Around the village, near The Turrets, there are about twenty dog-walkers, and of course, we meet up at various points, depending on where the various dogs want to go!
JRT tends to go less far these days, as she's getting on a bit, but each walk has to be different, so we meet different owners as well. Banter ranges from a single hearty 'Good Morning', to a prolonged road-side discussion on the failures of the BBC/politicians/KCC etc etc, and we all enjoy the craic!
One good chum has a big dog of indeterminate breeding. His name is Cody, and he was rescued by a charity from war-torn Bulgaria a few years ago. He's a gorgeous boy, we all love him and even JRT scampers around his legs and feet, while Cody just takes not a blind bit of notice. I always stroke his head and he usually lets out a quiet whimper and enjoys the company.
The other day, Cody's dad took him up to see some new houses being built on a large estate, as my chum is thinking of downsizing, and wanted to look around. Cody went into the office with him. After a few enquiries, one of the girls behind the sales desk noticed Cody, and said what a lovely boy he was. My chum told her the story, and another girl in the office piped up, saying that she was from Bulgaria too!
She came over to talk to the dog in his 'native' language, which Cody seemed to acknowledge. They all went their separate ways after that, and returned home.
That evening Cody's mum arrived home from the train down from London. For the first time in many a year, Cody was off his food, and didn't wag his tail or show any recognition of both mum and dad. He stayed in another part of the room, and kept himself to himself all evening, staring into space.
He's back to normal now, perhaps waking up again in a secure home did the trick, but we're all convinced that by hearing the 'native' accent, dear Cody had an awful immediate recall of the dreadful pain and fear he experienced when he and many more dogs were just used as target practice.
23 comments:
I am convinced you are right. Our cats recognise our language, voices, the tone in which it is said, and if they're in favour or not because they remember these things. Why shouldn't an animal recognise another language and connect how the words sound to previous experiences they had? As long as Cody is ok now and has constant reassurance then he'll be fine. We should never underestimate animals as to how they think, behave, feel or commune with us - we could learn a lot from them. Please give Cody a special Goosey hug next time you see him.
He's fine now Goosey. I just missed him yesterday, as JRT was on the sniff, and I couldn't catch up...
There is in fact another similar dog here from the same sort of charity. She has three legs from the same bastards efforts over there. She's gorgeous!
I'll definitely give Cody an extra hug for you!
And you're right about cats too. We only ever had four, (before JRT) but wow, what personalities - all totally different!
You of course go armed with your pooper scooper???
Talking of dogs reminded me of an incident that happened to us about 40 years ago. We had hired a delightful gite for a few days way out in the middle of nowhere in southern France. One glorious August morning we decided to go for an exploratory drive round the countryside, a trip we were all thoroughly enjoying. As we were driving along a pretty but typically narrow lane, we saw a car had pulled up at the side of the road so that the family infant could just pop into the undergrowth for a moment.
Just as I began to edge slowly past the car, a huge Great Dane leapt out of the car's offside rear window - straight under my front wheel. I was driving very slowly, but there was simply no time to react.
As it happened, the family were veterinarians (which explains the absolutely beautiful condition that lovely dog was in) and immediately rushed to the dog's assistance with their doctor's bag. But it was no good as he had been too badly injured and they put him down there and then. They assured me that there was no fault of mine and that they should have closed up their car window. I watched as they gently collected him up on a rug and placed him gently in the boot of their car. My wife and infant were in tears and inconsolable at the accident.
We cancelled our trip and returned to our gite and both stayed awake all night unable to sleep. That incident has remained vividly with me even after all these years.
Oh. That reminds me of a time when I was driving home down a narrow lane and as I was passing a cottage two cats suddenly came out of their gate entwined together and rolled right in front of my car. I was only going about 15 mph but I caught them both under my front wheels. Even though the family were very kind to me and said it wasn't my fault, like you it's something I've never forgotten.
Very sad.
Yet another (shaggy) dog tale....
When I was just 17 and having passed my driving test at the first go, courtesy of pater, I acquired a 10 year old Austin A40. Nice car, and very good to learn to drive properly in, but it had a bit of a rust hole at the base of the left hand front door. So I spent a few quid at Halfords on a repair kit basically consisting of a small roll of wadding to plug the gap, a square of wire netting to cover the hole, a pack of some sort of plaster to paste on to the wire, and a small can of appropriate paint spray to decorate once the plaster had set and been rubbed down etc - and even if I do say so myself, it was a very good job I did and the repair was just about invisible. One always remembers one's first car!!!
About 2 weeks later I drove my mum and kid bro' to the Isle of Wight for a week's holiday. We were driving into Cowes one morning along the main road into town. Along the way, we came across on one side of the road a very large alsatian, with his front paws on the front garden gate, barking loudly and furiously at a granny on the other side of the road who was pulling along behind her a very small dachshund on a length of string. The alsatian could not get over the gate, but the noise it was making obviously enraged the dachshund who, having decided it had had enough, suddenly ripped itself from granny's grip and charged across the road to get at the other dog - straight into my beautiful new repair - which promptly fell apart!
Granny shouted a mouthful of .. er.. unladylike obscenities at me for hurting her blasted out of control dog! I forget exactly what my response was, but I suspect it would have been a bit on the rude side... Fortunately her pet hound was more surprised than hurt so I just drove away leaving her shouting and waving her umbrella behind us. First stop when we got home again was, of course, Halfords in the High Street.
I remember those patch-up jobbies. The first car I drove (sort of) was a green Austin A40 like yours! My fiancé instructed me to put it in reverse and go back slowly. I did as asked but forgot where the brake was and ended up against a neighbour's hedge! The first car I owned was a green Robin Reliant. By heck, it was a bit sparse in the luxury department especially if you sat in the back seat, but in those days I was fearless when driving it at high speed (sort of) on the motorway. Even though I knew absolutely nothing about car mechanics except where to put the petrol in, when it suddenly stopped one day on the way to work I did what I'd seen other people do and lifted up the bonnet. To my surprise I saw a dangling wire with a plug on the end and a hole where I thought it probably came from so I stuck it in, started the engine and I was off like a rat up a drainpipe! I felt ever so pleased, unlike the rainy night when I driving home, went through a very large puddle on the side of the road and the engine stalled. I waited a bit for it to dry out but no luck. Using my feminine wiles I got out and tried to look like a maiden in distress in the hope a knight on his white charger would rescue me. All that happened was every car that drove past went through the same puddle and I got totally drenched through! I decided that unfortunately there were no decent men in the vicinity, got back in my car, tried the ignition, the car started and I went home much the wiser.
My A40 was the Devon model, not the later boxy version, which oddly enough was the vehicle in which I learned to drive and pass my test.
Just after having acquired my car, late one afternoon I drove my mum across London to see her mum. I got caught at a traffic light and as it changed and I prepared to drive off, I stalled the engine, and instead of just re-switching on the ignition, in my inexperience, I pulled the choke wire out first and tried to start. But all I got was nothing as I had managed to flood the engine. So we sat there in the outside lane of a very busy main London junction while all around us was a growing crowd of angry motorists. Fortunately a couple of them got out and came to help me push my car to the side. My mum (who did not drive anyway) gave me an earful, but what could I do? I knew nothing about cars at that time apart, as you say, where to put the petrol in - and there were no mobile phones in those days either! Anyway, we sat there for a few minutes and then I tried to start it again - and it did! So we were able to drive off on our way. But I learned an important lesson that day about when and when not to use the choke. I also made it my job after that incident to thoroughly learn all about cars and how they work - something that has paid dividends many times over the years - and I can relate several incidents where my knowledge has come in very useful - and saved not only myself but also others a few hundred pounds. It is much more difficult these days as everything seems to be computer controlled, and if something breaks or gives up the ghost, the only remedy is a completely new replacement part.
Damsel in distress --- since all them thar feminists took control of the world order, I don't recall ever having come across any real life damsels... However, back in the 60s a female colleague drove a huge old ancient maroon open MG roadster. By chance, I happened to come across it sitting by the side of the road one morning on the way to the office with her looking a bit damselish. So I stopped and asked what had happened. "It just stopped" she said, helpfully. I told her to open the bonnet and was immediately overcome with the smell of petrol. There was a metal pipe swinging gaily in the breeze - the fuel line had come adrift. A quick turn with a spanner and it was fixed and she was able to drive off safely. As a reward to she made me a delicious dinner a few days later.
Car discussions are always interesting, especially where rust is concerned, as I well remember leaning on the nearside wing of Mrs O'Blene's Mini, and putting my arm right through to the tyre...
As an adjunct to all this, and also as I'm a bit behind with blogging at the moment, here's a replay of a joke which always cheers me up, especially as I can easily recall the circumstances from whence it was told...
http://scroblene-webley-bullock.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/drive-in-country.html
Sorry about the rush, it's all to do with the benefits of Brexit an' stuff!
rvi - I have two comments:
1) Where were you when I needed you?? Obviously nowhere near Kendal!
2) I don't like them there feminists! They just burn their bras and seem to dislike men who open doors for them, doffing their hats in greeting, pulling out a chair for you to sit at the dining table, proffering an umbrella or coat to stop you getting wet or cold etc. I can't get enough of men doing that mannerly sort of thing because it enhances my sense of femininity so I always smile and say thank you in reply.
Mike - I used to drive a Fiat 124 special and LOVED IT!! It had a brilliant heater, reclining seats and great to drive. The unfortunate thing about it was that the majority of the bodywork was held together by paint; however it was rather interesting to see the road whizzing by underneath the brake pedal.
I had a chum from Kendal. He weighed seventy-eight stone on account of the deep-fried mint cake he consumed every ten minutes or so...
Father-in-law had one of those, Goosey, it was a great car to drive, and I remember it was all very light to steer etc as well! He lent it to me to bring first-born daught home from the maternity hospital in Hastings...
As for feminists, I ignore them completely nowadays, especially as I don't have to appease their sad 'ideals' through work! I really don't understand the 'philosophy' at all, so just don't bother to try! I'd open any door for you Goosey, though! And you could share my umbrella like 'The Hollies' song! (Bus stop).
That MG Roadster was a beast, wasn't it! Long piston travel on both the fifteen hundred and I think the seventeen hundred! I wanted one, but we got a Riley 1.5 instead. Twin carbs, leather upholstery and a front suspension devoid of dampers (they'd both fallen off)! It still did 85mph along the Icklesham straight, and that was on nearly bald crossply tires! Slid off the road in black ice in 1969, but got it mended for thirty quid...
Sorry Goosey, I have only ever been to Kendal twice in my lifetime. First time I had to make a half an hour business call on my way up to Glasgow; the second time was to include Kendal in a fairly wide-ranging and very nice holiday tour of the Lake District about 25 years ago. This is a problem that may have been compounded by my spending more than half my life well away from England!
Couldn't agree more with you about feminists. Being an old fashioned gentleman, I once offered my seat on a pretty crowded commuter train into London. The prissy (expletive description deleted) female looked at me with one of the most contemptuous looks I have ever received and asked if by offering her my place, I thought that she was unable to stand by herself. So I just shrugged and sat down again, leaving her squashed in the aisle for the next 90 minutes. Heh heh heh!!! Oh, and I did not notice whether or not she was wearing any pointy underwear.
On topic: 3 more brief car tales.
My little bro's first car was an ancient Austin 10. The day he bought it he proudly offered to take me for a ride to Blackheath and back. As I got in the car, I noticed the road looking back at me through the hole in the floor panel! We set off and I was nearly choked on the exhaust fumes coming in. Half way up Blackheath Hill (where the London marathon starts), I told him to stop. I got and and waited for the bus back home! Happily, he got rid of it fairly soon and got a Morris Minor - that always had to be started in second gear as the first one had missing teeth... At least it taught him how to drive properly.
I once had a mate who acquired an ancient Morris Minor. It used to putter about OK, but one afternoon he came to me and asked if it was normal for the choke cable to get hot as he had burnt his fingers pulling it out!! Naturally, the answer is definitely not, so he opened the bonnet for me to have a look. The answer was very obvious - the cable was lying comfortably across three of the high voltage plug leads. He was very lucky that the car did not catch fire!
Part 2 - sorry original too long: length not accepted.
The balance...
Back to my lovely A40. One evening I stopped to get some fuel, but when I tried to restart the engine again, all there was was a click noise. Several more tries also failed. Fortunately there was a small service garage attached there, so I went over and found a mechanic and asked for help. He came over with a spanner in his hand, lay down along side the car, reached under, two seconds later pushed himself out again and said "Try that". I did - and it started straight off. For that less than 5 seconds work, he charged me 10/- . Fortunately I had that amount still in my wallet. Now, I had a mate who also ran his own little garage, so the next day I asked him what the mechanic had done in such a short space of time that was so expensive. He explained that all that had happened was the starter motor had got stuck and to free it again, all it needed was a half turn on the little nut on the outside front of the casing. After that, I always carried the appropriate spanner in the glove box - and several times after that when it got stuck again, I was able to merely smile at my passengers and in true Superman style mutter "Just leave this to me", open the bonnet and reach down the side of the engine with my trusty spanner to where the motor was located and magically enable us to continue our journey. Nobody else ever knew what I had done - and of course, being very modest about trade secrets, I never enlightened them either!!
In conclusion, my favourite car over the years was my little 2-door 1967 made-to-order deep metallic blue Sunbeam Stiletto (Google it - top of the range Imp variant). Less than a one litre engine, but with twin carbs, twin headlights, oil cooler, black cloth roof cover, black leather steering wheel cover and upholstery, etc. Used to go like a real pocket rocket - leaving MGs loitering at the lights. When she first saw it, a lady friend demanded first refusal when I came to sell it, which I did about 5 years later. However, she drove it for about an hour and it frightened the life out of her, so she sold it to her hubby. You still see the odd one driving about these days. The only flaw with them was the water pumps which kept failing - probably because the drive belt was not located vertically, so the pump bearings were under severe pressure every time the pump turned. Otherwise, I would still go back and have another one.
Apologies for the length of this little yarn.
Great gag, Sir
You might also recall this
Interesting way to unstick a starter motor. Have you tried getting out and rocking it from side to side until you hear a click? Seen it, done it, and your clothing remains as clean as when you put it on - very important when escorting a laydee on your first date. My worst car was a black and tan Sunbeam Stiletto. Looked quite streamlined from outside, started ok but a bummer to drive. The interior was a bit like an up-dated form of a Robin Reliant, the handbrake was a little thin blade covered with some red rubber tubing and the windows were, shall I say, a bit small, and the heater had even less visual effect even when on full blast. When it was frosty the damn thing could take me from Kendal to Lancaster before I was able to see through all the windows. One freezing day I scraped the ice off all the windows and sprayed de-icer on them and freed the window wipers, thawed out the lock and handle with a ciggy lighter, forced my way inside, got out again to de-ice the windows, got back in and tried to shut the door. After several refusals I tied some string on the inside handle, wound it around my waist and drove from home with the heater on full blast to my local garage for some petrol. After repeating the above procedures, my windows refused to de-ice, so I had no alternative but to slowly creep off the forecourt onto the road and hoped no cars were coming my way. Hey - living on your own can sometimes be fun as long as you live long enough to enjoy it!
Oh dear Goosey, sounds like you must have got a real Friday afternoon job. I never experienced any problems like that with my Sunbeam - which was just as well as, at the time I had mine, it was the only one in north Africa for a year or two so serious spare parts like the blasted water pumps had to be obtained from back home. Other than that all the normal bits - fuses, wiper blades, tyres etc were available locally. I eventually drove it home through Spain and France and it went like a dream all the way. I kept and used it in London for a further 4 trouble free years before I sold it.
Re rocking, yes, tried that but in vain. I should probably have just taken that motor off and given it a bit of a service, but somehow I never got round to it.
The starter motor on a Fiat 500 used to be held on with three bolts. I had to replace it once, and noticed that only two of the bolts were fit for purpose, so that's how it stayed put.
When I did the replacement, I was quite proud of what I'd done with all the cogs etc in display, after all, it was just a straight swap, no precautions needed!
I mentioned - smugly - to a mechanic chum, and he said it was much cheaper to do this, as long as you disconnected the battery first...
Exit Scrobs feeling very much like a serious bowel movement would be a small relief, compared to having no fingers...
Apropos Goosey's worst car, mine was a 1984 front wheel drive Ford Fiesta 1.3. Don't really know why I bought it, but there was really nothing else that I particularly liked at that time and I needed a new set of wheels. Anyway, one day it became due for a regular service so, like most people, I dropped it off on my way to work and collected it on my way home. I had only driven about 200 yards from the garage when there was an almighty bang from under the bonnet and the engine started making extremely unhealthy sounding noises. I had a good idea what it was, but as the garage had just completed the service I thought they should be the ones to discover the problem. The mechanics heard me coming and were waiting in the forecourt as I drove in. I switched off and popped the bonnet - and there it was - a dangling plug lead. No problem I hear you say, just put it back in the socket, but this one had the top half of the plug still attached to the end of the cable, and the other half still in its place solidly embedded in the engine. That was a new experience for me as I did not know plugs could actually do that, and I have never seen a repeat ever again. To cut a long story short it took them ten days to finally remove the embedded plug bit and replace with a new one. Naturally they dared not charge me.
About 6 months later I was driving it home one afternoon and reached the turn into my road. As I changed down and made the turn, the front right side of the body suddenly dived towards the ground. Yup - the right hand half-shaft had completely broken, leaving the wheel at about 45*. The garage came and collected it, but it was another three weeks before they finally got round to fixing it.
That Fiesta must also have been a real Friday afternoon job as over the years I have subsequently had both a 1.5 Ford Laser and a 2.0 Telstar, very reliable and comfortable and neither of which gave me one moment of difficulty.
I once had a rather strange experience when driving a Marina. When it rained and I switched the wipers on, all would be ok until they suddenly went like the clappers then they'd go back to normal speed. On relating this to my two male bosses, they looked at each other with amusement and said I must be imagining things. One rainy day I had to give one a lift back to work from town and when I put the wipers on all was fine until - ooops, it did it again! "Oh, I see what you mean" was the response so was told to take it to a certain garage where they found a fault in the electrics something to do with or near the alternator), got it mended, and went back to work to see a couple of sheepish bosses. I refrained from saying "I told you so! Just because I've got long hair, wear a mini skirt, and have no qualifications in car mechanics doesn't mean I don't know the normal operating speed for my wipers."
Wiped the floor with them.....:-)
One other thing I forgot to mention about that Fiesta was that the front passenger foot well was always an inch deep in water under the carpet despite there having been no rain for over a week and not having splashed through any puddles! I searched high and low for any possible access but in vain. There was no dripping from the a/c unit or the window washer tube, the floor panel was completely sealed and there was no draught coming in from the passenger door. Even the garage could not find the source. So in the end, I just took out the carpet and put several layers of newspaper down every other day or so and let it soak it all up. Very odd.
Water in the footwell was always a sign of the radiator packing up, Reevers.
Happened twice on two Renaults, and they have to take the whole car apart to mend the thing...
Renault and I parted company years ago.
Continuing the transport theme and water in the foot-wells, I rode various 50cc scooters for about 18 years. What fun it was! Nearly came a cropper when turning right onto a road covered in black ice, could arrive at work absolutely dripping wet but at least the bike (including the foot-well) had a thorough clean, learnt that sheepskin gloves were a complete no-no in frosty weather, the hospital car park attendant became my knight in shining armour when I approached the lab on a downward slope covered in snow and came to a halt with my legs astride the seat and daren't move, drivers opening their car doors just as I was approaching (whaddya think I am? Evel Knievel?), and the last one I had gave out as much light from its headlamps as a candle on its last legs. Going home at night I had to steer by the headlights of cars behind me then when I got onto our lane I had to put the visor up to see where I was going. Alright if there was a moon but not to be recommended. Having said all that, it's amazing how much you can get into a top-box!
Thanks Scrobs, but yes I knew that. A thorough check on all that area - clips, thermostat, hoses etc etc - all proved to be perfectly in order. Quite mystifying! Maybe I should have just drilled a couple of holes in the floor panel and let the water drip out by itself.
It's a bit late now but you could have put different coloured dyes into anything that contained water to see what colour was making your floor wet.
Post a Comment