General Witterings -
Morning, Rosy

Time: 0500 hrs on a morning in December, 2002

The Place:  The boatman's cabin on the narrow boat 'Rosy', moored in the 'Port de Plaisance', Briare, France.

Overview:  It is, of course, before dawn. The moon gave up ages ago, and slipped quietly off to bed.  The stars are twinkling in most of the sky, hence the temperature is somewhat on the low side.  In one patch of the heavens, the stars are hidden behind a cloud.

The scene:

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The small coal stove keeps the cabin nice 'n' warm.  On the floor, in a corner formed by the steps leading up from the cabin to the stern deck, and the coal stove, lies the Faithful Hound, sleeping the sleep of ...

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... the just.  She occasionally twitches, as if re-living a chase across a heather-clad grouse moor.  At her head end, there is an occasional gurgle of contentment.

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At her other end, there is, at random (though overly frequent) intervals, the release of severely malodorous vapours, a subtle mixture of hydrogen sulphide and sulphur dioxide, with overtones of sarin, and even, perhaps, a hint of Zyklon-B.  It emerges near silently, just like this ... puff.

For reasons of personal survival, the Faithful Hound, early in her life, gave up the classic doggie sleep position - curled in a ball, with ...

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... her nose tucked up her bum, and her tail acting as a blanket.  Instead, she sleeps stretched out - her nose as far as possible from her rear end.  Even she can't stand the stench.

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The cross bed is in the down position, and on it lies the Lord and Master.  He sleeps somewhat sonorously, there being a deep rumble each time he breathes in, and a whistle each time he breathes out.  In sleeping, his body is, remarkably, odour free.

Time passes.

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It is now 0630 hrs.  The cloud has grown somewhat larger.  The Faithful Hound awakes ...

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... stretches ...

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... yawns extravagantly ...

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... and attends to the itchiest parts of her anatomy for a few moments, and decides that she needs a pee.  She therefore needs to wake her Lord and Master.

After the first night on the boat, she had decided to do this by giving her Lord and Master a nice, friendly licking.  She stuck her nose into his face, by chance encountering his open mouth - her nose, indeed, entering this inviting cavern.  She licked his epiglottis, though, to be honest, she did not know that that was the name of the licked part.  The Lord and Master yelped, close his mouth and lashed out at his assailant.

It took a while for man and dog to re-establish civil relationships, the time being lengthened by the Faithful Hound peeing on the cabin floor.

The next morning she had carefully avoided the open mouth, and instead licked the nearest ear, and was nearly knocked out by the resultant right hook.

The following day set the pattern of subsequent days.  She awoke, placed her nose close to the nearest ear, though (hopefully) out of reach of flailing fists, and said, very loudly "WOOF WOOF WOOF".  The effect was pretty dramatic.  Lord and Master awoke instantly, crying out words to the effect of (apologies to Billy Connolly) "Gettifu you fazzing bazza!!!".  He leapt out of bed, scrunching his head on the low cabin ceiling, but awake, and ready to go.

If the Faithful Hound awoke in a benevolent mood, she would merely whine into the ear, but the instant and dramatic effects of a good loud woofing were hard to resist.

Lord and Master would arise, trousers on, T-shirt on, slippers on, check that it wasn't actually raining, attach a lead to the Faithful Hound, open the cabin doors, and get them both out onto the bank, and near to a suitable doggie loo.

On this particular morning, this is exactly what happened.  Lord and Master and the Faithful Hound are ashore.  The stars have disappeared, not because it is yet dawn, but because the cloud now covers the whole sky.  It is a very black cloud.

The Lord and Master, having got the Faithful Hound to a suitable spot, says, hopefully, in true 'Euro Trash' style:  "Pee-pee. Good dog, Fanny. Pee-pee".  He feels a pillock, and hopes that no one else is within earshot.

The Faithful Hound starts to squat down, but then spies a far better place a couple of feet away.  She moves to it, but then isn't sure that it's any better then the first place, and trots back to check.

The first, large raindrop falls.  Of course, had Lord and Master taken the extra time to don rainwear, then the bladder of the Faithful Hound would not have contained the pent-up waters until they were out of the cabin.  It does seem that, in dogs, the nearer relief comes, the stronger the restraining muscles become - just the opposite of humans, in fact.

Anyway, the Faithful Hound decides that since these two spots are pretty much indistinguishable one from the other, then neither of them is suitable, and sets off in search of the perfect spot.  At this point a raindrop splashes down onto a crisp autumn leaf, causing it (in human terms) to move.  In doggy terms it is trying to escape, and the Faithful Hound is onto it in a flash, and secures it in its place.  She then has to re-organise all the other leaves, one of which, of course, might be hiding the perfect spot!!

It is now raining rather more heavily. Lord and Master is getting fractious.  He cannot call it day, as if they go back to the boat now, then the Faithful Hound will crap and urinate in the boat, and he - The Lord and Master - will have the job of clearing it up.  "Pee-pee," he screeches at the Faithful Hound.  "PEE-PEE".

One of the problems is that the Faithful Hound seems undismayed by the rain and hail that is now sleeting down, but is distracted from matters lavatorial by other people, dogs, cars, bikes, moving leaves, ripples on the canal, noises off - in fact just about anything within a quarter of a mile radius.

And if the Faithful Hound is picky about where she pees, a place to poo-poo is infinitely worse ...

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Toodle pip!!

Bill