking.

If I should choose to be as inconsiderate as to leave the house to forage for food or coffee, upon my return an hour or so later all hell will break loose. I will be greeted by manic rushing around the open plan ground floor, toe chewing, gazelle impressions and general canine insanity. One would think I had been absent for months, not mere minutes. I await the return of their masters with considerable interest as it is hard to visualize what dizzy height their joy will reach.

Halloween costume

Look I know it's terribly, terribly wrong to dress dogs up. I would as soon put Posetta Baddog in a tutu as I would myself.

But I do rather long for a pair of these wings for Halloween this year:


Bat wings: $18.95 from www.barkerandmeowsky.com

I saw a black pug wearing them in the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade last year and it looked so malevolent, so perfect for Halloween, that I wonder whether they would do the same trick on Finchley the Basset Puppy.

Basset hounds on Long Branch beach

How to catch a girlfriend

If you are a single man then my advice to you would be to beg, borrow or steal a baby Basset Hound. My boys could hardly walk more than a metre down the Long Branch beach boardwalk without some nubile young thing hurling herself at the puppy cuteness.

It's a shame then that all that action was just as much wasted on the boys as it is on me: they are married to each other and, if I were to contemplate some Sapphic action, it would not be with a girl in a pastel tracksuit & Uggs.

As far as luring the men of Long Branch, it seems clear that puppies are also necessary. Although I'm talking about the two puppies wriggling in a sack variety as opposed to the ones on a leash: if the Guido type appeals just wear a low cut top.

After a couple of hours spent fending off the puppy fondlers, we went home to Colt’s Neck, where I reflected yet again that it’s a good thing I’m here in New Jersey to work not prowl.

Posetta Baddog is not to be messed with

When lil'sis & I were small, our father travelled frequently to America on business. He always asked us what we would like for a present. I remember very clearly the year that she and I requested presents that would stump any normal father.

Lil'sis asked for a flying elephant and I wanted a pink suitcase. I think we may have been four & five years old.

What he came back with was a blue plush Dumbo elephant on elastics that could be hung from the ceiling and a pink plastic ballet box, for carrying around my leotard, illustrated with dancers, and with a special compartment for my ballet shoes in the bottom. Genius.

When I went home in August, we went through some bags of stuff from one of the attics and in one of them was Dumbo. Too knackered to be given away, when Posetta Baddog expressed an interest we gave it to her.

Investigation:



Engagement:



In for the kill:



Vanquished:

Cheering miniature dachshund photo

Right enough with the navel gazing. Here's a picture of Posetta Baddog to cheer us all up.

The Importance of dogs

"So often, we — dogs and humans — just need to be near each other. We need the presence of another heartbeat, the inhale and exhale of another soul. Dogs understand the healing power of having your skull kneaded, and constantly raise their heads toward our hands, the way plants turn toward the sun."

From My Life as a Dog by Dana Jennings. The New York Times, September 15, 2009.

Picture: Posetta Baddog, Northamptonshire, August 2009

Work saboteurs

I'm sitting quietly writing on the sofa (I'm not a desk person) when Max intimates he wishes to join me, so up he jumps. Five minutes later I hear a squeaky whining from somewhere down to my right. Finch is too small to get up so he is demanding to be picked up and included in the Basset love fest.



Then Finchley decides to drape himself over my leg:



How am I supposed to get any work done when I have those silky ears begging to be caressed?

Shoes, puppies, the weather: another day in NJ

The weather is still unable to make up its mind here. Today we are in a kind of seasonal limbo. It is neither hot nor cold. It is not sunny, but neither is it raining .

So far, so good. Except. What the hell does one wear? Jeans seem too heavy, shorts too, well, short. Tights too sweaty, bare legs a bit goose bump inducing. Add to this that I only have my summer wardrobe out here in Stepford. All my winter clothes languish in storage in Manhattan and, I suspect, will require loving attention after the flood earlier this year.

Meanwhile, I have only open toe summer shoes here. Fortunately most of them have a platform so I can avoid dunking my toes in puddles:



Yup, all my shoes, winter and summer, have straps or are Mary Janes: this is because I have extremely narrow feet and heels, which means that I can't keep normal shoes on when I walk. I would persevere with non strappy shoes, but I am remedially clumsy and it's just not worth the bother of trying to stay upright.

Finchley, so far, seems only obsessed with chewing flip flops and sneakers and attacking the handbags that swing temptingly from the bedpost above his questing nose. He has steadfastly ignored GG's Berlutis and my heel collection. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

ps I'm pretty sure the boys wld like me to point out that a Pepto-Bismol pink plush carpet in the spare bedroom was not their choice: it came with the house and will be replaced as soon as there is no danger of Finchley weeing on it.

Saturday: Finchley in repose

It's 83F here in Stepford. I was woken by the smell of cut grass drifting through my bedroom window. The cicadas are still vibrating away; there are birds singing out in the tall trees. The boys & I have skimmed & cleaned the pool, and the dogs, as above, are crashed out on the deck.

I love these Indian summers. They have all the glory of high summer but none of the constant humidity. These September days are bright and crisp, the warm, damp fug of July & August just a memory.

Too chilly to eat out in the evening now, we compensate by breakfasting in the dappled shade on the deck, and floating in the pool to our hearts content, watched over by two pairs of molten Basset eyes.

It's as near to a proper English summer as you can experience here. If I was covering the shows this season, I would be cursing, sweltering in my black new season outfits & vertiginous heels. As it is, I am sticking two fingers up at winter fashion, dressing still in white denim short shorts (who says you can't wear white after Labor Day?), cobalt blue cotton shirts and cork wedges. I have the endless East Coast winter to wear tights & cashmere, boots & closed toe shoes. Why rush the transition?

Finchley at three months

Lil'sis and Posetta Baddog: a Dachshund love story

If anyone doubts how much lil'sis and Posetta Baddog love each other, then these pictures should do the trick. They're a bit out of focus, and normally I'd bin them, but I couldn't resist their expressions:







ps Baddog isn't trying to escape in the last picture: what you can't see is my father waving slices of bacon around about twelve inches from her nose. She is modelling the well known Dacshie fixed stare of evil intent here.

As usual Blogger has chopped the RHS of my pics. No idea how to change this, but clicking on the images brings them up full size on Flickr

Staying put for another week

So I am in London for another week owing to some bad news. I miss Finch, my boys & America.

Picture of the day: Finchley

Puppy P**n: Finchley arrives in Jersey

So lil'Finch arrived this afternoon and of course we are all in love. His skin, ears & paws are far too big for him so he feels like he's wearing a soft fur coat over his bones. His silkiness and extra folds of skin are such that he slips straight through your hands when you try to catch him: for all his little-ness, he moves like greased lightning. He has also shown great interest in my suede moccasins.

We went to the park in separate cars so we could slowly introduce Max to Finchley in a neutral space.

We needn't have worried. Max could not care less. Which is a relief, as that means no dog warfare here.

Right, I am off to lock up all my shoes.

Introducing Finchley

This, ladies & gentlemen, is Finchley, the Bassett Hound puppy who will be arriving in Colts Neck next Wednesday. Poor Max won't know what's hit him.

I never knew I could get so much amusement from a swimming pool

As previously mentioned the swimming pool had to be filled via Fire department tanker as Colts Neck doesn't have mains water: everyone has their own artesian well. What I didn't mention was just how much 113000 litres (30000 gallons) of waters costs. Trust me, every time Max drinks from the pool he might as well be swilling imported Evian.

I get hours of amusement out of watching Max. He is utterly fascinated by the pool. Y too for that matter. He's the only guy I know who cleans leaves off the bottom of a swimming pool in a wetsuit & snorkelling gear (including fins). (In the manner of Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate.) Admittedly we have yet to turn the pool heating on so it is a little bracing - but it's 92F/33C outside so the pool, unheated, isn't exactly frigid.

Don't believe me? Here's the proof. And look at Max's expression throughout.

WHAT the hell are you doing?


You're heading for me in that get up?

Yeah, right. Whatever.

Are you ready for your close up? Max works it