What a riot!

No, I’m not talking about what may happen if the rather stern Monsieur Sarkozy becomes the next president of France. I’m talking about what’s happening in our garden where, as you can see, the pansies are proliferating, the roses are blooming and we have a feast of figs. And it’s still only April!

But, talking about the election—which I wasn’t, but I will now—I thought you might like to know how my village voted in the first round, compared to the rest of France. Well, Monsieur Sarkozy did even better here than he did nationally, winning 38.61% of the votes (compared to 31.09% overall), while that nice Madame Royal did slightly worse (22.38% here, compared to 25.78% nationally). As for the scary Monsieur Le Pen, he didn’t even achieve 10% of the vote in my village—and since, presumably, I’m one of the immigrants he would like to send home, I’m rather pleased about that. The turnout of voters was very high—almost 85%—and I was able to say ‘hello’ to lots of them. I’m really looking forward to the second round.

Meanwhile, if you are wondering how I felt when my dad sent me to The Dog House for my alleged crimes (see my previous post) this is how:

Don’t you think that’s cruel?

I’ve been in disgrace

Sometimes when I’m on one of my long walks, and off the leash, I find things that are so delicious I just have to roll in them. Well, I think they’re delicious, but mum and dad say that what I roll in is ‘unspeakably disgusting’, whatever that might mean. And, believe it or not, when I get home they make me take a shower, literally! They put me in their shower room and turn on the hose until I’m absolutely soaking wet—I’m not making this up—and then they wash my coat with some kind of liquid that smells like… Well, I don’t know what it smells like but it’s certainly nothing a puppy would want to roll in! Anyway, after I’d had three showers in less than a week, my dad said, ‘Josie, that’s it. Three strikes and you’re grounded!’ Meaning, as it turned out, total withdrawal of my computer privileges; hence, no blog. Frankly, I think this was a total over-reaction by my dad, but I have been ‘good’ for the past ten days—no rolling—and now I’m allowed to use the computer again, ‘on a probationary basis’. I think that means I’m on parole for the indefinite future. Talk about Give A Dog A Bad Name…

So, while I can, I better bring you up to date on my news:

First, and most exciting, IT’S OFFICIAL!: Simon and Becca (see my post of 22 February 2007) are having a boy. His name is going to be Jack Charles Paul Eddy and this is a picture of his proud mum, known to my dad as ‘FDiL’ (Favourite Daughter-in-Law).

Though Simon and FDiL live in Melbourne, Australia, they actually met in the village which is now my home, which only goes to prove that it’s a very small world. Doesn’t she look great?

Meanwhile, my very best friend, Basta—who went on a trip to the United States with her mum and dad weeks and weeks ago—still hasn’t come back, which is very worrying. No emails from Basta, either. Do you think she’s also been grounded? Anyway, I do have a new friend called Alf, who’s the smallest puppy I’ve ever seen, and we sometimes go on walks together. I’ll try and get you a picture of Alf but dad says we’ll have to use the macro lens, whatever that means.

Finally, before my time on the computer is up (a condition of my parole, apparently), I wanted to tell you about Jackson, who lives in Washington DC and who sent me the following email:

Dear Josie,
I understand your people are really quite with the program. However, might I suggest one mechanical addition to their life which will have positive effect on yours? A motorcycle with sidecar is the ticket. Its maximum speed, at least in the country, on grass, is slower than a galloping horse. So you can chase it, it won't kick you and the people on board think you're funny and laugh at you instead of yelling ‘No, Jackson, NO!’ Then, when you're tired of barking at the machine, the people pick you up and drive you home.
Love, Jackson

Looks like a plan to me.

Kittens to go

If you've been reading my blog on a regular basis then you will know that I live with three kittens, sort of. That means, while they're allowed to do whatever they want—totally ignore me like I don’t exist; alternatively, hiss at me whenever I even suggest we might play together—I’m expected to be on my best behaviour at all times.

That’s because my kittens (like Georgia, for example) are sweet, fluffy, non-scary things who wouldn’t hurt a mouse.

Yeah, right!

What?

My dad thinks this photograph of me on my sofa is funny. But, before you laugh, you should know that the reason I look somewhat startled is that dad had just woken me up to tell me that, as of today, pets in the UK now have a ‘Bill of Rights’. That means that all puppies and kittens (and hamsters and goldfish, I suppose) are now legally entitled to ‘a proper diet and a suitable environment and housing to ensure they can behave normally and without pain or disease’. So there!

Of course, I don’t live in the UK but we’re all part of Europe, and I’m a European citizen with my very own passport, so I’m sure the new rules apply to me.

And what’s a ‘proper diet’, I hear you ask? You get one guess!

Now, I admit that if you’ve been reading the Newsreel feature that I’ve added to my blog (look to the right—and my thanks to those very clever folks at Google for providing it) you may have seen articles claiming that pets should not be fed ‘human food’ because it can be dangerous for us. So I went to the source (the American Veterinary Medical Association) and checked out the list of things you should never, ever feed us, and here it is:

- Alcoholic beverages - Chocolate (bakers, semi-sweet, milk chocolate) - Coffee (ground, beans, chocolate-covered espresso beans) - Moldy or spoiled foods - Onions and onion powder - Garlic and garlic powder - Salt - Yeast dough - Macadamia nuts - Raisins and grapes - Avocado - Hops (used in home brewing) - Fatty foods - Bones - Milk - Raw eggs - Raw or undercooked meat - Products containing the sweetener xylitol

Do you see any mention of cooked chicken on that list? I think not…

Have I made my point?

This is so unfair!

Okay, these are two kittens called Dude—the big black one—and Holly and they live with my Very Important Friend, Commissar Pete Hendy (see my post of March 19), and I don’t really mind if the Commissar and his good wife, Sue, prefer kittens to puppies. It takes all sorts, etc., etc.; live and let live, I say.

But, have you noticed something? What these kitten are lying on is a bed, and Commissar Pete confirms in his email that sleeping on the bed is totally permissible behaviour—except when Dude becomes disorderly; unpacks the contents of the wastepaper basket, eats earplugs, fights with Holly, and so on and so forth.

So why, I’m sure you’re asking, is this totally permissible behaviour for Dude and Holly and totally forbidden for Moi, who has never eaten an earplug in her entire life? (Well, not so far as I know. What is an earplug, anyway?)

Meanwhile, my dad got a very nice email from Maryann Chernovsky, who is president of the Little Shelter Animal Adoption Center. She said: ‘Please extend our gratitude to Josie for spreading the One Call word via her blog. Our poster looks amazing, and we are delighted she was able to use it. It is one thing for people to share the idea with their friends, but it is certainly more impressive when a dog makes the appeal!’

Exactly!