Sandy and the Sky

What's that bigger star Dad, the creamy white one?

It's not a star, it's a satellite of earth called the moon.

Who lives there Dad?

No one Sandy, it's barren and can't support any life.

How do you know that?

Men have been there to investigate, they brought bits of it back with them for research, it was proven empty of all life.

Any dogs been there?

No, none.

On moving house and country.

Last time I wrote Sandy was a Scottish dog living in Glasgow, in this post he announces his removal to Suffolk in England.

I came into the sitting room in our little cottage in Suffolk to find Sandy in his new red bed, he was looking a bit sorry for himself so I asked him if he was OK.

I'm fine I suppose.

You suppose, what does that mean?

Dad, it means I'm not sure, you know that, humans say it all the time.

Yes, that's true Sandy, what do you think might be wrong.

Well I'm in the wrong place for one thing.

Now Sandy we've moved house to be nearer Lauren who will be working in London.

That's fair enough but you did it without consulting me.

It's not usual to consult dogs on these matters.

Sandy really sings his blues.

I woke at 8 this morning to the sound of Liz closing her car door on her way to work. Sandy barked, just once, then was quiet. I was only vaguely aware of it as I rose up through the mist to consciousness. Then he started to howl and "sing". I've never heard him do that before and initially had no idea what was going on so got up and rushed downstairs.

Sandy dances, literally bounces between front and back paws repeatedly, his tail whipping the air to a froth, when he sees me & realises he's not alone.

"Hey Sandy, what's the matter with you?"

High wind, big things & small dogs.

On the sofa in the TV room

We went for our usual wander up the road last night but it was a strange one, the wind was high and blustery, bumping into us when it was strong. The noises it makes are fascinating to me but, to Sandy, disconcerting. Enjoying the sound of the wind in the big beech tree further up our road is a highlight of our walk, but not for Sandy. He hears but doesn't understand,

"What's that Dad?"

"You look really startled Sandy, what's wrong?"

A Road Too Far?

Set off with Sandy dog but this time went down our drive and turned right along the main road then first right again, he was scared on the busy main road but seemed happier when we left it, that is till we covered about two hundred yards where he stopped dead. Knowing that he's a bit shy about his fear, especially where girls are concerned, I picked him up & whispered,
"You scared, puppy dog?"

"You bet Dad."

"What's eating you?"

"I'm too far from home and I've lost my bearings, I want to go back."

Well thought I, this is no good, I've got to get him past this. So, still carrying him, I head on up the road. He doesn't seem to be a heavy dog when you pick him up but by the time I reached the top of the road I was feeling his weight, I turned right and after a few yards I put him back on his four paws. He stood looking around for a moment then, with ears flat and belly low to the ground, headed home.
As we headed down our road his nervousness decreased a bit, I was glad 'cause I wasn't sure how much further I could've carried the wee devil. He was still moving fast but not pulling and in this condition we reached home.

We stopped in the vestibule for a quick word before going in,

"Was that OK young fella?"

"I'm not so sure Dad, it was a bit frightening but you carrying me up that other road sure helped a lot."

"That's good, will we try again tomorrow?"

"OK, let's give it a go, I'm not promising but there are some real good smells round that corner."

I started to open the door when he pulled me back,

"Not a word to Mum though, please?"

"Mum's the word."

Sandy Goes Sunbathing

I wandered into the TV room this early afternoon as I hadn't seem Sandy for a while and he often snatches a wee snooze there during the day. Sure enough there he was sleeping on the sofa with the warm rays of the sun wrapped round him.

"Hey Sandy, what's the news?"

"Not much Dad but, considering it's only half way through February in Glasgow, Scotland, I sure am enjoying these rays."

"You look comfortable but why lying down, why aren't you sitting on the window seat guarding the house?"

"I was but the sun made me drowsy and it's low in the sky so it makes being on lookout difficult, may I have a pair of those dark glasses that Mum always wears? I think that would keep me on lookout much longer".

A Wee Donner

I'm just back from taking Sandy for "a wee Donner" up the road, (who knew we had kebabs in Scotland when slang was invented?) . An odd walk, about half way up Colquhoun he was spooked by something, stopped dead & refused to move forward, insisting on going back. "Come on Dad I'm spooked, don't know what it is, some scent I caught on the breeze or from the ground, I really want to go home".

I was surprised, lately he'd been getting to the top of the road and looked interested in exploring further but now a volte-face, "What's up young fella?" He looked up at me with those big eyes of his & said quietly "I think it's a big fox, please let's go home". So that's what we did, turned around & headed home, his ears flat to his head, body low to the ground and stopping every few yards to look back.

Sandy Gains Weight

Sandy slouched through the kitchen as I was eating dinner the other day, the way he moved made me look again, yes he was heavier than he used to be, I wondered if he knew.

"Hey fella, you getting a bit podgy?"

"I am & it's your fault."

I was a bit put out at this accusation what did his weight have to do with me, I don't feed him, Liz does, and I never, almost never, give him any doggie treats.

"My fault, how's that then?"

"You never take me out walkies any more."

Sandy Gets Ready

Sandy preparing for a gig.

When he's getting ready he is focused, his whole being zoomed in on the job, nothing: except food, other dogs, Liz, a postman or other delivery person,  someone parking their car, a few other vital doggie things or an itchy paw is allowed to intrude. A consummate professional, he gives his all to his art.