I bring this diary entry to you good people today, amidst a rather fractious atmosphere at Spindle Towers. I have, what I believe can be commonly described as having ‘the right hump’. I am sat, cosseted in my day nest, cup holder deployed and cradling a small, powerful libation (avec mini umbrella), staring reproachfully at the Tiny Terror. To anyone who does not know, the TT is also known as Muvver – or more accurately staff. if anyone wishes to know why I refer to her as the Tiny Terror, well Hector started it and he apparently has his own reasons. I can only deduce that is because she is only 4ft 10” and her ‘tentacle like arms and curiosity led digits’ can install terror into an unsuspecting Hector at any given moment.
She, is sat on the sofa, clutching a large mug of tea as if her very existence depended on the life giving, soul affirming properties of the leaf of the Gods. She is also gently rocking and keening mournfully, in full Leonard Cohen mode.
The reason? Well pals, the dishevelled numpty dognapped me this morning and took me to the VETS.
*Pauses for the audiences outraged whispers to die down
I behaved as any cosmopolitan hound of high repute would behave on reaching our dreaded destination. Just a glimpse of a rubber glove being purposefully applied to a vets hand can make me sit with a sudden decisiveness that I rarely display. I skittered, vibrated and River Danced my way over to the populated waiting area amid unwelcome chatter “Yes Madam, I am indeed adorable but this is not the time to admire me”, “Yes, that is an interesting whifflet of eu de moggie, but quite frankly I am not currently interested’. Even the rabbits could not distract me from my trembling.
I made a last bid for freedom over the top of the seats, but alas the vetty door of doom opened and I was herded in by the marauding hobbit.
A few of you may be wondering what has precipitated this visit? Well…
Very recently I have had the pleasure of meeting two new whippet pals on my perambulations through the woods. The jaunty pair of sleekster speedsters are Enzo and Jackie. They really are splendid and they have a little pal called Monty too. The humans got on terribly well as they bonded over pointy nose related misdemeanors, and this resulted in us being invited over to Whippet Headquarters for evening of canapés, drinkies and sparkling chat.
The hound contingency were very excited at this news, as Enzo and I had been planning a Poker evening for some time, and the booze would hopefully distract the loons long enough to allow us to play a few paws and make some audacious wagers. I had dug out my lucky peaked visor that Victoria Coren Mitchell awarded me after I thrashed her at the Velvet Marmoset’s Poker Championships – although to be fair we had consumed vast quaffettes of tequilla beforehand, during and after. I must say though she is a terrific sport and performed the most wonderful trick with a cocktail olive and a pickled egg. As a consequence of this she now has a lifelong membership to the VM, the key to the VIP bathroom and Sister Josephine goes into raptures whenever she recalls that great night.
I was looking forward to a poker night with my new pals and was fairly confident that I would be able to return home without losing my lace panelled culottes.
I must say the Whipsticks had done an excellent job on setting up a private space for our game night. In their lovely garden stood an octagonal wooden hut of great decadence – Hector closed his eyes in domestic resignation as he knew that he would most likely be building one at Spindle Towers as soon as the terror indoors had clapped her beadies on it. This fabulous wooden hut had comfortable bench seats around the edges, windows which overlooked rolling hills and in the centre was a cooking stove device. In essence, they had a purpose built gambling den!
The whips had another pal over, so five of us were up for a night of high stakes derring do! Jackie wheeled in a little hostess trolley once we were all settled, and I must say the spread was top level. Cocktails, beers and a large plate of frazzled sausages. I had dabbled with the idea of becoming a vegetarian the previous week, but the beguiling sight of the sumptuous pork products put pay to that with immediate effect. A tense game followed and It was only by the very briefest of whiskers that I was declared victorious.
It was during a celebratory lap of the garden that I came a cropper. In my defence, my balance was not at its best as I circumnavigated the garden, waving my bloomers over my head and wailing ‘We are the Champions’. A summer evenings breeze inflated said unmentionables as I zoomed around and the sudden change in direction knocked me off balance, and all of a sudden we had a five dog pile up! I felt an unexpected twinge and looked down to see that my pesky dew claw was hanging off at an unusual angle. Never underestimate how much a little claw mishap can bleed! I don’t want to butter my own muffins in dairy based glory, but I really was terribly stoical in the face of such perilous injury.
This was why I was trundled off to the vet to make sure it didn’t need any more fiddling about with. It didn’t, and it will be fine aslong as I don’t nibble on it. Thus far I have been a paragon of non nibbling virtue, but it has been made clear to me that the baby socks and medical tape will be unleashed if I am a nibblesome nuisance.
All in all a rather lovely evening which was enjoyed by all, and we shall reciprocate with an evening of high velocity cribbage very soon.
Pip pip until next time pals!
3 thoughts on “Spindle and the whippets play poker”
I was all set for an early night. Dishes were in the machine. Things had been tidied away and I was ready for bed.
Then I let the dogs in, and did a final check of my email before the much awaited bed time.
Only as I turned the computer off and turned to get the dogs, did I see that Evie had cut her paw and was bleeding. Not painful enough to have yelped when it happened, but bleeding quite a bit, but rather than go and lay down she decided to walk around the lounge…leaving a trail of bloody footprints.
So my early night was put on hold as I got the carpet shampooer out and cleaned the mess on the floor, then cleaned and dressed the injured paw.
The joy of hounds!!
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Ah! The bloody trail of an injured hound! We know it well!
I love the Spindle reports. Please keep them coming.
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