Tag Archives: football

Kats, Kones and Karting.

Posted on by bonesdiary

Before I express my relief at having my lampshade removed, I want to tell you about the dangers of wearing one.

We were coming back from our afternoon walk on friday when we were attacked by a lunatic cat who had obviously decided that life wasn’t worth living and would end it all in spectacular fashion!

As we passed the entrance to a driveway, this stupid cat came flying out and dived into the middle of us; screeching, biting and clawing for all it was worth. Alf, who has proven himself quite a tasty little fighter when up against dogs, seemed unable to move and looked up at mom for direction. Jess clucked at the cat like a fat hen but was also unable to react. Meanwhile this feral furball had scratched her leg enough to make it bleed and nicked Alfie’s nose.

I went absolutely ballistic and fought back like I was struggling against Old Nick himself, but everytime I went to clamp down on this fleabag cat my cone was bouncing off it. The cat came back another couple of times but each attack was repelled by my cone hitting it as I tried to bite. If I hadn’t been wearing the stupid thing then they would have found nothing but a little collar with a bell on it – bye bye Twinkle or whatever stupid cat name it had been given.

The two collies who are double my size let themselves down in this one and ended up bleeding; I came out of it without a scratch. A lesson for all my dog pals: when the chips are down, go in 100% no matter what the odds, you are less likely to get hurt if you are not playing the role of the victim.

So anyway, now I am coneless I feel much better about myself. Nobody is laughing at me any more. Saturday morning we went to the vets in Tamworth, mom much prefers them to the local ones and I agree, I always get fuss and a treat down there and it’s not that far away. Snip snip and the stitches were gone along with the cone. Free at last, free at last.

Afterwards we went to the karting track just outside Tamworth. Yes it was dad’s annual karting day which regular readers of Bones’ Diary will remember I barked about last year. When we arrived dad took me out of the back of the car and we went in to meet the lads. A bit more fuss later and mom took me home.

Many hours later she went to pick him up. He arrived home in his annual karting stupor, his jacket worn in an “off the shoulder” look; one eye open and bottom lip jutting out in defiance. In an effort to stop him swearing she made him some food so at least his mouth would be full, keeping him quiet for a little while. Mom then went to bed leaving him to curse and wave his fist at Match of the Day on television, despite our favourite team winning, and tell us how much he loved us and how we were the best dogs in the world.

Ah well, it’s only once a year.

With grinding teeth and knitted brow

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Dad’s acting even stranger than usual, if that’s possible. He’s sitting in his chair staring off into space one minute, the next he’s pacing around. He goes out into the garden and stands with his hands on his hips looking up at the sky then down at me before stomping off into the kitchen. He opens the fridge then closes it again. He returns to his chair, his brow knitted and the industrial sounds of his teeth grinding together the only thing breaking the silence, apart from the ticking clock he keeps glancing at, and the occasional grunt he makes after viewing the time.

I know what’s bothering him, what’s making him tense, because I feel it too. The butterflies are as present in my stomach as they are in his. I share his tension, his fears, his pure emotion. We wait…dad and Bones, as the world turns and the clock ticks,  ever onward, counting down to kick off.

Yes my friends, that’s right! Today is the start of the Premier League season here in England’s green and pleasant land. Forget the Olympics, forget the European Championships – mere distractions – this is it, time to get down to the important business.

Mine and dad’s team have had a couple of dreadful seasons but with a new manager coming in there is a whole new feelgood factor, me and dad are clinging desperately to the hope of qualifying for European football next season.

There is nothing like footy to run you through the whole range of emotions – the greatest highs and the deepest lows. Screaming red-faced at the television, cheering and yelling in triumph or sitting head in paws mourning defeat.

Dad used to treasure having a season ticket but he can’t go anymore and that sometimes makes him a bit sad. We’ll be watching a game and he’ll say to me: “Look Bones, that’s where me and my mates used to sit, just behind the dugout.” Or, “That’s where I used to stand with the lads when they still had terraces.”

The game won’t be on television, dad will go to the pub and watch the results coming in, sometimes we listen to the live commentary on the radio. We’ll watch Match of the Day tonight and extended highlights on Football First; tomorrow we’ll watch other teams play live on tv.

Me and my dad love football, it’s just absolute torture waiting for 3 o’clock.

 

The Beautiful Game

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Thank the heavens for Euro 2012. Dad gets even grumpier than usual during the summer when there is no football on; by the way for my American friends’ information, I’m talking about proper football, not the silly armoured behemouths who run around for 5 seconds before leaving the pitch to be wrapped in a blanket and given oxygen and, despite only one person in a team of 40 being allowed to kick the ball, they still call it football? Hmm, strange.

No this is proper football, what Pele once called “the beautiful game.”

Dad loves football, he used to have a season ticket to see his team. I know he misses those crazy days. It’s funny, mom can be talking to him about any subject you like and you can tell by the faraway look in his eyes he hasn’t heard a word she’s said because he’s thinking about football! hehehehe

Away from the league though, this summer he has the distraction of the European Championships. Yet watching England play can be as agonising as watching his club side.

I must admit, I’m a big fan of the game myself and I’ve been there sitting watching all the games on tv. Here’s a photo of me watching the England v Sweden match with my dad.

 

 

 

After a good start Sweden went 2-1 up and dad wore despair like a heavy cloak. His moods seem entangled with the fate of our national team. Each Swedish goal was like a knife that twisted into him. As his faithful dog I felt it too as the opposition scored:

 

 

 

As they attacked dad would sit further and further forward in his seat, Walcott hit one from the edge of the box “Go on…go on…go on….y…ye….YES!!! YEEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!! GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!! GET IN THERE!!!!!” His arms aloft, his face contorted with joy. I was going just as mental as him:

 

 

We celebrated together, dad and Bones, Bones and dad. “Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land…..” We didn’t want to settle for a point though, not after drawing our first game against France. But then Walcott drives for the line, knocks it across, Wellbeck…. oh what a goal, what a cheeky little goal, what a beautiful goal. Bones and dad, dad and Bones raising the roof:

 

 

 

England win…..Ukraine next!

After the match I was spent, all that emotion takes it out of you:

I love football!

Bones stuck in the mud

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It’s embarrassing but seeing as you are my closest friends I will tell you, I know you won’t tell anyone else.

I was out in the fields with the lumbering Jess and faster than light Alf, we were having a rare old time running about, chasing each other and such like. At the edge of one of the fields is a little ditch; Alf, whose feet barely make contact with the ground as he streaks around, raced through it with me in hot pursuit. As I got to the bottom of the ditch I stopped for a breather. I was slightly confused when the opposite wall, no more than a slight incline, grew by a few inches. Then I realised: it isn’t going up, I’m going down – I was sinking! I tried to run but my feet had disappeared into the mire and my already short legs were shortening even more. I was stuck.

I was panicking a little, not an easy thing for a tough dog like me to admit. What if nobody had seen me go down here, I’d disappear forever in this nasty mud and nobody would be any the wiser. I strained to pull one of my front paws free, every muscle in my shoulder and across my chest taut with the effort, my face scrunched up as I tugged with all my might. With a gloop my front paw came free, but with all the effort I had only succeeded in driving my other 3 paws deeper. The mud was up to my belly and I was out of steam. This was serious, I was going to drown. I pushed down with my one free paw, trying desperately to gain some leverage but it just sank again. I had used up all my energy getting it free the first time, there was no way I could do it again, I gave it a go but there was nothing doing. I delved into my reserves but the tank was empty.

I couldn’t believe it, my end had come, the final moments as such a precious life was about to be extinguished. Not in battle like I expected, protecting my house, defending my friends, fighting the good fight against overwhelming odds; no, my life was about to be taken for nothing by this thick, clinging slop.

I thought about all the things I would miss: my friends, my favourite blanket, my toys, my mom taking me for walks, my dad telling me off but always having a treat in his pocket and a scratch behind my ear, falling asleep on his lap then being woken up because he’s cursing a football player or boxer on the tv. I’ll miss my big sister Jess and my big brother Alf. Heck I’ll even miss the stupid cats; in fact I promised the blue sky above that if I made it out of here I’d be nice to Raffles forever, wow things were desperate!

As I contemplated mortality my thoughts were interrupted by two shadows that blocked out the sun and the sound of laughter. Jess and Alf were laughing at my predicament, I was almost glad to see them. They were joined by mom who reached down and plucked me free from the jaws of death. When she put me down, I lay on my side panting both from exhaustion and relief. Mom said, “come on Bones, let’s get you home.”

When we got home it was straight in the bath for me. Dad wandered in and asked how I’d got in that state. When mom told him he burst out laughing! How could he be so heartless? I nearly died! You wait, I’ll get you for that dad.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold, well I bided my time until the next morning; dad was walking into the living room in his favourite old shorts that aren’t as cosy a fit as when he bought them. Sometimes he has to hitch them up a bit, he likes them though, he feels comfortable wearing them in the house when it’s warm. Dad’s hands were full carrying his breakfast bowl and mug of tea. He was just telling Jess to shift herself so he could get past when I jumped up and gave the hem of his shorts the slightest tug. As he hadn’t got a free hand he couldn’t pull them back up as they slowly but steadily headed south. His cry of alarm as his pink, shiney butt was revealed to the world sent us dogs into hysterics. He stumbled over to his chair like an arthritic penguin and although he cursed loudly enough that I’m sure I would have heard him in my muddy grave, we laughed even louder.

P.S. That bit about being nice to Raffles forever? Erm…..nah….hehehehe

 

Lazy dog sunday

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After a hard morning’s fighting with the stinking hounds from hell known as Jessie and Alfie, plus two long and strenuous runs around the fields, there comes a time when a dog has to relax. Yesterday was a lazy sunday afternoon, dad was swearing at the football on tv, mom was upstairs keeping out of the way, she thinks football is rubbish but what do girls know?

Jess and Alf had finally given up and I was victorious again. I tried to keep awake and watch the footy with dad but it all got too much and in the end I drifted off. Dad took some photos of us on his phone which I’ll share with you:

You can only get a pic of Jess if she's asleep.

Come on Alf, one last scrap?

I'll just close my eyes for a minute...zzzzz

Bones’ schedule

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For those of you who are wondering what a regular day is like for your favorite Border Terrier I’ve written the following:

5am Only on a weekday do I get up this early because this is what time mom gets up for work. I sleep in an indoor kennel, which is a cage and I love it because it’s warm and comfortable. Dad put a blanket over it so it’s like a cave, somewhere that’s all mine. Jess has one of her own in the kitchen, although it’s alot bigger than mine because she’s a huge troll. Alf doesn’t like indoor kennels and prefers to sleep on the sofa.

Mom releases the beasts and me into the garden for our first widdle of the day. When she’s dressed we head out for our morning walk. Sometimes Jess refuses to come with us if it even looks like rain, she goes back to bed – her loss. We head down to the fields and run around like maniacs. When we get home I go back into my playpen until dad gets up.

8am Dad finally drags his lazy butt out of his pit and lets me back out into the garden with the dopey dogs after copious amounts of fuss. He goes to his computer after breakfast and that’s the last we hear from him until lunch. We run around the garden or crash out on the kitchen floor or have a fight, every dog for themselves. There’s two big bowls of water and plenty of toys so we’re happy.

12.30pm We get a treat each and more fuss and perhaps a ball game in the garden. He puts me back in my kennel for a sleep. The other dogs usually sleep in the afternoon too.

2.30pm Dad lets us out into the garden again and we run around for a bit.

4pm Mom is usually back from work by now, we always know which car is hers by the sound of the engine, Alf and me start barking and dad yells “shut up”. Mom gets changed and we’re off across the fields again. Other dogs get their walks around this time so we all meet up and go running in a pack while the skins walk together and moan about stuff that isn’t really all that important.

If it’s a warm day we go charging into the pond. Alf runs like he’s in the dog olympics and dives like a mad salmon into the water, with his girlfriend Ellie usually with him, swimming around. Jess paddles and sometimes sits in the shallows like she’s cooling her immense backside. I love a good paddle and splash and have just tried my first little swim, which was absolutely fantastic, I’ll swim everytime from now on.

6pm is feeding time! We all eat in different rooms because we try to steal food from each other’s bowls. Have you ever noticed how much better food tastes when you’re eating from someone else’s bowl? This always causes a ruck so we’re kept apart. After eating we go into the garden for ablu…..ablutio…..poos and widdles.

6.30pm The skins sit down to eat, I get put in my playpen because I try to steal food from them. Skins are strange like that, I’ve told them they are very welcome to try and take food from my bowl, but they don’t seem interested.

After they eat the skins like to watch TV together, Alf and Jess stretch out and have a doze, I go to dad for fuss or mainly to chew his slipper/sleeve/hand/ear. Eventually he gets tired and puts me in my cage so I can watch TV with them without being “a little bleeder” as dad says.

9pm Mom goes off to bed if its a week night and dad watches a film or some sport he’s recorded. He likes watching rugby and cricket, but most of all he loves watching football and boxing. When he watches football he gets a bit excited and sometimes shouts at the TV; he often questions the parentage of the referee, which is hardly any of his business! It’s worse when he watches boxing, he holds his hands up in a guard and throws punches, saying things like “…keep your right up when you jab….combinations, combinations…..go downstairs….” I don’t know what he’s talking about but it is soooo funny to watch. He ends up more tired than the fighters.

10-11pm I go out for a last widdle before bed time. Jess disappears into her cage and dad pulls the blanket down so it’s nice and cosy for her. Alf jumps on the sofa and shuts his eyes almost straight away and then dad puts me away in my cage. I’m glad I’m back in my cage, I feel warm and comfortable and I am so tired. I’m looking forward to going for a walk in the morning, maybe I’ll see Riya in the afternoon. It’s going to be another great day tomorrow, I just know it. So tired now, I go to sleep and dream of long grass and muddy puddles.

 

Roll on the new season

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I was only born in February so I was a little young to watch and enjoy many premier league games last season, and match of the day was on after my bedtime. What I saw on sky did get me interested, mostly in the noise and movement and all that lovely turf to dig up! I’ve watched a couple of pre-season friendlies and the community shield game which I really enjoyed, so now I’m panting in antic…..anticip……I can’t wait for the new season to start next week.

Dad says he might get me a little footyshirt if he can find one designed for a piglet! He tries to be funny but he’s got a way to go yet. He won’t be laughing when I widdle on his chair.

Barking about the new season, why has the FA organised an international friendly against the Dutch just 4 days before the big kick-off? Only quoting dad, I’m not even sure what a dutch is. There’s little wonder that players like Darren Bent are all of a sudden finding little niggles that will keep them from playing, doubtless encouraged by their clubs who won’t want their most important players risking injury before the season even gets going and they’ll want them fresh and rested.

You can’t blame the clubs because there is so much money at stake; but if I had the chance to represent my country, I would do anything to pull that shirt on as a proud Englishdog, thats if they’ve designed one for a piglet.