A Staffie, His Balls And A Battle

You always reckon your dog is a genius. Brightest of the bunch. Sometimes they want to be boss too and that's when the battles start. Take today. Freezing, frosty morning, out on the fields with a whanger and three balls. Two to fill a Staffie gob and another to throw.

He likes to feel something squidgy between his teeth. Hey ho. So, round we go, him looking like a  cancer victim with two large tumours in his face and me humouring the daft beast. Till we get to the end. Two balls back in the bag, one to go. Made the mistake of asking for it.

He would have carried it all the way back, huffing heavily up the hill as it blocked his airway, but he would have made it. Foolishly though, I ask for it. So now I have to have it.
Otherwise he wins. Nobody wants a Staffie, however wonderful, to win with his teeth. So I grab the ball. There's space in there, he can, after all  easily accommodate two tennis balls, and I hold on. Did you get that?  I have my fingers between his jaws. And he's rumbling! But I can't let go.

We spend ten minutes in the frosty wood locked in combat. Until he finally sees reason, because I wasn't going to. He tugs a lot, gets nowhere, and finally loosens off. Victory was very sweet! He got a stack of praise for that. What a good dog! Until the next time.

Boris Banging It For Britain

Boom Boom Boris ! The blond bombadier has dropped one on Paris while banging the drum for London. The lad just gets better and better!
Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, is touring India. When told that the French wanted rid of  a Mumbai company, Boris  boomed: "Venes a Londres!" He told Indian steel tycoon  Lakshmi Mittal. " Come to the business centre of the world where  73 Indian firms are listed  on the London Stock Exchange."
Hitting hard where it hurts, he called the French industry minister eccentric and claimed France was in the grip of left-wing loonies. All because the French thought  ArcelorMittal, the worlds's biggest steelmaker, wasn't respectful enough.
Boris knows respect is fine, but investment is better, particularly when recession is biting your backside. Good on you Boris, bang on as usual!

Swap the lovely Staffie for a Snappy Spaniel

I'm aggressive and intolerant. It's official.  A survey of dog types says so. Should have got a spaniel. Then everyone would like me because I would be kind and loving. Great, now I know.
This survey wasn't out when I went to the Blue Cross rescue centre. I just asked for a dog with a great temperament. Wasn't bothered about the breed, though I wanted something a bit younger than our last one, a German Shepherd. He was perfect, but  nearly nine when we got him.
So now we have the Staffie. Fat, grunty, snoring Staffie. We call him piglet and Dumper truck. Shovel head and Tonka toy. He takes it in good part. Like he does everything else. He ignores other dogs, runs away from trouble and adores kids. He stays off the sofa and prefers to poo in the woods. The perfect dog.
Most people adore him. Some cross the road. Oddly, they are usually Spaniel owners. The ones who don't go in for rescue dogs. Kind-hearted to a fault.

Death of a Good Dog

Our lovely German Shepherd died last week. Snoring at my feet today is a fat Staffie. "Blimey that was quick," I hear you say, "not much love lost there then!" Of course there was, lots of love lost, because he was the best dog known to man.
We got him when he was eight from the Oldies web site. He was scraggy, emaciated and had sad cloudy eyes. The day before he died, last Monday, he was trotting in the woods, meeting mates and having fun. A neighbour remarked on his lovely coat. He was at least 12 and had to take pills to help with his achey joints. On Tuesday I came downstairs to find him dead on the kitchen floor.
Later that day we set off for our local Blue Cross and met the Staffie. He needs a home too. Whlle we are fighting tears over our lovely lad, other dogs are desperate for a good home. So now we have something entirely different. It's better that way. Another   German would have  a hard act to follow.
A Staffie is new to us, but already he is proving to be an affectionate, and very comical friend. Such dogs have a hard time in kennels. They need to be with people. We need them, so really there is no time to lose, is there?

Libby is the Best for New Parents

Long Live Libby Purves! For common sense, concise argument, compassion, and fun that sees you belly laugh through your day, she is your woman. Just remembering a few words of hers had me giggling like a loony Tescos.

Not having slept for eons may have had something to do with it. That and a new baby. Libby's guide on parenting was a godsend, laying down no rules but piling on the confidence. Everything I was doing was right. Libby convinced me.

Today in The Times she stresses: " A crying infant wants comfort and food so to hell with the book." In the befuddled world of new parenthood, that says it all. You need no more. Except a sense of humour and Libby shovels that on too. Piles it high, brilliantly.

Read her column. And her books. She is a gem and a brainbox, with a first from Oxford. One of the best in the writing business, she knows what she is talking about. If that sounds over the top, I make no apology, just read her and see if you don't feel the same.

Sam Cameron Outshone by Michelle Obama

Sorry Sam Cam, Michelle Obama left you in her dust! She ran right over you! It was the frightful frock. One winner, one loser. Shame as both women seem to get on well, laughing naturally together as they share jokes, probably at the men's expense.

But at the state dinner at the White House Sam was so much the non-starter. Michelle looked stunning in a midnight blue number, showing off her lovely shoulders. Samantha Cameron, also in blue but this time more curtain than corset, went for high neck and total coverage.

She looked frumpy - quite difficult to manage in her case. Michelle was dazzlingly gorgeous, though tight underpinnings must have made the meal a challenge. Was this deliberate on Sam's part? She can do glam when she wants to, but would it have been good politics to outshine the President's wife? Perhaps not, though Michelle could probably take it. Just would rather see Sam wear something to show herself off, not a dress Maggie Thatcher would be seen in.

Downs Won't Let You Disappear

Tom Bickerby is wondering if his son Alex will ever blend into the crowd. I can tell him now that he won't. Alex has Downs syndrome. Everyone is telling Tom that people with Downs are "the life and soul of the party," always laughing, always jolly, not a care in the world.

Tom is right to believe this cannot be true. Life with Downs Syndrome can be very miserable. My friend Carole had Downs. I met her when I was 17 and she was 22, though she behaved like an eight-year-old. Mostly she was happy as we cleared tables together, me to pay for driving lessons, her because her parents wanted to get her out into the world and a proper job.

Carole was an object of fun from the start in a cafe filled with teenagers. She laughed along with their jokes, most of them harmless but some sexual and cruel. She had Downs but she was not stupid, and when she finally understood she was hurt. In that she was the same as everyone else.

Where she differed was in being the most genuine human being I have ever known. She had absolutely no pretence. When she liked you, she liked you, when you hurt her it showed. The jokes stopped. People formed a real affection for Carole. Sadly her parents could not bear what had gone before and she left the job. We missed her. Of all the people I knew at that time, Carole is the one I remember best, not for being the life and soul but for her purity of spirit.