It all began during a sedate family breakfast. The industrial strength coffee was steaming away in the pot, the bacon was sitting snugly in their bap nests and we were surveying the potential that was Sunday spanning out in front of us. I had just made an especially amusing comment and was wiping away tears of hilarity with my paw when I noticed that both Mater and Pater were staring at me, straight faced. Apparently I was not as naturally comedic as I had assumed. Quick to defend this outrageous besmirchment I began to wave my paws about whilst regaling the fact that I am in fact a distant relation to P G Wodehouse (3rd hound, twice removed) and therefore my veins were literally (literary) running over with humour cells.
Before I knew it, a full scale denouncement of my wit began. Words were exchanged. This went on for some time until it was decided that the only way to settle this was to utilise technology and acquire a DNA test to track down the elements that make up me.There was a certain amount of honour on my part and money riding on the results as, naturally we had placed bets. I had predicted genetic smatterings of Evelyn Waugh, Margaret Rutherford and a touch of Mother Teresa. The Tiny Terror put forward a cross between Hinge and Bracket and a fruit bat and I won’t reveal Hector’s guess as I found it rather offensive. I flounced off, bacon sarnie clutched in my indignant paw, to order a test from the inter web machine.
Whilst we waited for this test to arrive tensions cooled to reasonable levels and we pootled off for a relaxing weekend away with my pal Betty lurcher. Well, what an exciting time we have had!
It began with a timely visit to a watering hole called The Organ Inn…which predictably caused great merriment and sniggering to the puerile within the group. My imagination exists on a much higher, purer plane so I ignored them. Sitting in the pub garden, we enjoyed beer based refreshments, crisps and an unexpected pickled egg. It was whilst we were sat scoffing our snacks that the plans for the following day were revealed.
We were going to have a frolic around Heavens Gate. I looked this up on my rolodex organiser device that I keep squirrelled away in my handbag, and discovered that it is overlooking the Longleat Estate. A map was produced with a flourish and spread out onto the table amidst the crumbs, egg debris and beer dribbles. It was then revealed that we were also going geocaching! For the uninitiated (me), it is basically a treasure hunt in the outdoors and this would be my maiden voyage. According to something called Wikipedia…
“Geocaching is an outdoor recreational activity, in which participants use a Global Positioning System receiver or mobile device and other navigational techniques to hide and seek containers, called “geocaches” or “caches”, at specific locations marked by coordinates all over the world”
Betty and I exchanged a pained and long suffering look, we had been secretly planning a spa day the next day, keen to try out the detox wrap, and had some misgivings. We were eventually persuaded with the promise of scooby snacks en route and control of the travelling music choices.
The next morning we woke up bleary eyed and fluffy brained. I blamed all our ailments on the bottle that Betty and I felt compelled to drink to drown out the drunken squawking from the others.
The human element of the breakfast party, also remarkably sedate, were fully kitted out in walking gear and had a look of grim determination about them. Betty and I sighed, changed out of our floral house coats and into the outdoor gear that had been left out for us – combat jumpsuits and a utility belt full of custard creams, rescue remedies and bandages. The battle rally of adventure was taken up and off we sallied, channelling our best Captain Beaky…
Along the paths and wooded lanes
forging ahead was Captain James
with his rather hapless crew
of Spindle Hound and Betty Boo
Come on! He cried,
gimlet eyes a flashing
we are going geocaching!
We eventually emerged some hours later from the woods, tattered, exhausted and wearing most of the foliage in our fur. I must admit it was rather fun, if not tiring. We bravely stumbled our way to a nearby pub which promptly delivered a cooling, restorative pint and a cheeky bowl of roast potatoes.
All in all it really was a marvellous weekend away and served well to distract us from the impending DNA test. Returning home we discovered that It had arrived!!
The two buffoons flourished two miniature toilet brushes at me, to be twizzled vigorously inside my cheeks. There began a slight kerfuffle until it was explained to me that mercifully they were to be aimed at my mouth. Several dribbly moments later it was repacked and sent off to some distant land (Denmark) to await the findings.
Three weeks later an email plopped into Hectors inbox with the results. He emitted a high pitched squeal (apparently a gruff, manly bellow) and we leaned forwards as he opened the file.
12.5% border collie
I will relay to you some of my favourite words from this comprehensive report…gentle, intelligent, quiet, dignified…it was here that the humans fell about laughing…then we got to lazy…
Deciding that it was pointless to challenge this last point as it may have had some truth to it, I left them to it, now slumped over the laptop, helpless with laughter.
In conclusion, I feel that anyone familiar with sighthounds/greyhounds etc will know that we all possess exemplary characteristics and are also exceptionally blessed with the gift of comedy.
Pip pip my friend, until next time.
One thought on “Spindlehound’s DNA exploration…”
Sorry to hear about the Border Collie and Whippet. Without them you would have been perfect.
We all know, there are only 2 types of dog.
Greyhounds, and those that want to be.
LikeLiked by 1 person