tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35102587612602343542024-03-13T00:25:35.624+00:00A Pug's Gallerythe blog of an artists' agent's dogTommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-42635639081987099432011-02-23T12:55:00.002+00:002011-02-23T12:59:04.512+00:00In the Name of Art<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVbbCAV0-Vv5_G7DFfBboaKneEoeQRvkfpHJOiaTIsqYB3wMzCYBvvm9yeJs1urwhuRDjl2Bw4yRsyw9Iw80IwJ-Rxf5c1Vi28m29ty9CJY_iIkARxy7maT_UBchqppkCDYD8Gf2123g/s1600/Photo460.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVbbCAV0-Vv5_G7DFfBboaKneEoeQRvkfpHJOiaTIsqYB3wMzCYBvvm9yeJs1urwhuRDjl2Bw4yRsyw9Iw80IwJ-Rxf5c1Vi28m29ty9CJY_iIkARxy7maT_UBchqppkCDYD8Gf2123g/s200/Photo460.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576868523258174898" /></a><br />Larry arrived the next morning to paint Mistress. It was early for him. Even I was hardly out of my basket and still yawning as he wheezed up to the bedroom.<br /><br />“You look a bit worse for wear,” Larry said to Mistress.<br /><br />He moved his easel to the left, dragging a gammy leg in a sad attempt at travel. Larry’s shirt was torn. Both Archie and I had decided that he should have got another job years ago. But then, that applied to Mistress, too. There was not a bean to be had in the art world right now. Not unless Mistress could find a hidden masterpiece. <br /><br />“It’s called the natural look,” Mistress replied. She swept her hair up over her scalp.<br /><br />From where I watched at the corner of her counterpane, I could see the dark shadows under my mistress’s eyes. <br /><br />“Tommy bit the Council man yesterday,” she said.<br /><br />Larry pointed a paint brush in my direction. “He’s a liability, that dog, and ugly to boot! That’s two of us he’s bitten”<br /><br />I tried to stare him out but without success. Larry was no longer looking at me.<br /><br />“One day, your pug will disappear like a puff of smoke,” Larry went on.<br /><br />Mistress rolled off the bed. She threw a dressing gown around her, covering the black bodice that Larry was far too keen on adjusting. Archie called him ‘a hands on painter’. <br /><br />“The session is over,” Mistress said, her lips tight. “I won’t have my dog criticised by you of all people. He’s the best friend I ever had!”<br /><br />I gave a bark and felt myself glow with pleasure. My little tail wouldn’t stop wagging. Couldn’t I find a way of getting rid of these undesirable men for ever?<br /><br />Follow what goes on with this dog.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong></strong>Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-14577593897914366782011-02-07T15:35:00.002+00:002011-02-07T15:39:35.740+00:00A Pug's Desserts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gtSeU4sFsZIfi6Njuxt1e5xKFo3gErBVNTa0FxCN_HsSzvL-aNKCdozRMHVb0EB42EzLgeFdxAjvXUipDnhQVH8_h3espChM-LUSSrE9ydnWgI4497m4Hf2VKs9sHEqgLEoBvArKoZg/s1600/Photo460.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gtSeU4sFsZIfi6Njuxt1e5xKFo3gErBVNTa0FxCN_HsSzvL-aNKCdozRMHVb0EB42EzLgeFdxAjvXUipDnhQVH8_h3espChM-LUSSrE9ydnWgI4497m4Hf2VKs9sHEqgLEoBvArKoZg/s200/Photo460.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570972539887770290" /></a><br />After the biting episode, I was confined to the dog house, or what Mistress calls the ‘spares room’. The place where all her unsold pictures end up awaiting collection from artists who have either disappeared, died, or fallen so into debt, they’ve had to bunk off to the country.<br /><br />Archie put his nose underneath the door and met mine.<br /><br />“Smells musty,” he said, “and there’s so much dust around, I’ll get one of my allergic reactions.”<br /><br />Archie sneezed three times to make his point. “Mr Greig limped off after Lesley gave him a large Bells whisky.”<br /><br />“I don’t care,” I replied. “I hope he can’t walk for a week. Anyway, the good news is that Mr Greig will have forgotten Marek.”<br /><br />I tapped one of Archie’s front paws and felt better for the contact.<br /><br />“I didn’t know you had it in you, son,” Archie muttered. “But there may well be trouble later.”<br /><br />When Mistress let me out of the ‘spares’ room, Archie and I rolled down the stairs together as naughty boys should. The snow had stopped falling. I could tell that the air outside was crisp, a lot crisper than the smell of alcohol seeping from every corner of our sitting room.<br /><br />Nathan had joined the ladies, and blow me down if Lesley wasn’t opening another bottle of wine. Archie’s eyes rolled in disgust.<br /><br />“So Tommy bit the Council man, did he?” Nathan chuckled. “Well, I dunno about that …”<br /><br />He rubbed my left ear and I grinned. I couldn’t help it.<br /><br />Mistress blew her nose hard. “I had to give Mr Greig a sweetener,” she murmured, “my last tenner out of the Italian vase.”<br /><br />Nathan had a good scratch around his chin. “Fancy that,” he pondered. “A corrupt Council official. I wonder how many of them are taking bribes.”<br /><br />Lesley came three inches off the sofa and lay back again. “Pour me a glass, blockhead,” she said to her husband, “and then find out what it says about the Dangerous Dogs Act on the internet. Julia may be in even more trouble than she is already!” <br /><br /><br /><strong></strong>Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-18175444815979844792011-01-15T15:54:00.002+00:002011-01-15T15:57:36.892+00:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XLGAmTSLRCVFVebE36wYr02w_fEaThAZF83hgt5BnlNlDNP0gYmTfzfnxOL8ImVBB3spgzzhRt3VxoHEBOhsFxnLxfuSIBJAOtH8o7DpSsGQxTYdASVvlwv56hJ1q17jVAV0X2clGfA/s1600/Photo457.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7XLGAmTSLRCVFVebE36wYr02w_fEaThAZF83hgt5BnlNlDNP0gYmTfzfnxOL8ImVBB3spgzzhRt3VxoHEBOhsFxnLxfuSIBJAOtH8o7DpSsGQxTYdASVvlwv56hJ1q17jVAV0X2clGfA/s200/Photo457.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562442170311230674" /></a><br />“Marek is a good person, Mr Greig,” said Mistress. “I mean Mr Czcibor …”<br /><br />As she spoke, she fell off the arm of her chair onto the floor.<br /><br />“Dearie, dearie, me,” Archie growled at me. “Your owner is making a spectacle of herself. This is not the way to behave!”<br /><br />Mr Greig crossed his arms. They were so long, I had an idea that he could stop traffic.<br /><br />“Mr Czcibor is involved in pornography on the internet and not only that, he is forging notes like this one.”<br /><br />He held out another of those hundred pound notes.<br /><br />“All true,” muttered Archie. “You’ve been bewitched by your new friend, son.” Archie stared down his snub nose at me. “Marek’s a bad egg and he is playing with fire if he thinks he can use that currency. Even the Council are on to him.” <br /><br />I felt a distant thumping between my ribs and the heat of centuries rising in me.<br /><br />Mistress got up slowly. She looked like a mad woman with her hair streaked across her face. She needed my aid and I had to come up with something. Archie wasn’t going to help me.<br /><br />“He plays games, Mr Grig,” hiccupped Julia.<br /><br />“Mr Greig, if you don’t mind, Miss Taylor.”<br /><br />“Mr Greig, then,” said Julia. “Marek is a Surrealist in the real sense of the word. He painted those notes for fun! People misunderstand him, that’s what I say. Marek wouldn’t defraud anybody. Least of all, Mr Grig, someone like you who is very important and a member of the Council.”<br /><br />Mistress sat down with a bump on the chair that Lesley had just vacated.<br /><br />“If you don’t mind, Miss Taylor, I will wait for Mr Czcibor until he comes home,” Mr Greig said.<br /><br />The heat was ringing in my ears. I leapt as only a pug can in a moment of stress and aimed for Mr Greig’s right ankle. Then I sank my teeth into a sour lemon stench of sock and found his skin.<br /><br />“AHHHHH!” screamed Mr Greig. “Take that dog off me..!”<br /><br />I kept my teeth where they were and closed the gap. On the right occasion, I was a pug with iron jaws.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-68218304006559293212011-01-07T17:40:00.002+00:002011-01-07T17:55:11.174+00:00The Dreaded Mr Greig<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCd0ysv6zRYBIbfiu5Psf3QyTqfd2R7XvK7T3obzlcSoT9LREuhEW5NVBEdA_h4aMiZP4ZZhbvoxQE13cujmipgHVtspj6QKy8TYZz5w9AkTrwexCwgCCCuY8bSDbIsQ1WW0h9ShveACY/s1600/Photo457.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCd0ysv6zRYBIbfiu5Psf3QyTqfd2R7XvK7T3obzlcSoT9LREuhEW5NVBEdA_h4aMiZP4ZZhbvoxQE13cujmipgHVtspj6QKy8TYZz5w9AkTrwexCwgCCCuY8bSDbIsQ1WW0h9ShveACY/s200/Photo457.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559503881571368850" /></a><br />Mr Greig had shed himself of his coat and stood right beside Archie and me in the sitting room, though he didn’t notice us.<br /><br />“What can I do for you, Mr Greig?” Mistress asked.<br /><br />Her voice wobbled and she had a hard time keeping upright.<br /><br />“I’m looking for Mr Marek Czcibor,” Mr Greig replied.<br /><br />He kept rubbing his hands as he spoke. They moved like large weights and to my delicate nose, smelt of cheap soap. I could see from Archie’s expression that he was not impressed. Mr Greig was one of those men who had been built too tall for his own good. His eyes were everywhere. Finally, he looked down at the pair of us and gave his trousers a flick as if to rid himself of any canine evidence. <br /><br />Lesley was now flat out on the sofa. She waved a hand in Mr Greig’s direction.<br /><br />“I expect Marek’s gone to the pub,” she slurred. “Being the holiday season and all that.”<br /><br />Mr Greig stood stock still.<br /><br />“I wish to talk to him about a few matters,” he said.<br /><br />Archie and I peered up at Mr Greig, the man from the Council. As we did so, he shook his mop of hair and tiny white specks fell towards us.<br /><br />“Dandruff!” groaned Archie.<br /><br />By contrast, the room had gone dark in the space of minutes. <br /><br />Outside the window, the snow was falling fast.<br /><br />Was it pugs to the rescue yet again?Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-2317100982040915462010-12-21T16:19:00.001+00:002010-12-21T16:21:52.261+00:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93T4Olm8nea5Ns6DPTVMyR1bxexvrFRoUWbxL3ZeLzLbqX9clnGMNxVMXkk93DUV_zjjA-Ovvy0944y69Jb4SyxOF_g6wHIX4VNTMFFMfoX0wZIg3o4kh6YX92JdrxHB3E4PmJUxDnVs/s1600/Photo437-cropped.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93T4Olm8nea5Ns6DPTVMyR1bxexvrFRoUWbxL3ZeLzLbqX9clnGMNxVMXkk93DUV_zjjA-Ovvy0944y69Jb4SyxOF_g6wHIX4VNTMFFMfoX0wZIg3o4kh6YX92JdrxHB3E4PmJUxDnVs/s200/Photo437-cropped.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553171339898895346" /></a><br />“What about selling them on e-bay?” suggested Lesley. I bet we’d get a mint!”<br /><br />“God strewth,” said Archie. “We’ve reached the lowest of the low. They’ll be downloading us dogs next!”<br /><br />“I don’t care what Nathan thinks,” declared Lesley. We share a battlefield daily, Julia. You should see our bedroom. Nathan’s on the front line, what with all his shoes assembled in the corner. The flotsam and jetsam of a disintegrating marriage.”<br /><br />Mistress took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped away a tear.<br /><br />“Don’t say that, Lesley. You’re my best friends ..!”<br /><br />“You never would have thought so,” I said to Archie. “Mistress tells some terrible tales about the two of them.”<br /><br />Archie gave me a cuff about the ears with his front right paw. You keep mum, son, d’you hear me? No good comes of repeating what’s told you in the basket.”<br /><br />I nodded. But I was miserable. What good was I if I couldn’t be a confidante to Mistress?<br /><br />Meanwhile, both Mistress and Lesley were peering out of the window where a green hedge seemed to be on the move.<br /><br />“Look out there!” cried Lesley. I’ve never seen that hedge before.” She tried to wave her empty glass towards the window but the glass came back and hit her on the nose. <br /><br />A couple of ice blocks fell beside Archie. “Here,” he said. “One for each of us. We deserve a treat for listening to this rubbish ..!”<br /><br />Archie and I sucked on our ice blocks and as we did, the hedge stood up.<br /><br />It was the dreaded Inspector, Mr Greig.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-30906547837960323962010-12-16T17:26:00.002+00:002010-12-16T17:32:43.538+00:00What is said over gin and tonic<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYuYEhhN-u35v3zRsH2PTnqfbtoySgCNMv587454J9W8aRw1WsqwA0AFtnNqUceN016o7hrlG-LQ6aWOZL8-D6HFGUJgtWqH3CIugzg6IjVjBwpAoZXX_Kb2hjBj5s-MoxeH-A8KhG6g/s1600/Photo437-cropped.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYuYEhhN-u35v3zRsH2PTnqfbtoySgCNMv587454J9W8aRw1WsqwA0AFtnNqUceN016o7hrlG-LQ6aWOZL8-D6HFGUJgtWqH3CIugzg6IjVjBwpAoZXX_Kb2hjBj5s-MoxeH-A8KhG6g/s200/Photo437-cropped.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551334157064379826" /></a><br />Well the crisps did start flying.<br /><br />Mistress and Lesley had their first gin and tonic before my mid morning snack. <br /><br />Then they had another.<br /><br />Archie and I were in for the long haul. Once the drink took over, there was trouble for us dogs. I couldn’t stand the smell of the stuff myself. A combination of lemon and fizz that got spilt over the floor and tasted disgusting!<br /><br />Archie was not in a good mood either. His head slithered over my left ear and we lay nose to nose.<br /><br />“These women are losing all sense of decorum,” he said.<br /><br />I knew better than to ask Archie the meaning of ‘decorum’ right now. He might bite me.<br /><br />But our owners were already beginning to act strangely. Lesley had taken hold of one of Mistress’s hands and was holding it close to her. As if the hand had magic powers.<br /><br />“You’re going to travel next year, Julia,” Lesley stated and gave a hiccup. “Very long distance, possibly to Africa.”<br /><br />Mistress sat on the arm of Lesley’s chair. “I’ll be running away from my mountains of debt, that’s for sure,” she replied. “God knows where I might be.”<br /><br />Lesley held her glass up to the window and narrowed her eyes. “I think it’s time the two of us took a trip somewhere warm,” she said. “I wonder if I could sell Nathan’s great-grandfather’s medals ...”<br /><br />“Morons!” Archie said to me. “Disrespect to the dead, I call it.”<br /><br />”Didn’t Nathan’s great-grandfather fight in the Boer War?” Mistress asked.<br /><br />“He did,” replied Lesley. “Under Lt. General Lord Methuen at the Battle of Modder River. Nathan’s got a couple of medals that could be worth a mint. He keeps them in a drawer somewhere and I’m sure they’re turning to rust. What’s the point of hiding them, I ask you ..?”<br /><br />Lesley’s eyes were shining.<br /><br />What was she up to, that’s what we dogs wanted to know?<br /><br />All will be revealed in the wag of a pug’s tail.<br /><br /><br /><strong></strong>Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-14979596546559110662010-12-07T16:00:00.001+00:002010-12-07T16:02:24.345+00:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgf_2faukifQKw-oVKmaaOVID5_GO1Z5mN72-SyQxzH-e2gGDpA3ePXEIUmknLfrQcfjJVKu9c06eZCDIZZLE4ata9qcbk4RkJGH3i8dXfUUNg7Kob2CmgbYY4PuNDzpGxB581jQLnnCs/s1600/Photo432.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgf_2faukifQKw-oVKmaaOVID5_GO1Z5mN72-SyQxzH-e2gGDpA3ePXEIUmknLfrQcfjJVKu9c06eZCDIZZLE4ata9qcbk4RkJGH3i8dXfUUNg7Kob2CmgbYY4PuNDzpGxB581jQLnnCs/s200/Photo432.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547971179361990994" /></a><br />What was coming next, I wondered?<br /><br />“We own a pair of lovely pugs between us,” Lesley said thoughtfully. “Why don’t we try some aptitude tests? May be we could show the dogs somewhere …”<br /><br />“Don’t be ridiculous, Lesley,” Julia replied. “These two boys are only good for following their noses.”<br /><br />Archie gave one of his snorts. “If I didn’t have the nasal skills I was born with, there’d be no food at all in my house,” he growled at me.<br /><br />I put a paw across Archie’s back.<br /><br />“Well that’s where Marek comes in,” I said quickly.<br /><br />“Now, don’t start on the breakfast menus, son. My blood pressure is already rising with these comediennes.”<br /><br />Lesley stood up. She was wearing a purple track suit and a bandana round her head. For reasons I couldn’t understand, Lesley swung from one hip to the other as if she heard music that nobody else could.<br /><br />“What with your financial problems, Julia, and my dead weight of a husband, we’re in a bad way,” she announced, dropping into an armchair and folding her left leg across her right knee. “I tell you, Julia. Nathan’s a lost cause. He’s begun wearing pyjamas with stars and stripes on them. It’s not a good omen.”<br /><br />“Really!” said Mistress. “Marek doesn’t wear any at all.”<br /><br />Lesley’s half smile seemed to stick to her teeth. “What about a gin and tonic, Julia?” she asked, looking at her watch. “It’s 11am.”<br /><br />“A brilliant idea,” Mistress said. “I think a drink is the answer.”<br /><br />Archie’s head flopped over mine.<br /><br />“Let’s dozy do until the crisps start flying,” he whispered.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-27411367600237435832010-12-03T18:35:00.002+00:002010-12-03T18:39:44.154+00:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM9AIBcMfLHH0l706L1cwqWKWiZvj5bnM2tTlebRWCvIhu2fsFLS8SVY1tQ7WG8M1WuaizGFqQuXZMY_0HQp99JFMgLfbjQNg75W_vPJuJn6IjIKkHyjaio93ohH9phyN3dpDqSJhEltY/s1600/Photo432.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM9AIBcMfLHH0l706L1cwqWKWiZvj5bnM2tTlebRWCvIhu2fsFLS8SVY1tQ7WG8M1WuaizGFqQuXZMY_0HQp99JFMgLfbjQNg75W_vPJuJn6IjIKkHyjaio93ohH9phyN3dpDqSJhEltY/s200/Photo432.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546527295446002546" /></a><br />The conversations at home were becoming all too familiar. I had taken to shutting one eye through such repetitive talk. We always seemed to be on the same subject and I was praying for the arrival of my benefactor, Marek, to create a diversion.<br /><br />Mistress was off again.<br /><br />“Nobody, but nobody is buying my pictures,” she said to Lesley. “I’ve got paintings wall to wall and some of them are so old, they’re beginning to crack.”<br /><br />Mistress was restless. Archie and I watched her shoes aiming left and right from underneath a table. Frankly, I was dizzy from the sight of my mistress’s travels.<br /><br />Lesley and Archie had come round together after a distressed phone call.<br /><br />“You’ll be ill if you don’t calm yourself, Julia,” Lesley announced, her mouth full of crisps. “Everybody in the Arts is making cuts. Nathan says it’s going to get much worse and that we should leave for Portugal and start a retreat.”<br /><br />Lesley wiped her mouth with two varnished nails.<br /><br />“Come to think of it, Nathan is already on retreat” she pondered. “He fell off the map months ago.”<br /><br />Mistress stopped in her tracks.<br /><br />“Comments like those aren’t helpful, Lesley,” she snapped. “Portugal is looking as unstable as Ireland. Nathan’s got it wrong. At least Marek is out there having a go.”<br /><br />“Yes, but having a go at what?” asked Lesley. “I think you’ve got to watch Marek, my sweet. Charming he may be, but Nathan thinks your man from Warsaw is definitely playing in the danger zone.”<br /><br />I gave a small woof. <br /><br />“For once, I’ve got to agree with Lesley,” Archie said to me. “Your master has too much ready cash for an artist, and a Polish one at that.”<br /><br />I shut my mouth. I didn’t want to have another argument with Archie.<br /><br />Suddenly, Lesley’s bandanna came waving towards us dogs like a giant handkerchief. She crouched beside us underneath the table, rocking on her plimsolls.<br /><br />Moves like that always worried Archie and me. She had odd ideas, our Lesley. My ears pricked up. <br /><br />Listen in, folks. We’re tuned to the action.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-48597231537019555082010-11-20T10:21:00.001+00:002010-11-20T10:23:13.574+00:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitM6XoFsvaTdvtZAkIhAtB50hvOIYK0gn43CETWvhuEr_4ymxr2RZOwbC6qLE_p8a1O8UHLsFByXyP0FyrL6ReB0CXbw0yA7go03_pU5uhCfZgkKViXznfVxu8ynFE8hCa-GCzoHQ_55Y/s1600/Photo409.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitM6XoFsvaTdvtZAkIhAtB50hvOIYK0gn43CETWvhuEr_4ymxr2RZOwbC6qLE_p8a1O8UHLsFByXyP0FyrL6ReB0CXbw0yA7go03_pU5uhCfZgkKViXznfVxu8ynFE8hCa-GCzoHQ_55Y/s200/Photo409.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541575366588931058" /></a><br />There was no doubt in my mind. I had to keep Archie on my side and that meant persuading him to like Marek. Mistress would be in an even worse state without her man.<br /><br />“No money changed hands at the auction house,” I said to Archie, after a short interval.<br /><br />“Humbug!” he replied.<br /><br />I felt desperate. Whatever Marek was up to, he always had plenty of cash in his shabby leather pockets. Somehow I had to protect him.<br /><br />“He looks after Mistress and stops her doing stupid things, like selling the family portraits,” I said.<br /><br />Archie had a way of looking at me when times were rough. Now his nose came level with mine and I gave a sniff of appreciation. He did not reciprocate. <br /><br />“There is more to life than a bacon sarni,” he stated.<br /><br />Well, that was rich coming from Archie. That pug could eat for England. I wondered in that instant if Archie had gone off me.<br /><br />“I have a new admirer,” I said rather hastily. “An alsation who asked me to call him ‘Hen’. I met him on our walk in the country the other day. He gave my left ear quite a tickle.”<br /><br />The only sound in the kitchen was of the clock ticking. I felt Archie’s stomach move away from me slow over the tiles.<br /><br />“I hope you’ve no sentiments in that direction, son,” he growled. I would never share a basket with a ‘homo’.”<br /><br />“Never, Archie!” I cried. “I had no trouble in turning him down. Anyway, he lives in Esher.”<br /><br />Archie gave a jaw chomp and there was silence again.<br /><br />Outside the kitchen window, late autumn leaves were falling across the glass in a series of orange ribbons. A rush of wind brought them slamming towards us.<br /><br />I shivered.<br /><br />“I bet that fox is somewhere close and looking in. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t looking straight at you, kid,” said Archie.<br /><br />He gave me a thump with his right paw. “From now on, we stick closer together, right?”<br /><br />I gave Archie a thump straight back.<br /><br />He couldn’t hear my hidden sigh. We were friends again and that was all that mattered.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-38589593575563548742010-11-17T16:48:00.001+00:002010-11-17T16:55:58.053+00:00Pugs' Predicament<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0Vgy-og2puReigGHucCt3BX7YMXFgm1hDRO1PQjm0K30TzlGjTY2dIrTJ1ja6b7mFo8jYfs5xPUdlrjfJHzzjp1RKkcJBiRIgmINeYx7lRMGjIbAGY2lm45uyXrnDuGNu5uJSkS_bQI/s1600/Photo409.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0Vgy-og2puReigGHucCt3BX7YMXFgm1hDRO1PQjm0K30TzlGjTY2dIrTJ1ja6b7mFo8jYfs5xPUdlrjfJHzzjp1RKkcJBiRIgmINeYx7lRMGjIbAGY2lm45uyXrnDuGNu5uJSkS_bQI/s200/Photo409.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540563224844782482" /></a><br />Archie and 1 were chomping on ‘Rodeo’ bars in the kitchen, with the afternoon play on the radio. Normally, we would both be listening, but right now, my friend had a serious glint in his eye.<br /><br />“We have problems in this house, son,” he said. “And in yours.”<br /><br />There was silence while I contemplated this statement. Archie had a wisdom beyond his years. He stood as a barometer for the weather in the Fuller household and we were, without doubt, facing storms ahead.<br /><br /> “Lesley and Nathan are fighting like bantam cocks,” announced Archie. “We have Mr Fox as a new neighbour: your mistress is heavily in debt and Marek is playing with counterfeit money.”<br /><br />“What does counterfeit mean?” I asked.<br /><br />Archie rolled his eyes. “Where did you get your schooling, son?” he said.<br /><br />I kept my mouth shut and swallowed the last of my Rodeo bar.<br /><br />“Whenever I have a problem with a word,” Archie went on, “I consult my ‘Dogmatis’”.<br /><br />“Oh,” I replied, feeling small in my own lack of knowledge.<br /><br />“To be found on the shelf above where Nathan keeps his toenail clippers,” Archie declared.<br /><br />His pink tongue lay on his lower lip. My friend, Archie, was thinking hard.<br /><br />“They got the painting back, you know,” I said. “Mistress’s ancestor. Now she has no money at all.”<br /><br />Archie gave a grunt. He couldn’t disagree.<br /><br />What to do next, I wondered? Archie and I were going to have to come up with something fast. <br /><br />Before the bacon sandwiches ran out. <br /><br />We dogs will keep you posted.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-44972405425466574012010-10-31T16:53:00.002+00:002010-10-31T16:55:14.141+00:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9hJhwp1PepgxqECBSH_jiOb718WqKiK3XK4xgEMBm8mfsLK5ENDgl-oUSpT_Uq5Lg1bEvnZK-hE4bNf0XCNYm7up6rAoLngty7UWn2NKHOxQrDnChSQtc7VMyPCVd7SJZGHPUgs7taA/s1600/Photo414.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9hJhwp1PepgxqECBSH_jiOb718WqKiK3XK4xgEMBm8mfsLK5ENDgl-oUSpT_Uq5Lg1bEvnZK-hE4bNf0XCNYm7up6rAoLngty7UWn2NKHOxQrDnChSQtc7VMyPCVd7SJZGHPUgs7taA/s200/Photo414.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534254676550566642" /></a><br />That same afternoon, I found myself in a long queue between Marek and Mistress. We were in a posh building with lots of smells around to keep me busy. I got a whiff of Estee Lauder from the woman ahead of us and a strong stench of varnish, which made me feel dizzy. I think it might have been Marek’s bacon sandwiches that added to the impression. <br /><br />Finally I sat squat on my haunches and had to be dragged to the front of the desk when it was our turn.<br /><br />“I need to refer you to the room at the end of the corridor,” said the girl behind the counter, when she heard the story about the picture from Mistress.<br /><br />There was a lot of travelling in this place, I thought and I had a sudden desire for home. But I followed Mistress and Marek down the passage like a dutiful dog. I had every intention of behaving like the aristocrat I knew myself to be.<br /><br />“What can I do for you?” asked a man with little glasses and a fringe. He leant over his desk and made a clucking sound. “We don’t allow dogs in the auction house,” he said.<br /><br />Marek didn’t hesitate. He scooped me up and there I was, at the same level as all of them! I bared my teeth at the man.<br /><br />“This only take a minute,” replied Marek. “We have come to withdraw Lot 85, which is for sale tomorrow.”<br /><br />“The Victorian Picture Sale at 2pm,” Mistress said. “I am so sorry to ask at this late stage, but there are personal reasons.”<br /><br />The man with the fringe stared at his computer for a long time. I watched the clock on the wall above him and the black arrow that made circles around it. I yawned. The heat didn’t suit me and my stomach kept grumbling. I would have to get some air soon.<br /><br />“This is very unfortunate,” muttered the man. “The ‘Sibthorpe’ is a fine surviving example from the 1830’s. I am afraid there will be a withdrawal charge.”<br /><br />“How much?” asked Marek. He was delving into his pocket and fingering some of those money notes I had seen earlier. “Whatever the price, I pay. We have to have our picture back.”<br /><br />“That will be £945.52p,” the man replied smoothly. “But you will need to go to another floor for invoicing, I’m afraid and then to the ground for collection.”<br /><br />I began to bark then. Marek had to put me down as all these notes came out of his pocket. I saw only stars. A large bubble wrapped package lay up against a corner of the man’s desk. I was intent on getting close.<br /><br />The warning never came. Suddenly, I was sick all over the bubble wrap and it took a while to realise that a woman stood with her legs apart directly above me.<br /><br />“Get that bloody dog out of here!” she shouted.<br /><br />Marek was beside me, as I drew back, panting.<br /><br />“Who is this woman with big bottom?” he asked, to no-one in particular.<br /><br />The woman had a loud voice. “I am the director here!” she said.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-33344303448880972212010-10-28T16:06:00.003+01:002010-10-28T16:12:04.292+01:00Desperate Measures<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XelgqDRz9GaWOwgF1WyE8SPdTFyKSeHs9dEPse9kD6kVEzNpJjOmz_RIJdtBV-hoMIbcdvYse8hGvniBMhDUQjeTlvx8rRIvp_CGUHGqgtk9V4hNq5MpLbUX-6xH8ipiyVdFbr65qLg/s1600/Photo414.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XelgqDRz9GaWOwgF1WyE8SPdTFyKSeHs9dEPse9kD6kVEzNpJjOmz_RIJdtBV-hoMIbcdvYse8hGvniBMhDUQjeTlvx8rRIvp_CGUHGqgtk9V4hNq5MpLbUX-6xH8ipiyVdFbr65qLg/s200/Photo414.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533114600117981666" /></a><br />“What is this big space on the wall?” demanded Marek the morning after he came home.<br /><br />I lay at his feet where the sun fell in stripes over the drawing room carpet. My stomach was full. Marek and I had already eaten two bacon sandwiches for breakfast to celebrate his return.<br /><br />“Julia,” Marek said again. “Where is your Uncle Sidthop?”<br /><br />“He is not my uncle,” replied Mistress. “He is an ancestor and his name is Colonel Waldo Sibthorpe.”<br /><br />“You no answer my question,” Marek went on.<br /><br />I gave a sigh. Marek had been away for a whole week and though Mistress had shed a few tears in his absence, they were now bickering. How could she be so stupid? Marek was a special person. He understood the pug fraternity like nobody else in our street.<br /><br />“Look, Marek,” Mistress said. “I’m running an art gallery in a difficult climate and I need funds. The recession has hit us big-time.” <br /><br />She wouldn’t look either Marek or me in the eye. “I’ve put the painting up for auction,” Mistress whispered. “I had to do it.”<br /><br />Marek flung his arms in the air. He was full of drama. Archie had told me some time ago that Marek’s parents had come through an iron curtain. They must have been very strong people, I thought.<br /><br />“You sell your family down the river, Julia!” Marek snorted. “It is disgusting. What happens to your pride …?”<br /><br />Mistress sat down with a bump on the sofa. “Please, Marek, don’t make my situation worse. I have no choice.”<br /><br />Marek began walking up and down as if he had a fever. “We do something, Julia, if it is not too late. We do something to save your Uncle Sibthop. When is this auction?”<br /><br />Mistress looked straight ahead. “Tomorrow,” she said, but I’m not retracting.”<br /><br />Marek took a wad of cash out of his pocket and threw it down on the table.<br /><br />“One hundred pound notes!” Mistress cried. “Where the hell did that money come from.”<br /><br />Marek put a finger to his lips. <br /><br />Well, I was wondering too, from my pitch on the carpet. Marek had come into cash from somewhere. The question was, where?<br /><br />Follow my trail again and let’s find out!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong></strong>Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-60517750613628375092010-10-28T15:47:00.003+01:002010-10-28T15:48:04.955+01:00Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-60702704264483466762010-10-28T15:47:00.002+01:002010-10-28T15:48:03.300+01:00Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-21979007840668010152010-10-28T15:47:00.001+01:002010-10-28T15:47:39.884+01:00Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-46476506653111808972010-10-15T17:31:00.003+01:002010-10-15T17:36:10.157+01:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AGOZqPAoT32F4G5376yzwoeYACU1MXMIbxykP7p-8l2JMRoiyyIwgBGPNkC3WTCoXRfIU28C6Xclplxx36cBo0jOquNXjOqi2BHq9VYJIBk5RWWbq37AljzNqFp2TFCk8zn3BZ8qt_4/s1600/!cid_3A15927C-0692-47F1-9D1D-D1B71C086D8C%40local.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AGOZqPAoT32F4G5376yzwoeYACU1MXMIbxykP7p-8l2JMRoiyyIwgBGPNkC3WTCoXRfIU28C6Xclplxx36cBo0jOquNXjOqi2BHq9VYJIBk5RWWbq37AljzNqFp2TFCk8zn3BZ8qt_4/s200/!cid_3A15927C-0692-47F1-9D1D-D1B71C086D8C%40local.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528312114493916210" /></a><br />I didn’t have time to ponder my future. There were more sounds coming from the thicket of trees as a woman in jodhpurs came running towards us. I noticed that she had a purple mouth and that it was squawking.<br /><br />“Hey!” Mistress cried, dropping her mobile into her coat pocket.<br /><br />The bassets’ owner was a real lady. She wore long riding boots and a cropped jacket.<br /><br />“I’m so sorry,” she said to Mistress and her purple mouth gaped open wide.<br />“My boys are usually so well behaved … now come along, you two …”<br />“Danny, here,” she coaxed. “Mitch!”<br /><br />But the boys were not listening. My instincts told me they were only interested in serious combat. The bassets barged at me a second time. I looked up and saw the trees with their big beckoning arms. The world was coming closer.<br /><br />Then came a loud bark and a sudden explosion of air. A long-nosed beast leapt into our midst.<br /><br />“Will yer take yer filthy paws off the wee dog, you bastads! I’ll no be having fights in the forest with the likes of you.”<br /><br />I could barely understand the dog’s words, but he was big enough and fierce enough to mean business. And apparently he was on my side.<br /><br />“Oh my God!” yelled the woman in jodhpurs. “He’ll kill my boys!”<br /><br />The dog had landed and was whipping his tail in a frenzy as he went round and round in circles. I lay flat. It was the best place to be. The bassets drew back, cowering into the bark of a fallen tree.<br /><br />This chap was some kind of alsation. He had a chest I might have been proud of. “My master’s on remand,” he said to the bassets, “and he’ll have the tae of you for breakfast if you don’t stop right now!”<br /><br />Danny and Mitch sat bolt upright like a pair of stone statues.<br /><br />“I think they’re just having a scrap,” Mistress said hopefully. <br /><br />There was a pause. I moved slowly towards the dog with the long nose.<br /><br />“I’m very grateful for your help,” I yelped. “A lot of animals seem to think I have the qualities of a chocolate bar and it’s not funny.”<br /><br />The dog licked his lips.<br /><br />“Well, I can see what they mean,” he replied. “But I’m here to protect the weak, son.”<br /><br />I put a paw on his rump. What else was a pug supposed to do?<br /><br />He stood to his full height and gave the bassets a withering stare.<br /><br />“Yer clear off, you two pieces of shite, do you hear me?!”<br /><br />The dogs slunk away. I noticed that the light was fading.<br /><br />The alsation crumpled and lay down beside me. He gave me a lop-sided grin and pressed his left ear against mine.<br /><br />“Call me ‘Hen’ darlin’. And that’s for starters.”Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-33698168908886969292010-10-07T15:31:00.003+01:002010-10-07T15:38:13.226+01:00Wrong Persuasions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu76fY4A1iv7slSQgJW_Bh9qMGLjXzm_wYOHm1KvQfP1Ep2YWZwN5p0c3wcIsvq_FVYj8fyJ8YcFHwh90OPZr7QKv5dHt48FW9YuvC0CgcdblKXqnIoeicYorxFBAiQSzZWQwjbsqjRtk/s1600/!cid_3A15927C-0692-47F1-9D1D-D1B71C086D8C%40local.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu76fY4A1iv7slSQgJW_Bh9qMGLjXzm_wYOHm1KvQfP1Ep2YWZwN5p0c3wcIsvq_FVYj8fyJ8YcFHwh90OPZr7QKv5dHt48FW9YuvC0CgcdblKXqnIoeicYorxFBAiQSzZWQwjbsqjRtk/s200/!cid_3A15927C-0692-47F1-9D1D-D1B71C086D8C%40local.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525313020204289250" /></a><br />I am glad to be able to broadcast that my Kennel Cough has finally gone. And no one is more relieved than Mistress, who has never been much of a nurse. <br /><br />“Come on, Tommy,” she said to me the following week, by way of celebration. “We’re off to the country.” <br /><br />Mistress meant it. She was already packing a canvas bag with goodies. We were out of that house and into the car faster than I can wag my tail. I lay clamped in a seat belt at the back and closed my eyes. When I woke up, we were in the middle of the country.<br /><br />We were also in the middle of hundreds of trees. There were tall waving branches way up above me and on the high ground, more short prickly ones. I trotted across old tracks of mud. Then the ground became sandy and soft. It was hard to see ahead, so I followed Mistress with my nose almost to her heel. What a pity, I thought, that she had to talk on her mobile everywhere we went. She missed what was going on and any moment now, we would be in the pitch black. <br /><br />We were not alone for long. There were dogs around. I could hear them. Two basset hounds came out of the woods heading in our direction.<br /><br />”Alright, baby face?” said the fattest, as he passed us with his owner.<br /><br />I followed his tail, but it was a murky area.<br /><br />“Enough of that baby face,” I growled. “Your stomach’s hitting the earth, you’ve got so much rubbish in it.”<br /><br />The basset’s ears flapped in annoyance. His brother leered towards me.<br /><br />“Who’s this piece of low life?” he asked.<br /><br />I showed my teeth. <br /><br />“You’re a pair of stinking sausages,” I said.<br /><br />The two bassets drew parallel with me and barged at each side of my ribcage.<br /><br />I gave a shudder. My paws were giving way under me. I was in big trouble and I needed provisions. <br /><br />Was there a rescue dog somewhere close ...?Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-29746431583058498812010-09-21T17:11:00.003+01:002010-09-21T17:15:21.602+01:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJMMbYqpDEmnHE90R-peX2hJOoKRkCx0QudhIgmcJIHGTwnURMUF91H3DL3eUoxWHWEMwie-e-cMPFFiLxIIYNIDoIewCi6MNtlnsCCv6-n9jumrxizeeBmQZdGpEqNI-OG8fhU8XVpE/s1600/Photo409.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJMMbYqpDEmnHE90R-peX2hJOoKRkCx0QudhIgmcJIHGTwnURMUF91H3DL3eUoxWHWEMwie-e-cMPFFiLxIIYNIDoIewCi6MNtlnsCCv6-n9jumrxizeeBmQZdGpEqNI-OG8fhU8XVpE/s200/Photo409.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519400836924705922" /></a><br />I felt Archie tremble. We got up. We waited, looking back at the intruder.<br /><br />“It’s that damn fox,” hissed Lesley, from the depths of her lounger. She put a hand to her mouth. <br /><br />Nathan’s panama hat slid to the ground and stayed there.<br /><br />“We have vermin in the garden, Nathan. Do something!”<br /><br />But before Nathan could pick up his hat, the fox had leapt out of the pool and was bounding straight towards the party. With a snap, two chocolate biscuits disappeared from Nathan’s plate. We caught a glimpse of a bushy tail. Then the fox took off again over the water feature, showering us dogs, and disappeared into thickets of ivy.<br /><br />“Well I’ll be damned,” said Archie. <br /><br />Only a faint flutter through the undergrowth bore witness to the fox’s exit. <br /><br />“We have a predator in our midst, son,” Archie went on.<br /><br />He gave a low growl. We were both shaken.<br /><br />Lesley brought her red legs over the edge of her lounger. “What are you going to do about this, Nathan?” she bellowed. “We have a resident fox in the bushes tame enough to steal your biscuits. He’ll be in the house next!”<br /><br />“Give us a break, Lesley,” Nathan said, his voice muffled. He covered his face again with his hat. “Urban foxes need a bite to eat.”<br /><br />Lesley thumped her lounger.<br />“URBAN FOXES NEED A BITE TO EAT!” she shouted. “I’m sick of it, Julia … I really am ..!” <br /><br />Archie came closer to me. His teeth were big in the sun as he spoke.<br /><br />“No good relying on this pantomime couple,” he said to me. It’s war from now on between this piece of wild life and myself” he said.<br /><br />I lay weakly on my side. I was still recovering.<br /><br />“Count me in,” I panted.<br /><br />“I already have,” replied Archie.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-13153127988008572862010-09-14T14:28:00.002+01:002010-09-14T14:32:41.490+01:00SURPRISE VISITOR<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L9mTNR1hpZwT2pXSQ8JKZh7VF1tEAEASBOHjb8DU7MEDqZc01HLKfzIYuACqz96LdaU5cXigQWalk9exHWAtjA0lyVSM-YlrpFtiWe7qG7DVIdUkGznOXcLO16YBzDeRwSupxW-2Uis/s1600/Photo409.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L9mTNR1hpZwT2pXSQ8JKZh7VF1tEAEASBOHjb8DU7MEDqZc01HLKfzIYuACqz96LdaU5cXigQWalk9exHWAtjA0lyVSM-YlrpFtiWe7qG7DVIdUkGznOXcLO16YBzDeRwSupxW-2Uis/s200/Photo409.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516761105223562242" /></a><br />“Don’t you splutter all over me, son,” Archie said to me the next afternoon. “That cough sounds as if your death is imminent. And you’re spreading it round the entire Fuller household.”<br /><br />“Sorry, Archie,” I replied.<br /><br />The two of us pugs lay flat out a few feet apart on the Fuller’s new patio. Although the stones were warm under my fur, I had begun to shiver.<br /><br />Mistress knelt down beside me. Her hair tickled my back.<br /><br />“Tommy is not well,” she announced and at that point, I found it hard to breathe.<br /><br />The sun was high. Nathan and Lesley lay side by side in loungers. Nathan wore his old khaki shorts and had put a panama hat over his face. A plate of chocolate biscuits melted on a wicker table beside him. Lesley glistened in a silver bikini. A sickly smell came off the couple like over-ripe cucumbers.<br /><br />“I hope you’ve remembered your sun block, Nathan,” remarked Lesley, with her eyes closed. <br /><br />Nathan didn’t answer. He was beginning to snore through his hat.<br /><br />“Listen to him, Julia,” Lesley said to Mistress. “Nathan sleeps all day if he has the chance. He’s a complete nightmare in retirement. You’d think he’d give me a hand in the house when I’ve got so much to do.”<br /><br />Archie clamped a front paw on top of one of mine.<br /><br />“It’s Woman’s Hour,” he said, “and I can’t take it. Start coughing, son.”<br /><br />Well I did start coughing and then I couldn’t stop. Shudders went through me for several minutes until I saw stars in the universe. What I needed was a booster. One of Marek’s bacon sandwiches would do the trick, I was sure, and he was out for the day.<br /><br />I lapped some water from Archie’s bowl instead.<br /><br />“Body heat, that’s what you need,” Archie growled. “You’d better lie close to me and we’ll hope that I don’t get infected.”<br /><br />We lay together in the sun and started to doze. Suddenly, Mistress sat bolt upright on her lounger. She gave one of her sighs that indicated the daily confession.<br /><br />“I’ve got problems, Lesley,” she said over to her. I’ve put the portrait of one of my ancestors, Waldo Sibthorpe, up for sale. I have to pay the bills. I owe £1,200 to the vet. And that’s apart from everything else.”<br /><br />Lesley scratched her sunburnt nose.<br /><br />“Wish I could help, Julia,” she replied, “but we’ve just spent a lot of money on the garden.”<br /><br />Archie nudged me in the ribs. Lesley was right. The paving stones we lay on were made in Italy, wherever that was. There were lilies waving above us grown from a rare and expensive seed. The new water feature had cost half of Nathan’s redundancy and spouted water from a three pronged silver fork into what Archie called the paddling pool.<br /><br />“Anyway, Julia, your small picture shows never make any money,” Lesley went on. “You’ve always said that.”<br /><br />There was silence, apart from Nathan’s snores and my heavy breathing. Then I happened to look up. Archie’s head was up too. The stench had come at us both. A mixture of woodland, the odd mammal and the innards of green bins. <br /><br />It was the fox! There he was standing in the middle of the pool as if he owned the water rights. <br /><br />And he was staring directly at Archie and me.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-51197605224241404832010-08-30T11:19:00.002+01:002010-08-30T11:25:12.546+01:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1UvBZbAdMPEhs2PQ9gnH2SuhMM-foJFJ-WmZk3fTjaDsdL2WTPRMDic2mU3-dZT2EpF-L4nhfXZsvl71u5nqjhS_xN2HJH8ivbdeOuddjyGoGVUjotiGyTcfRLVKaPV_FStcJJgWvas/s1600/Photo347.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1UvBZbAdMPEhs2PQ9gnH2SuhMM-foJFJ-WmZk3fTjaDsdL2WTPRMDic2mU3-dZT2EpF-L4nhfXZsvl71u5nqjhS_xN2HJH8ivbdeOuddjyGoGVUjotiGyTcfRLVKaPV_FStcJJgWvas/s200/Photo347.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511146191897927250" /></a><br />Rachel sat unmoved in front of her computer. My eyesight was never good, but the vet’s Receptionist had nails like talons. She tapped them over the desk in a series of scales as she thought this offer over.<br /><br />“Only if they use ‘Crème de la Mer’ for our massage,” she said.<br /><br />“They do!” replied Mistress. “And that’s a promise.”<br /><br />As we left the surgery, my tail dropped between my legs. I knew the picture Mistress was referring to. Waldo Sibthorpe had been an important man and a politician. He went all the way back to Queen Victoria. The painting of him in the sitting room was a family heirloom. Selling it was bad news.<br /><br />As we walked down the path, a familiar sight came through the gate to meet us. It was the bitch from hell: the terrior who fell somewhere between a dachsy and a poodle.<br /><br />Although the owner pulled her back, she threw herself at me in lunatic fashion.<br /><br />“Get off!” I snarled. “Your claws need a good clipping.”<br /><br />“And your tail got knotted when you were born, monkey face!” the terrior <br />whispered.<br /><br />Mistress could see that I was not in the mood to go quietly. She lifted me without warning and from the safety of her arms, I gave my second giant sneeze of the day, aiming it at the bitch beneath.<br /><br />“He sounds rather unwell,” said her owner.<br /><br />“Nothing serious,” Mistress replied.<br /><br />The terrior slunk away from us. She bared her teeth. I gave one of my devil may care grins. I would eat my whiskers if she didn’t have a good dose of Kennel cough by the next morning.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-22928360412946008142010-08-26T17:39:00.003+01:002010-08-26T17:51:22.197+01:00KENNEL COUGH BLUES<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7ikb1Qb5-mdSkw2Uyz7NE7_UG6U443nyr3EjyXAYnR7Ej5ZhnABSiZ1Fp39opUOtqJNo6JTcYp-x19Ju6btkRVICgxuOTlxHUl-x4mx3eqrvReAmiGIJ9vZ7QMTAJQJ9IOrEMDACvmg/s1600/Photo347.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7ikb1Qb5-mdSkw2Uyz7NE7_UG6U443nyr3EjyXAYnR7Ej5ZhnABSiZ1Fp39opUOtqJNo6JTcYp-x19Ju6btkRVICgxuOTlxHUl-x4mx3eqrvReAmiGIJ9vZ7QMTAJQJ9IOrEMDACvmg/s200/Photo347.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509761915611119586" /></a><br />I woke up yesterday morning with a hacking cough.<br /><br />Mistress took me straight to the vet. I don’t mind him. He’s friendly and always gives me a snack after diagnosis.<br /><br />“Kennel cough, I’m afraid,” the vet said, holding me on his slippery high table. “Keep Tommy away from other dogs during his course of anti-biotics because he’ll be infectious.”<br /><br />“That might be difficult,” Mistress replied. <br /><br />I yawned. Mistress would have to come to terms with me being a sick dog. Not that I felt too bad. When we went out into Reception, there was a cat far worse off than me. She sat shivering inside her cage and her orange eyes settled on me like a pair of moons.<br /><br />I gave a spluttery sneeze which covered the far wall and a big Dalmation print.<br /><br />“That will be eighty-five pounds, Miss Taylor,” said the Receptionist.<br /><br />Mistress dropped her head until all you could see was her long mane of hair. <br /><br />“Haven’t got it this week, Rachel,” she whispered. “But I do have a 19th century painting of one of my ancestors going to auction any day. “The commission will buy us both a day at the Health Club. How about it? I can settle up after that.”<br /><br />Mistress’s debts were mounting fast. I was going to have to talk to Archie about this. She had entered the world of bribery and corruption.<br /><br />What the hell was Mistress going to say next? My ears were pricking.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-48237555191731678832010-08-04T12:02:00.002+01:002010-08-04T12:06:05.587+01:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDMBPnNk1inWxaP6ooJUNnDIBqiVEwDHvBBcsReGK3_GIqcZEHPicqXcNH5g2QkH67BEMMMYE8yCQPLCbG7W6ytlWmZtJEqHxWSqd7Fn-8vgIFtYKQkcTkTVBTAgL41u9Lk37pSKmocc/s1600/Photo346.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDMBPnNk1inWxaP6ooJUNnDIBqiVEwDHvBBcsReGK3_GIqcZEHPicqXcNH5g2QkH67BEMMMYE8yCQPLCbG7W6ytlWmZtJEqHxWSqd7Fn-8vgIFtYKQkcTkTVBTAgL41u9Lk37pSKmocc/s200/Photo346.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501508914405287234" /></a><br />Suddenly, Larry came out onto the front porch and began to sway dangerously from one thin leg to another. A lone paintbrush shot from his pocket and into the Euphorbia.<br /><br />“Who’s this tall bastard, then?” he shouted. “Are we being invaded by the Secret Police?!”<br /><br />Mistress put a restraining hand on Larry’s arm.<br /><br />“Shhhh,” she murmured. “Everything’s alright. Go inside and I’ll join you in a moment.”<br /><br />I sidled round to Larry’s left trouser leg. Being born with such an acute sense of smell was not always an advantage. Some time during last night, Larry’s trouser leg had been in direct contact with a chamber pot. But I had to show whose side I was on. I gave several loud barks and performed my pirouette routine to create a light hearted interval.<br /><br />“Get that damn dog away from me!” cried Larry. He’s a dreadful example of a canine and ugly to boot.”<br /><br />Well I nipped the artist under his trouser leg then. There’s no call for rudeness and I happen to know how valuable I really am. Unlike Larry, my mama made me learn Respect and a whole list of manners.<br /><br />Larry fell forward, clutching at his ankle. “Ouch!” he screamed.<br /><br />Then he lost his footing and went headlong into the flower bed.<br /><br />I looked at Mistress and she looked back at me. She was smiling.<br /><br />Larry lifted his head.<br /><br />“Who are you?” he asked Mr Greig, who stood just downwind of him.<br />“Give me a hand up, will you?” <br /><br />Larry put out his frail arms. “And get me a bloody drink, you poor sod. You look like you need one, too. After all, it’s not every day you meet a real painter. Take off that revolting coat and come and join me!”Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-12529536465631872582010-07-26T12:41:00.003+01:002010-07-26T12:46:48.591+01:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1236fxyrks7WkLydnQgOj_696VNadyU1AJCBz4RcoTSnn8Y2FlUg_nFqBrvLtGq0437IPfTEyAbSAj84pzLHrLnux6oM7J7VyDriwrOZDZVarOTYQYrF47OX2OflE7en_VrP_-6AQkx4/s1600/Photo382.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1236fxyrks7WkLydnQgOj_696VNadyU1AJCBz4RcoTSnn8Y2FlUg_nFqBrvLtGq0437IPfTEyAbSAj84pzLHrLnux6oM7J7VyDriwrOZDZVarOTYQYrF47OX2OflE7en_VrP_-6AQkx4/s200/Photo382.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498179550913446434" /></a><br />BIN ENDS<br /><br />The stink was awful, but I was an obstinate pug and determined to stick it out. However long Mr Grieg kept his head down in the green bin, my chances for the odd snack were increasing. <br /><br />“You have a box of soup cartons in here, Miss Taylor,” Mr Greig said in a muffled voice. “And a load of old film reels. They look foreign to me. I trust your Polish suitor is not up to his pornographic tricks again.”<br /><br />“Absolutely not” called Julia. <br /><br />“Shit,” she mouthed at me, but I pretended not to notice. <br /><br />There were bigger worries at stake and all I could think of at that moment was Marek’s involvement. He was already in big trouble about his visa and he had a habit of tossing things away without even looking. <br /><br />Mr Greig’s head emerged from the bin. His hair stood on end. His black coat was covered in the leaves of a stale cabbage. <br /><br />“I will need to do a colour coding of this operation,” he said.<br /><br />“What’s that?” asked Julia.<br /><br />“Exactly what I say,” replied Mr Grieg. “You will be added to our ‘Shame List’ at headquarters. It’s a Council initiative aimed at householders who are not following our regulations on waste, etcetera. We will need to talk again, Miss Taylor.”<br /><br />Was my Mistress in trouble yet again? Will I have to try a pug tackle on the man and rescue her? The saga continues.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-84925673439354028082010-07-12T13:03:00.003+01:002010-07-12T13:08:06.843+01:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRVD28IqI0baEP91GITohxJOPTkwcHk7T73EdA5JUMf0jMpv0jBHK0GQQ5xheAHxj5xmSIHkQE7KvQi13iQ-TLqLK5Wi5BYz-mefl2oQ7hUMVgi5Rpb4y8iqvmh6psKisfthn5ES7dcw/s1600/Photo343.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRVD28IqI0baEP91GITohxJOPTkwcHk7T73EdA5JUMf0jMpv0jBHK0GQQ5xheAHxj5xmSIHkQE7KvQi13iQ-TLqLK5Wi5BYz-mefl2oQ7hUMVgi5Rpb4y8iqvmh6psKisfthn5ES7dcw/s200/Photo343.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492989830881783538" /></a><br /> Larry has what he calls a ‘gammy’ leg. He drags himself in like Long John Silver, but without the attraction of a parrot.<br /><br /> “Taxi waiting,” he wheezes. “No cash ‘til Monday, I’m afraid, Julia. Be a love and lend me £20 quid. Then the driver will help me in with the pictures.”<br /><br /> Mistress takes two ten pound notes out of the Italian vase on the hall table. This vase is meant to take in the loans that she is constantly dealing out. It is often empty. The light catches the vase from the high window and reminds me of Pierre Bonnard and his colourful interiors. He is one of Mistress’s favourite artists. Together we like to look at illustrations of his nude wife in the bath, of which there are several.<br /><br /> Larry would like to paint Mistress in the bath. Instead, he has to make do with her in a tight black bodice sitting on her bed with the curtains closed.<br /><br /> It’s some operation, I can tell you! Larry and his gammy leg mounting the stairs, rucksack on his back and wittering on about his arthritis. <br /><br /> “Go on, Julia, give us a bit more flesh, will you? You weren’t born in a convent,” he says as he pulls his brushes out of his pocket. A palette follows from the depths of a dirty canvas bag. “Any chance of a small drink?” he asks.<br /><br /> His eyes squint towards Mistress.<br /><br /> “It’s 11am, Larry,” she responds. “I’ll make you a coffee in half an hour.”<br /><br /> Long ago, I decided that Larry is the sort of artist who will never be interested in Dogs or Nature.<br /><br /> “Can we get rid of your animal?” he asks, and now he is staring at me in a way that makes me feel like an intruder in my own house. Who would believe it? <br /><br /> I bare my teeth.<br /><br /> “That dog’s got halitosis, you know”, Larry says.<br /><br /> I want to warn Mistress that the zip on her long skirt is undone.<br /><br /> “Tommy’s breath is far sweeter than yours, believe you me,” Mistress retorts. She bounces around on two velvet cushions. “How long is this session going to take? I have a lot to do today.”<br /><br /> The artist lifts a paintbrush and points it in her direction. He looks queasy. Archie calls his complexion a bad case of Francis Bacon. I agree. Larry’s other hand feels for the counterpane. I can see that he has the ‘shakes’ and start to wonder if he will make it home when the time comes.<br /><br /> Larry wipes his forehead with a paint smeared handkerchief.<br /><br /> “We can’t hurry this,” he croaks. “Not a work for the National Society of Portrait Painters.”<br /><br /> “You haven’t had a picture shown with them for eight years,” Mistress answers. “And you don’t seem to have moved from my chin for the last five sessions!”<br /><br /> Larry is now wiping his eyes with the same handkerchief. They are turning crimson in front of us. If I could cover my ears, I would, because this kind of conversation distresses me. But their talk is broken up by the peal of the bell for the second time today.<br /><br /> Mistress pulls her shirt on and is off that bed in a matter of seconds. The two of us fly down the stairs, happy for the interruption.<br /><br /> Mistress opens the front door in bare feet.<br /><br /> It’s the tall man in the black coat again.<br /><br /> “Good morning, Miss Taylor,” says Mr Grieg.<br /><br /> “This is an official visit to check the quota of rubbish in your bins.”Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510258761260234354.post-28115101246717978342010-07-05T16:18:00.002+01:002010-07-05T16:23:35.246+01:00'In the Flesh'<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQ0DUyLVyD95E5EZRXz_gYY5ipaXIAFTIfi42AI86Zd5NEa17jR8W71K-hPPzqgbBasswYlSY21n6d3nrKm2VhTlizp4AAU3Xjzvf4VaaBMH7C3XdpRIIvdzEjrWRuLxNP-J3uzLPRDw/s1600/Photo343.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQ0DUyLVyD95E5EZRXz_gYY5ipaXIAFTIfi42AI86Zd5NEa17jR8W71K-hPPzqgbBasswYlSY21n6d3nrKm2VhTlizp4AAU3Xjzvf4VaaBMH7C3XdpRIIvdzEjrWRuLxNP-J3uzLPRDw/s200/Photo343.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490442695866591602" /></a><br /> I feel sorry for Mistress. She has always had ideas about being an artist, but failed her Art ‘O’ level at boarding school. There are not too many people who know this fact either. Well, I do, because she whispers confidential information to me that I wouldn’t even tell Archie. Sometimes, I watch Mistress from my pitch under her desk doodling matchstick men in private. It’s pathetic really. They wouldn’t stand up at primary level.<br /><br /> As a matter of fact, I think she is better off being a gallery owner. Working with artists is a juggling act, let me tell you. Some of them are quite mad. Take Larry, who is due to deliver his latest works this morning.<br /><br /> When the bell rings with two clarion peals, I am busy with a juicy bone between my paws. Mistress groans.<br /><br /> “Oh, God,” she sighs. “Tommy, don’t leave me, there’s a good dog.”<br /><br /> Frankly, both Mistress and I are looking forward to a quieter life, the days when we will no longer be interrupted by artists.<br /><br /> But we’ve got one of the worst types arriving now. Larry Fielding, the well known portrait painter and he’s not only bringing some new pictures, but has come here to paint Mistress. Larry is not the fastest out of the pen. Let’s see if we can get started!<br /><br /> Follow my paws as I gallop upstairs and wait for the bark.Tommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17758524368359787182noreply@blogger.com0