The Adventures of Frodo the Faller (6)

Frodo is a lovely family dog, enjoying the company of young and old but he has always wanted to be very close to me in particular – something about the hand that feeds, maybe? Since becoming a Faller his desire has become more extreme. He will hardly leave my side and going downstairs can be hazardous for he will not commit to going down until he is quite sure that is my intention too. Once confident that I am descending he then rushes past me. That is quite acceptable unless I am carrying laundry, a tea tray or supporting Dominie who is stiff first thing in the morning and needs help. On the flat again he trots ahead of me, glancing over his left shoulder every few seconds, consequently frequently hitting his nose or shoulder against my husband, the door frames, other dogs or anything else that may impede his progress. I am used to tripping over hungry dogs and cats, for they make their requirements very plain and usually settle after the worms have stopped biting. Frodo, however, will not let me out of his sight and follows me all over the house. When I went away for a few days he howled the whole time he was awake because I was absent. My husband expected daily a visit from the RSPCA. Even on our walks Frodo checks on me every five to ten seconds, sometimes to see if I'm checking on him and his turdy tastes. In short he is a 'Velcro' dog.

'Velcro' is the trademark for a clever method of fastening one piece of material to another. It was invented by Georges de Mestral, a Swiss engineer, who had studied the burrs that stuck to his dog's fur and to his own clothes. Examining them under a microscope he saw that they had hundreds of hooks that caught on the loops of rough surfaces like clothing, hair or animal fur and resolved to reproduce them in material. A clever man and tenacious too, for although to begin with no-one would take him seriously, in 1951 he was granted a patent in Switzerland for his new fastener. He called it 'Velcro' from an amalgamation of the French 'velours' meaning velvet and 'crochet' meaning hook.

Owner/companions of epileptic dogs recognise the 'Velcro' tendency in their dogs. Epileptic dogs form a special bond with their people; maybe, in the deeper recesses of their consciousness they recognise that their people are trying to help them. Sometimes before a seizure when a dog senses that something unpleasant is about to occur – humans call this having or seeing an aura - he will seek out his owner, whether for comfort or acupressure or supplemental medication one cannot be sure. After the episode, the dog may remain very close to his person. Anything up to twenty-four hours before a seizure Frodo becomes exceptionally clinging and will not go outside unless I accompany him. Just like a small puppy he wants reassurance and company.
He is at all times a most responsive dog, coming immediately when called, spinning on a sixpence in his eagerness to return to us. All the stranger then was the occasion when he disappeared in the forest as dusk was falling and did not come back when summoned, of which more anon.

The Adventures of Frodo the Faller (7)

It is difficult to move out of a room without the Velcro Dog being aware of it – I could be persuaded quite easily that I have a dog-shaped shadow. Many times I have spun round quickly and fallen over Frodo who then looks sheepishly at me and vigorously wags his tail. If the tail, which is very solid, should beat against a hard surface the tip of it splits and before we know it every available surface within a square metre is splashed and striped and smeared with blood. Carnage!

Our vet suggested constructing a cardboard tube to encase and protect the tail tip to allow it to mend. I carefully rolled thin card into a cylinder and tried to fit it over Frodo's tail. He was rather suspicious about me fiddling with his tail so was not very cooperative and kept wriggling away just at the moment I was about to achieve lock-on. Eventually I managed to slide it on and secured it with sticking plaster, which actually doesn't adhere very easily to dog fur. Frodo looked at me rather quizzically, wagged his tail and the cardboard flew off. I left the naked tail to heal by itself.

Out for walks Frodo is always the first dog to return when called. He never goes very far from us and is constantly verifying our whereabouts. We play hide and seek with all our dogs but Frodo is the one who is most alert and consequently the one most difficult to hide from. The day early one October that he disappeared in the forest was very worrying.

At that time Barry was still running regularly and had taken the dogs out in the late afternoon. He was returning to the dog car – a disreputable-looking vehicle which is used solely to transport our dogs to the forest – as dusk was falling. Jenna-the –Labrador was just growing out of her habit of following fresh deer tracks and he was anxious to avoid any opportunity she might take to revisit her hobby so he was hurrying. Suddenly he realised that Frodo was missing. He assumed that Frodo must be deeply involved in a tantalising sniff and called, expecting him to materialise immediately in his customary manner. Nothing! He called and whistled and whistled and called and the familiar white face with the piratical patch over the left eye remained obstinately absent.

He called me on his mobile and I drove the respectable car to the forest to collect the remaining dogs and bring them home, leaving Barry there to hunt for Frodo. The dogs and I, feeling the absence of the Velcro dog, were somewhat subdued. It was now full dark and there was no clue to Frodo's disappearance. Neither Barry nor I thought that Frodo would go off with someone he didn't know but we couldn't be sure that he wouldn't do so if he had got lost and frightened. He needs human companionship and reassurance as much as he needs canine and feline friends. Our imaginations were running riot and we felt completely helpless. Barry took time out from searching for Frodo to call the police but had no joy – no spotted dogs had been turned in or reported seen wandering. He prepared to spend the night in the forest and I prepared to wait up all night in case Frodo somehow found his own way home as once, years ago, our little Jack Russell Daisy had done. Both these determinations proved not to be necessary however, of which more anon.

Sixteen years

 

Sixteen years

Sixteen years have passed since these photographs were taken. Our Dalmatian years lasted for 30 years, the last one, my velcro dog, Frodo the Faller, leaving us 9 years ago.

                                        Frodo the Faller, my velcro dog

I’ve heard all sorts of stories about Dalmatians. Some people asked us if black-spotted Dalmatians turned brown in old age, or did the liver-spotted turn black with age? One person told me that liver-spotted Dalmatians were not regarded as proper Dalmatians. They are ‘proper’ Dalmatians and some breeders try to specialise in the liver-spotted variety. Many people were surprised to learn that the puppies are white when they’re born, developing their spots from the age of about two weeks until 18 months or so.

                                    Dominie of the thunderous paws

It is a fact that puppies born with coloured patches used to be destroyed at birth. Whether this was because it was thought the patches might become cancerous or because it demeaned the breed or the breeder in some way is unclear. Patched puppies are no longer destroyed and haven’t been for more than forty years. They make fine pets, though they will not be destined for a show career.

                                        Buddy Liver Spots

Like most white or piebald animals, Dalmatians have a tendency to deafness, but this is being addressed with careful breeding and BAER testing (Brainstem Auditory Evoked Response) of registered breeding stock. There are some unregistered breeders so deaf pups are still born. With careful, patient training they can be wonderful dogs, but they require a lot of work.

                        Buddy Liver Spots and Frodo the Faller

We greatly enjoyed our Dalmatians. They were fantastic running companions for Barry and would also walk for hours with me. Now we lead lives more suited to rambling, Labrador Retrievers have become our companions once again. We have come full circle. We started with a Labrador, then had the Jack Russell years, which overlapped the Labrador. The Dalmatians ran concurrently with the JRs for a while, and then led back to Labradors.

                Jenna. the little Labrador with the enormous paws, with her tracker and cow bell, never happier than when retrieving

Dates to remember in March

 

Dates to remember in March 2024

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

March 1^st is St David’s Day. St David is the only patron saint to be born in Britain and he died on this day in 589 AD. Welsh people will display their national pride by wearing daffodils or leeks and dressing in national costume.

 Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!

9^th to 12^th March at the NEC in Birmingham will see the annual dog show, Cruft’s. It is an opportunity to see well-bred pedigree dogs trotting their stuff and also to witness the extraordinary lengths their breeders and owners go to in presenting their charges at their best.

On grooming tables, hapless pooches will be strung up tightly so that they can be ‘trimmed’. Some will have curlers in their fur, later to be brushed out and completed with a pretty bow. Others will have chalk applied to the white parts of their coats, though Kennel Club rules demand that no chalk is left in the coat when the judge ‘goes over’ the dog. Chalk is also used when people are stripping their dogs’ coats, to give a better grip.

All the exhibits are required to have short, neat claws, so there will be a great degree of nail clipping going on.

Apart from the beauty pageant, there are many other things to see. At ‘Discover Dogs’ 200 breeds of pedigree dogs can be seen and petted. Friendly and knowledgeable owners are very happy to talk about their chosen breed and advise on their suitability for specific circumstances.

The Kennel Club Dog Hero Award competition is an opportunity to honour and applaud the very special relationships that arise. Some dogs show exceptional bravery, others are support dogs, sensitive to the indications of approaching epileptic seizures, or diabetic problems among other things. Some are assistance dogs that help owners with disabilities, like deafness or autism. Then there are the Search and Rescue dogs, the police and military dogs.

Agility and flyball competitions are a great favourite with the crowds. Many of the dogs participating are small breeds, and inclined to be fairly vocal. The ones that win the hearts of the audience are the mischievous dogs that don’t quite do what they should and make everyone laugh.

‘Heelwork to Music’ is a chance to see what dogs are capable of, given the chance.

Police and Gundog displays are always impressive and ‘Scruffts’ is an arena for the beautiful, intelligent, non-pedigree dogs to shine.

The last day of the show is where every human competitor longs to be, in the finals. The dogs don’t care one way or the other. I hope the winner this year represents a healthy breed that hasn’t been adapted to man’s opinion of what is beautiful and ruined in the process.

My Velcro dog, Frodo the Faller, qualified for Crufts in 2002. You can read about him here and velcro here.

Pet Pride - Never far from my side

I have mentioned before that Frodo is my velcro dog. I cannot leave a room without him noticing and following me. Barry always knows where I am because Frodo is always close by - he is the canine equivalent of a toddler! No secrets in our house . . .

Frodo is extremely responsive, coming immediately when called - he spins on a sixpence to obey - apart from the time when a decomposing deer carcase proved much too inviting and he disappeared inside it for about an hour, deaf to everything but the grinding of his teeth and the champing of his jaws.

When deliveries are made to the front door he sits at the top of the stairs, watching, ready to leap to my rescue.He doesn't like strangers coming into the house but quickly realises that because they have been invited in they are no threat.

An occasional pocketful of treats makes a pleasant outing even better!

When we are out walking he regards it as his job to look after me, which entails him keeping a sharp look-out for strangers, two-legged and four-legged. Once spotted, he fixes a baleful glare and barks warningly.

Somebody approaches - who goes there?

We have always played hide and seek with our dogs, to keep them alert to our whereabouts and close to us, but it is extremely difficult to hide from Frodo as he checks on me every few seconds - never more than 12 seconds pass between his glances.

Walking with dogs is one of life's greatest pleasures. Buddy Liver Spots is always on an extending lead because he can't see very well and wanders off in wrong directions. Currently Jenna is also confined to a lead to help her shoulder injury heal.

Thank you to Bozo and his human for hosting this lovely meme. Click here if you would like to see more pets to be proud of.

The Adventures of Frodo the Faller (4)

Our cats have always been indoor cats. That is to say they are not allowed free access to the big wide world but have an enclosed cat run where they can bask in the sun or enjoy a refreshing rain shower, stalk insects, trap frogs, catch foolish mice and tangle with young rats, all of which are brought indoors to be presented with pride to the humans. Oftentimes has a circle of cats been discovered surrounding an unfortunate frog squealing shrilly to be let go. Frequently we have found desiccated amphibians in dark corners. In order to contain the cats while at the same time circulating fresh air through the house we have shutters at the windows and a wire netting screen at the patio door. The latter is required to be kept attached to the door frame – actually, it slots into the groove in the fixed door that accommodates the sliding glass panel. On the hot summer days which sometimes happen in the contrary weather systems of the British Isles the screen is left in place until we repair to bed.

Letting the dogs out to relieve themselves (or 'go potty' as our American cousins so whimsically term it) is an exercise in observation and fast reflexes. Our current cats, two beautiful Ocicats, who think they would enjoy exploring the garden, are reduced to quivering, shivering bundles of apprehension when they manage occasionally to slip out past a dog or a human. The drill is as follows: first check the whereabouts of the cats, particularly sly Monty. Then, standing on one foot and waving the other in the direction of any passing cat, make loud 'shoom, shoom' noises to deter them at the same time freeing the screen from the groove and sliding the very heavy door to the left. Dog/s are released and cats are still safely indoors. When the dog/s are ready to resume their positions on the sofas and chairs, repeat the process in reverse (no, not 'moosh, moosh') When all are safely gathered in – and it can sometimes take a long time if the dogs decide to go out singly – settle down with a cup of whatever takes the fancy until the next time. On cold, very wet or windy days, when the netting is not required it is usually fastened back by a bungee to a hanging basket.

I say 'usually'. One day when it had not been secured thus Frodo went out to potty (I actually rather like that expression – it beats 'pee' and 'pooh' - or worse.) I was hanging about waiting for him to ask to come back in when I heard a loud clanking, the sort of noise the wire screen makes when the wind blows it against the patio door. However it was not windy. Looking out I saw Frodo staggering and my first thought was that he had run into the netting which had caught him in the throat. As I watched I saw him fall to the ground; his legs started paddling furiously, his head was pulled back by an invisible power, his jaws were stretched painfully wide and he was foaming at the mouth and growling. With horror I realised he was having a fit. My heart was pounding as my beautiful dog, lost to the world, continued to be subjected to forces beyond his control. The episode seemed to continue for minutes. Eventually, he struggled to his feet and promptly fell in the pond. He clambered out, covered in duck weed and looking rather confused, stumbled around and fell in again. Frodo was no longer an ordinary dog – he had become a Faller, one of that special breed which bring to their human companions joy and sorrow, laughter and tears. Many have commented on the closeness that develops with an epileptic dog. The label 'Velcro dog' is apt, of which more anon.

Mantra

 

Mantra

We have long been advocates of mantras, not for religious reasons, but to help us feel we are a little more in control.

The morning mantra used to be, ‘Keys, wallet, briefcase, ‘phone,’ as the man of the house left for work. The woman of the house didn’t need a mantra. It was her job to make sure that each child left the house properly dressed, thoroughly fed and on time, before closing the door securely and making her own way to work. After she had repeated, ‘Have you got. . . ? Have you remembered . . .?’ umpteen times, there was little chance of her forgetting what she needed for the day ahead.

Now, in the peaceful days of our non-working lives, the mantra has changed. As we prepare to leave the house with dogs in tow, for a hearty jaunt in the woods, the chant is, ‘Keys, hat, sunglasses, camera, walking poles, leads, remote control.’

Remote control?

Our dogs are smartly dressed in orange tracker collars, which they wear alongside the collars with their identity tags. 

                                                Coming out?

The remote control is not intended to control the dogs, but to identify where they are, should they decide to follow a path of their own choosing. It is possible to monitor thirty dogs with the device, so is more than sufficient for our two. We have only ever walked seven dogs at a time, four of ours and three of our daughter’s, but that was a long time ago, when there were fewer people out walking dogs.

    Gilbert models his collars. On this occasion, he and Roxy are wearing the blue collars decorated with bees.

We know how far each dog has travelled, and also the distance the humans have covered. They cover approximately twice the distance of the people. Satellite imagery presents a clear map to show the terrain and to help plan a route, if required.

It’s interesting to use the tracker, but also comforting. In all our decades of having dogs, we’ve lost three. One, a little Jack Russell, found her way home late at night. Her brother, on another occasion, was knocked down but died after a few days with the vet. He was a strong dog, but the shock was too much for him. The third one, my Velcro dog, emerged from the carcase of a deer, in which he had been feasting. He had become a black, white and red Dalmatian.

So, we have the trackers for our peace of mind (or piece of mind!!) It’s about time children were fitted with trackers, too, though I gather iPhones can be tracked. I know I wouldn’t have liked to have been so easily traced, but maybe things are different now. 

Given the opportunity, I would have hidden inside my children’s heads to understand them. As it was, I had to rely on the information they gave me to know where they were and with whom. We all survived, and it’s been interesting watching them navigate the perilous waters of parenthood. Parenting at one or two removes is so much more relaxing!

The Further Adventures of Frodo the Faller – bird cake

Although we are well aware of the thieving propensities of our many animals, there are occasions when we are less vigilant than we should be. One such occasion arose recently as a direct result of our interest in bird-watching.

There are a number of bird feeders in what passes for our garden (bear in mind it has recently been reduced to a barren desert because of the Endless Pool project). Periodically an order for bird food, mostly tubular fat cakes, is delivered to our house. Usually these fruit, seed or insect-packed suet cylinders are transferred immediately to a safe place – i.e: one that is out of reach of the dogs. For some perfectly valid but now forgotten reason this did not happen and the bird cakes were left in the porch. It wasn't hot so there was no danger of them melting or liquefying or whatever it is that fat does and there was a strong wooden fortification denying the dogs access.

Unfortunately, someone who shall remain nameless forgot to engage the barrier; Frodo the Faller and Jenna-the-Labrador, thinking Christmas had come early, lost themselves happily for a while sampling the cakes. Our attention was attracted simultaneously to the absence of these two dogs – remember, Frodo the Faller is our Velcro dog – and to unmistakeable sounds of determined rummaging and chomping. Luckily they had only eaten one complete one-litre tube (ONLY!!) We expected a disturbed night with upset stomachs but the miscreants slept soundly, their stomachs well-rounded, and I swear they both had contented smiles on their furry faces.

A busy weekend

Frodo, my Velcro boy, detached from me

On Saturday evening I drove to Chalfont St Giles to sit with my three younger grandchildren while their parents went out and Barry stayed at home to dog-sit.

Frodo and Jenna keep vigil

Frodo, Jenna and Gus took up position at the top of the stairs, there to remain until my return. When I phoned Barry to let him know I'd arrived safely he was unable to reach the phone immediately and consequently Frodo started howling and was soon accompanied by Gus. Frodo has a fine tenor voice and Gus sings baritone so they make a rather pleasing duo. We've never heard Jenna howl but she contributed to the musical episode by barking sharp staccato notes. Buddy continued to sleep – he's heard it all before.
Elliot taught me how to use the remote controls for the television. He and his father are showing an alarming resemblance to Barry in respect of all things technological. Callum, our oldest grandson, seems cast in the same mould, too. The more complex an arrangement may be the happier they all are. Anyway, Elliot guided me through the process, which, I grant, is simple enough once you know how.

As it was the weekend the children were allowed to stay up later. We decided we would watch a film together but gone are the days of a pleasant cartoon or a children's adventure story. Eve was outvoted by her brothers and we watched '2012'. Having established that they were allowed to watch it and it wouldn't give seven-year-old Louis nightmares we settled down to what seemed a very long film. The special effects were tremendous but the story line had a few gaping holes in it as far as credulity was concerned. After an hour or so Eve went off to bed with a book and we watched as 'the world as we know it' erupted and collapsed. Finally a huge tsunami engulfed the earth, almost submerging Mount Everest, and the arks that had been constructed broke free of their anchors and sailed upon the waters that covered the earth and every living thing just as it was reported in Genesis all those centuries ago. Ultimately, it was a new slant on Noah's Ark and the end would have been a good beginning for a film, I thought. Perhaps there will be a sequel – 2013 and all that.

Gareth and Nina arrived home after a good evening out with friends and soon afterwards I set off for home. I left their house at 12:30 on a journey that would normally take 35 to 40 minutes at that time of night. However, I had unplugged the Tom Tom on arrival, thinking it might drain the car battery, and forgot to plug it in again so after a while it stopped speaking to me by which time I had taken a wrong turning. Hastily, I plugged it in again and set it to find a route home. 'Planning a route' took forever but eventually the woman spoke. She sounded rather cross, I thought, as she barked, 'No route planned.' Now I was on my own, going in the wrong direction, towards Central London, rather than west towards home. I drove through some interesting places, constantly surprised by the amount of traffic on the roads, and eventually I picked up some road signs to take me to the M3. Unfortunately, I missed a vital turning and continued my journey through the outer suburbs of London until I reached Sheen and then I relaxed. I knew that once I reached Twickenham I would be on the right road. I reached home at around 2:45. There's no chance of getting into our house unnoticed and a great cacophony greeted me as dogs rushed downstairs to jump all over me and then look expectantly for food. Dogs – they're so obvious!

The next morning we rose bright and early – well, early anyway – to continue preparations for our two younger daughters who were coming for lunch. Barry took the three younger dogs out for a walk to get the tickle out of their toes and I stayed at home to finish off. Susannah and Nick arrived first and gave us wonderful homemade green tomato chutney that Nick had made and a particularly toothsome and stinky cheese they'd bought in a cheese shop in Whitstable the day before. 

Nick's green tomato chutney, not quite as full as when it arrived!

Not the remains of the day, but the remains of the cheese!

Then Bethan and her friend arrived and gave us a beautiful bouquet and a fine bottle of wine from their holiday in Sardinia.

The bouquet was full of late summer blooms - absolutely gorgeous!

The wine remained unopened - a treat for another time.

Lunch was late, of course, but the food was a secondary consideration to the stimulating and enjoyable company of our guests. We laughed a lot and that is always so good for the soul. The dogs were rather put out that they were not allowed to join us. Jenna stayed downstairs, though not in the dining room, but the boys were shut out of both the sitting room and the dining room and protested vociferously until they realised shouting would not gain them access. Winston, on the other hand, was welcomed and fussed over by everyone, which he thoroughly appreciated.

Everyone left in the late afternoon and the house suddenly seemed empty. The dogs were exhausted by the change in routine and slept soundly. Barry fell asleep in his chair and I went to bed about 8:30 and read for a while and then couldn't sleep. Scenes from '2012' mixed bizarrely with remembered comments and expressions and conversation from lunch. It was a most pleasurable weekend on many levels and today seems pleasantly relaxed in our unusually tidy home!

What were we doing?

 

What were we doing?

Photographs like these pop up in our displays all the time and they stir many memories.

Just before Christmas in 2009, we were delighting in our baby black Labrador puppy, Gus. He adored Frodo, my Velcro dog and spent as much time as he could tucked up with him or following him around. Frodo was an awkward dog with anyone he didn’t know, including other dogs, but was as gentle as could be with all the young ones in our family, whether two or four-legged. He was a faithful, loyal companion. He had many health problems, but he taught us so much. There are a number of blog posts about his life.

Gus grew into a very handsome boy, much admired by those who met him. He was a kind, sensitive dog, always anxious to please. He lived with enough dogs in the family that he never felt the need to meet and greet other dogs, though he was perfectly friendly if they approached him. He wrote many blog entries.

They are both much missed. Being remembered by those who loved them grants them immortality.

                ‘Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.’

Orhan Pamuk (1952-present)

Manners maketh man – take two

Strictly speaking school uniform might not come under the heading of manners but perhaps it does in the sense that it implies dressing correctly. The requirement for school uniform is frequently a subject for debate. Those who consider it an infringement of personal liberty speak about individuality and choice, not to mention a drain on the domestic purse. Others who think it is probably a good idea – and I freely admit I belong in that camp – try to persuade the dissenters of its value.

School uniforms ensure that all students dress alike with no outrageous, expensive fashions-of-the-moment being flaunted by the most materially fortunate. Parents struggling to keep body and soul together are spared at least one of the status battles fought with their offspring. Uniforms also identify the schools from which students hail thus ensuring that misbehaving young people can be traced to their place of learning, there to be dealt with by those in charge. The idea is that scholars will look smart, feel part of a community and develop a spirit of kinship.

There are flaws to the arguments however.

School uniforms are usually adapted by the wearers and not always in the most attractive ways.

There is a distinct difference in the uniforms worn in state schools and those adopted by fee-paying establishments. State schools usually choose colours that are easily found in chain stores and do not always insist on a particular style so long as the clothes are 'respectable'. Thus parents can dress their children relatively cheaply in the required colours. Independent schools generally opt for unusual colour combinations in hues only produced in small quantities. Thus the materials are more expensive to buy. The clothes are cut to one pattern and the children they are modelled on are yet to be seen, being apparently square with short bodies and attenuated limbs. Slightly-built children can move around inside their clothes easily, much like a hamster in its skin. There is often only one supplier for a school so there is no competition for custom and prices are extortionate for workmanship that is seldom good – seams split, buttons fall off, hems drop down, colours fade. Frequently the sales staff are condescending and unhelpful.

Because of the expense parents sometimes buy uniforms 'to last' so unfortunate small children can be observed struggling uncomfortably to walk in their over-sized blazers, thickly turned-up trousers or ankle-length skirts and tunics. By the time they have 'grown into' them their school clothes look decidedly shabby. Some schools run 'thrift shops' periodically where outgrown but not worn out items can be purchased for a fraction of the price of new.

I don't know who designs school uniforms but they should be shot – or at least invited to assist at any lessons where small children have to divest themselves of their clothes in order to don special kit for the ensuing session and then repeat the procedure in reverse after the period is over. Undressing is perhaps not quite as difficult as dressing. Buttons are awkward, zips are easier unless in a side seam over the ribs, tunics or gym slips are struggled over heads, threatening to suffocate children in the process. Elasticated ties are easier than traditional ties though not without their hazards while socks, tights and vests are stripped off easily, ending up inside out on the floor, which presents a particular problem in a wet swimming pool changing room.

Having undressed the children have to put on special clothes for their activity lesson. This may involve leotards for the girls with all sorts of possible methods of wearing – legs through sleeves, back-to-front, two legs in one leg hole. Shorts and tee shirts can also go on upside down. A PE lesson with small children may consist entirely of undressing and dressing with no perceivable physical benefit but a lot of frustration for infants and teachers.

When the time comes to step out of games kit and back into everyday wear the fun really starts, particularly at the swimming pool. Some children attempt to dress without first having dried themselves thoroughly so that shirts and blouses, often inside out and upside down, stick unrelentingly to small damp bodies, socks refuse to pass the toes, jumpers grow too tight and other clothes twist uncomfortably. Who knew that underpants and knickers could be so difficult? Watch a small child tussle with them and then sympathise when she realises the waist aperture is round one leg and the leg hole is too small for her waist. Others take an age to dry every inch of themselves and then proceed agonisingly slowly to put on their clothes. A 'no talking' rule is essential since small children cannot talk and dress simultaneously. At least one child will lose his own clothes and may appropriate someone else's. It is not at all uncommon to discover odd socks, a vest, knickers unclaimed after everyone is apparently fully clothed. Some children may be found to be wearing three or more socks while the clothes that have dropped onto the floor are too wet to be put on and have to be hung on radiators or window sills to dry out.

Adults wish to encourage children to become independent and children enjoy doing things for themselves and while there is little that can be done to make undergarments easier there are many ways in which uniforms can be made more child-friendly. Pull-on clothing in lightweight, breathable materials can be smart and comfortable. One state school in which I taught had a fairly simple uniform but the children were assigned to 'houses' and wore waterproof smocks over their clothes in the colour of their team. Certainly the smocks kept the clothes clean but they were an unnecessary layer in warm weather and rustled constantly. I was not popular when I allowed the children to stop wearing them.

Shoe manufacturers have already provided alternatives to laces and buckles with Velcro strips. It's time for the uniform providers to consider alternatives to the traditional styles and fastenings of clothes.

Of course, some schools revere tradition and steadfastly refuse to move forward. I suspect the Board of Governors of such schools are really the individuals who consider only the look of the uniform and never think about children's comfort.

My six-year-old grandson has to wear short trousers and a striped blazer with a handkerchief in the breast pocket. The boys are met at the door by the head teacher to shake hands and the salutation is, 'Where's your hand?', a somewhat aggressive greeting, I feel. Parents are almost physically barred from entering the school to talk to class teachers so they find alternative entrances. I'm almost willing to bet they have to wear straw boaters in the summer! As the children approach the school door they can be heard anxiously asking, 'Is my handkerchief straight?' Poor little souls – they are still relatively new arrivals on this earth and they are expected to dress and behave like civil servants in the City. Isn't there enough in their lives for them to worry about – things like remembering games kit, thinking about reading and number work, not to mention friends. Really – what nonsense – such attitudes belong in the 1920s.

My eight-year-old granddaughter is attending a girls' school and is finding the sheer bitchiness of some of her peers hard to take. She will survive, of course – she's a strong character, but she and her little brother are finding it hard to adjust from their friendly co-educational school in New York City (BISNY) At the end of the day the headmistress bids them good day and they curtsey to her!! Very sweet if a little old-fashioned – after all, there are no Debutantes presented to the Queen these days, and in any case a curtsey is quickly learned.

Elliot, their elder brother, is very happy in his co-educational school. The children are welcoming and he has made many friends quickly. So, how can we define good manners? Surely they are a means of ensuring that the people with whom you are dealing are put at their ease and allowed to discourse and interact freely. I think Charles Kingsley expressed it well in two of the characters he created in 'The Water Babies' – Mrs Bedonebyasyoudid and Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby.

The Further Adventures of Frodo the Faller – more challenges!

Frodo and Foxy D share a bed

On Monday I was chopping up a turkey neck for Dominie. The others had just eaten beef heart but, as usual, were looking for further treats. I gave each of them a piece of neck and thought no more about it.

They all went into the garden as is their custom after breakfast and I noticed Frodo behaving quite strangely. He was standing with back hunched and seemed to be trying to vomit but all he was producing was froth and saliva. I left him for a few more minutes then went to see him. Alarmingly his stomach had ballooned and was as tight as a drum. Aware that he might be about to have a gastric torsion, as one of our previous dogs had done, Barry immediately took him straight to the vet. He remained there for the rest of the day, having been sedated, x-rayed and force fed powdered charcoal to absorb the gas.

I brought him home and he slept well that night and didn't have any seizures which we were expecting after the stress he had been under. The next morning, having been given yet more charcoal he gave an almighty heave and up came Monday's turkey neck. I had been convinced that he had chewed it before swallowing – apparently not! It had not been in his throat or it would have obstructed the tube the vet passed down it.

In the evening he was showing interest in food again so I scrambled two eggs in water for him. The night following was busy! He regurgitated the eggs and then had a very mild short seizure. He doesn't usually have any post-ictal pacing and panting but he was very restless so I wondered if this was a new phenomenon for him. Canine epilepsy is a tricky beast, always moving the goal posts and setting new challenges. Eventually, after he'd been constantly lying down and getting up and pacing I took him downstairs where he settled in his bed next to my chair. He was breathing rapidly but didn't seem distressed. I watched him closely and waited for morning (it was then half past three). My thought was that he had developed pneumonia.

On Monday our vet thought he might have developed megaoesophagus as his oesophagus was unusually very noticeable in the x-ray so he was due to go in for further exploration next week. One of the common complications of megaoesophagus is aspirate pneumonia.Barry took him to the vet as soon as the surgery opened and he spent the day there, having x-rays – and yes, he does have megaoesophagus and pneumonia. After years of telling him to get down from the work surfaces we must now encourage him to stand on his hind legs and reach for his food. In megaoesophagus the normal peristalsis does not take place so food and water are often not delivered to the stomach but remain in the oesophagus.

It's a good thing I don't have a demanding social life since I shall now be feeding Frodo the Faller several times a day for ten minutes at a time – that's five minutes spoon feeding (!!) and five minutes remaining on his back legs to try and ensure the food goes where it's meant to. Oh joy! He's a lovely boy, though, my Velcro dog.

Snow in 2010

January 2010

We had a lot of snow in the winter of 2010 - a lot for this part of the world, anyway. At that time, we had four dogs – two Dalmatians, Frodo the Faller and Buddy Liver Spots, and two working Labradors, Jenna and baby Gus. 

Buddy Liver Spots and Jenna

They loved the snow. The air was crisp, the smells enhanced, the sensation under their paws different – soft and cold – but they didn’t stay out long enough to get chilled. It was cold, but there was no wind to pinch their ears and noses.

 Gus in a drift

Where the snow had drifted, it was easy for the Labradors almost to disappear, especially Gus, as he was only a few months old and still smaller than tiny Jenna, the little dog with the enormous paws.

 Gus checks . . .

Jenna retrieving, plumy tail waving as ever.

'Follow my leader'

The ball almost luminesces

Frodo often sniffed and licked Buddy's face. He was very fond of him.

Frodo, my Velcro dog, always kept close to me, but also adored Buddy, who was almost blind by then, having recovered from meningitis. Buddy enjoyed his walks but was kept on a long lead as he had a habit of wandering off at speed in the wrong direction, and then worrying because he had no idea where he was. The more he worried, the faster he trotted.

January 2026

This is the snow we've had so far this year. There may be more later on. 

We have had some very heavy frosts and a little fog. Heavy rain is forecast but will probably pass us by.

The Further Adventures of Frodo the Faller – an overnight stay

The dogs had minced turkey for breakfast yesterday morning. It’s not something they’ve eaten before and I thought it would be a pleasant change. Gus wasn’t very keen on it and kept looking round to see if there were something more appetising. Jenna finished hers happily and wanted to help Frodo with his but he didn’t require her assistance. Then, fed, watered, medicated (Frodo) and comfortable, they all settled down for a well-earned nap.

When supper time came they all followed me into the kitchen, expectation etched on their faces. I produced more turkey mince and Jenna tucked in. Gus looked rather disgusted then ate it but Frodo sniffed it and turned away. This is a most unusual reaction from perhaps the greediest dog I’ve ever known so I tried him again. No, he wasn’t at all interested so I decided to leave it. 

Dogs are like children – when they’re hungry enough, they’ll eat, and missing one meal does no lasting damage. However, he needed his medicine. As usual, I proffered it in peanut butter but he wouldn’t take it. I looked more closely at him. He was wagging his tail and appeared quite normal except that he looked rather portly. I knew he hadn’t been scavenging so watched him for a while. It became apparent that the lumpy stomach was not lessening in girth and it definitely wasn’t as it should be. Though it wasn’t drum tight both Barry and I began to suspect that the cause might be the onset of gastric torsion so we made an urgent appointment and took Frodo to the vets.

In the reception area at 17:30 Frodo continued to wag his tail and point his nose to the exit. When Phil-the-Vet called us in Frodo attempted to leave and once we were in the consulting room he turned to face the door, his intention to depart being apparent to all. The tail didn’t stop wagging and he didn’t seem to be in pain. Phil-the-Vet’s diagnosis confirmed our suspicions and instead of returning home with us, Frodo was taken in for surgery. By 18:55 he was in recovery, his stomach having been untwisted and a stitch put in to prevent it happening again.

It’s almost a year to the day that Buddy underwent the same procedure, though the onset of his condition was much more rapid and dangerous. He enjoyed the vets’ hospitality for three days and nights. Frodo is coming home tonight. Phil-the-Vet phoned this morning to update us and said that Frodo was chirpy and ready to leave but that they would keep him in for observation for the day. We wondered just what he meant by ‘chirpy’. Frodo is a great groaner and persists until he gets what he wants. I just hope he’s not howling! We shall find out later.

It felt odd to walk last evening without my Velcro dog at my side!

The Further Adventures of Frodo the Faller – thief extraordinaire – and his partners-in-crime!

Dominie, Cariadd and Buddy wait hopefully! No chance of pilfering here!

Something has attracted the attention of Cariadd, Dominie and Buddy . . . could it be food?

Buddy, in the days when his hind legs were strong enough, urged on by Dominie into an act of larceny! We've never caught Frodo in the act but he can reach higher and further than any of the others ever could!

Frodo recently had blood tests to determine how well his liver is coping with his anti-epilepsy drugs (AEDs) All readings were in the normal range apart from ALP (Alkaline phosphatase) which was exceptionally high. Therefore he was 'invited' back to the vets to spend the morning as an in-patient for further blood tests and a liver scan.
Initial results indicated that all was well and we brought our boy home and fussed over him. 'Poor boy,' we said, 'He needs a quiet time to recover.' (He had had a light sedative prior to the scan.)

So, feeling sympathetic and kindly towards him we forgot his propensity for high speed thievery – this resulted in a Pyrex dish which had contained food being dashed to the tiled kitchen floor whereupon Greedy Gus, twelve weeks old, dived in and started eating glass fragments. He was delighted to find that he was offered bread – as much as he could take – and we were relieved that he didn't appear to have ingested any glass. Inspecting his 'output' took on a special urgency but so far – several days later – nothing glittery, sharp and light-reflecting has appeared.
Normally Frodo is circumspect in his robbery, waiting until he is alone but the temptation the other day was just too much for him. I had put a leg of pork in my much-loved Le Creuset bean pot ready to add the cure. Buoyed up by my success in curing bacon I had decided to cure a ham for Christmas. Only time will tell if I was well-advised to try it!

I turned away to rinse out the packaging before binning it – I wash all food packets and containers to make them less alluring to the animals and then the rubbish is deposited in a bag hung up supposedly - though sadly not always - out of their reach. The cats stealthily approach from the work tops and stretch their paws and claws to capture the enticing waste within the garbage while the bigger dogs stand on their hind legs. Buddy's legs, though adequate for walking and running, are not strong enough to allow him to do this now so he has to rely on Frodo to purloin exciting titbits. Even Jenna who is a working Labrador and not particularly tall can reach extraordinary heights when required. Standing on tiptoe and extending her remarkably long and agile tongue she can pilfer almost as many things as Frodo the Faller. Conventional bins are useless in our house – the cats and dogs are in cahoots with each other and work as a razor-sharp team for each other's mutual benefit. Many years ago the predecessors of our current menagerie found a way of breaking into the fridge we then had and enjoying the contents therein. Now we ensure that any fridge or cupboard we have closes too securely for even the most determined of noses, paws or claws to succeed in burgling forays. Buddy Liver Spots has one of the strongest and most muscular noses known to the canine world and can slide open heavy patio doors. Throughout our house there can be seen evidence of the BNL – Buddy Nose Line but we have foiled him. So – alles läuft gut! Everything is safe – but my precious bean pot was not!
As I made the packaging safe there came unto my ears an hideous crash. (Please forgive the archaic phrasing – there's something about this time of year – Advent - that causes my brain to work in mysterious ways – there I go again! It's the result of many years working with children on Nativity plays and tableaux and encouraging them to appreciate the beauty of the English language while at the same time finding sense and meaning in it! Yes, I miss it . . . )
I looked spun round to see my pretty pot in pieces (nice alliteration, that!) Buddy, not quite believing his good fortune (Gee, thanks Frodo – I owe you!) had his teeth jaws round the joint and was preparing to enjoy his prize. Frodo was looking pleased, proud, amazed, sheepish (he's my Velcro dog and likes me to think he wants only and always to please me) Gus was demonstrating his impersonation of Tigger which he always does when excited by the presence of food, Jenna was looking worried and indicating that she was not the guilty party, just an innocent by-stander, and the cats were waiting, as cats do, for the opportunity to claim the trophy for their own.
I grabbed the meat from Buddy's mouth – it wasn't even punctured (the meat, that is) and ran it under the tap. (What a strange expression that is! I didn't run anywhere with it, it didn't run anywhere, all that ran was the water!) The dogs were relegated to the sitting room and I shut the kitchen door to clear up the sharp shards of the smithereens of my pot. I found another receptacle – the curing mixture only slops over the sides a little – and now the meat slumbers in the fridge metamorphosing from pork to ham.
Christmas, fast approaching, requires special vigilance. More people equals more food equates to more opportunities for surreptitious sampling of forbidden fruit (under which umbrella term lurk turkey, bacon, ham, pâté, sausages, cheeses, cheesecakes, cream, mince pies, Christmas pudding, tortes, biscuits sweet and savoury . . . ) Gillian's children from early childhood have memorised the many and various places in which plates of food may be found. They will never forget Buddy and the chocolate cake. In his youth he swiftly devoured a complete cake offering 8 to 10 servings; we worried for his health as chocolate is toxic to dogs but though rather portly for a time he was not otherwise adversely affected.
Serving Christmas lunch is an obstacle course. Doors, particularly the kitchen door, must not be left open and animals other than humans are not allowed in the dining room. How we have not turned ourselves into a profitable circus act I cannot fathom as we balance trays and plates of hot food while standing on one leg and shooing animals and opening and closing doors at high speed, taking care not to trap paws, tails, heads or fingers. Nonetheless it is frequently the case that we sit down with a corporate sigh of relief only to discover that somehow Frodo and Buddy have managed to sidle unnoticed into the room and are lying obediently and innocently under the table.

I can't wait . . . ! *wink*