1st November 2009
So many people have
been asking Auntie Sandra where I have disappeared to that I have been
persuaded to return to the keyboard (no, not Johnís magic piano, Iím
clever, but not that clever).
Itís several years
since you heard from me, and, amazing as it might seem, there may be
some people reading this who donít know who I am! Iím considering
getting a website, but, in the meantime, Iím borrowing Fen Bankís.
Iím not a puppy any
more; in fact, I will be five next April. Because Iím now really grown
up, I prefer to be known as Mister Muffin. You may remember
that I have a funny back foot, but I donít let that bother me and when I
have friends to visit me, I always win the races we have in our field,
even though there might be eight or ten of us.
Sometimes I win
rosettes at dog shows too, but I never get Best in Show, like Mr.
Paddidog did at the Fen Bank Show in September. I think my foot might
count against me, and sometimes I feel very depressed, but Daffers (aka
mummy, although I donít call her that cos itís soppy) said I
should be proud, because Iím a Special Needs Dog.
I have a very nice
pack. Iím the leader; Daffers thinks she is but occasionally I have to
put her in her place, and then we have an almighty row, which Daffers
thinks she wins. John is our daddy, but, again, I donít call him that
as that sort of thing really makes me sick (Youíre sounding more like
Bart Simpson now than Muffin Ledward Ė Ed).
Fat Sally is the
oldest grey Ė sheís eight - and tends to have her own agenda these
days. Thereís another boy in the pack, nice Mister Paddidog; heís two
years older than me but he might as well be twenty-two as heís so laid
back and boring I doubt if he knows half the time which planet heís
Then there are the
twins, Bluebell and Discit. I think most of you have encountered toxic
Bluebell, so thatís enough of her. Discit used to live with Auntie
Sandra, but she often used to stay with us, and one day she told Auntie
Sandra that she would prefer to live with us than her, so she said,
ďWell, on your own head be it,Ē and now weíre stuck with her.
quite nice, but sheís never really grown up, even though sheís four on Sunday, and she tends to
get spoilt because she has something funny wrong with her (hypothyroidism
ĖEd.) and has to keep going to the vetís. We know when sheís going
off, cos all her hair drops out; then she has extra pills, and it all
grows back again. She costs a fortune to keep healthy; thank God for
insurance, says Daffers.
Bluebell and Discit
often bully me because Iím a Special Needs Dog, so to annoy them, I keep
moving them out of their beds. They curse and swear (I wonder where
they learned that sort of language?) but they move out anyway. Then I
go and sit somewhere else.
Discitís real name is
Dixie, but when she used to live with Auntie Sandra, she and Bluebell
used to send each other e-mails. Discitís spelling is rubbish, and
thatís how she used to spell her name, and itís stuck.
My spelling, on the
other hand, is exemplary now, as you can see. I can also talk, and
usually hold a conversation with John and Daffers while watching telly
on an evening about the content of the programmes. I like ĎDog Towní
best, but Iím quite getting into ĎLifeí, especially the bit about meerkats
and fruit bats. Daffers says Discit looks like a fruit bat,
and Iím inclined to agree. Sheís batty enough to be one, anyway. I
go to sleep during the news and most documentaries, but so does John. Daffers hardly ever goes to sleep while watching telly Ė just sits
knitting hundreds of fluffy scarves that she never wears.
The last member of my
pack is Gordon. Gordon is a cat, but I suppose we shouldnít
hold that against him, as heís really quite nice. Gordon is a brother
of Hector, the cat Sarah Kennedyís always rabbiting (did somebody say
rabbits?) on about on her early morning show. He lives a
comfortable life in the garage, which is more like another little house
and is very cosy; he never mixes with us, but I quite like cats, and
every morning I go in and say hello. Mr. Paddy, Bluebell and Discit
are not very cat friendly, so I donít allow them to come with me when I
visit him, but Sally is used to cats and treats them with the distain
Anyway, thatís enough
of us, for the time being, at least. I think Auntie Sandra wants a
regular blog (whatever that might be); weíre having a birthday party for
the twins next Sunday, so Iíll tell you all about that next week.
Muffin and his brother Timbo arrived
from Ireland in a cat carrier, such was their diminutive size at 6 weeks
of age. The breeder who is one of the rare good guys realised that these
two Ėalmost certainly two halves of the same egg- would never race,
since each had a deformed back foot, and offered them to Fen Bank for
So white and blue Muffin
(so named when he stole a cake and refused to give it up!) and white and
black Timbo (named after another identical dog who was one of my first
rescues) came to live with Sandra at Willow Brook Farm. From day one
they were two of the naughtiest pups we have ever reared, and both were
convinced that their name was ďNOĒ within a very short space of time!
After four months of absolute mayhem
(my rottie was scared stiff of them and several of the oldies said they
preferred to live in the barn rather than face the white tornados every
morning) a little light began to appear at the end of the tunnel - they
began to behave like proper greyhounds and Mandy at Northants Greyhound
Rescue said she could home one, and took Timbo for whom she found a
lovely home at Banbury with two Munsterlanders and their people, who
keep in touch with both Muffinís family and Mandy.
Muffin became a bit of a celebrity -
pretty, special needs, that sort of thing -and I actually got quite
attached to him until a very gregarious and quite formidable lady told
me at the Christmas Party that she would take Muffin home. Suddenly I
was transformed into Earth Mother and I vividly remember saying through
gritted teeth (but smiling nicely all the while) ď I know who you are
but we ALWAYS do home checks and you canít have him nowď! Meanwhile
Muffin who has always known a good thing before it hit him in the eyes,
was sucking up sickeningly to this complete stranger, who come to think
of it, was wearing a fluffy scarf! So I snarled my way to the home check
and quickly realised I didnít have a leg to stand on - and the rest is
historyÖ..Daff and John have been fantastic supporters of the Sanctuary
and very good personal friends to me and we are glad she agreed to be
our Patron - even after having taken on toxic Bluebell and Saint Discitus!!
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