The Great Slipper Robbery

Jeez, did she go mad or what? I mean one lousy slipper. Anydog would think she'd had her leg amputated in her sleep.

Listen up. If humes leave any kind of footwear (including socks), underwear, or anything else that isn't nailed down just lying around in full reachable distance, it's up for doggy grabs, yeah? Now am I right or am I right?

Of course, Gelert had to play the bloody clown, didn't he, and pranced off with it in his gob because he thought the female hume was having a game. That made her even more ballistic.

“Give her back the bloody slipper,” I barked at him, but it was no good. The dumb klutz just kept running up to her with the slipper in his mouth and then sprinting away again just as she got within reaching distance.

Mind you, you had to laugh.

“Gelert,” said the female hume. “Leave.”

Well, she said it in such a wet, imploring tone you just knew that wouldn't do it.

She knew it as well so she tried the sterner approach.

“Gelert!!! Stay!!!”

Now Gelert is a kind of wolfhound type and isn't full grown yet but he's already massive and has a brain that's about appropriate for a very small chihuahua.

Here's a picture of the ‘Big Guy‘, as Petros the dog doctor calls him:



We're all watching and know what's going through his lentil-sized brain.

“Duh, youse wanna chase me and fetch da slippa den? Goo game, yeah? Goo game.”

And off he goes again with the slipper in his gob.

The hume's going hairless by now but the Big Guy doesn't know the joke's over.

“Gelert!!! If you don't come here and drop that slipper right now.....!”

Well, we could all tell she was losing it.

“I'll.... I'll....”

She shot a quick glance at Poppy who was starting to giggle uncontrollably by now and then carried on:

“I’ll will not tolerate...”

We all knew by now that when she lost the ability to speak proper English, something bad was on its way.

“... none of you will get supper tonight!”

None of us? Now wait up here a minute, lady. Time to take action.

Zaira and Seven, being the fastest, sprinted down the far side of the Big Guy, Poppy and I went to his flanks, Ziggy just went into one of his fits (more of that later), and Mum sauntered casually towards him.

Gelert froze, his feeble mind not able to take in the pincer manoeuvre.

Mum went straight up to him, eyeballing him all the time. When she was six inches from his face she whispered, “Drop the slipper, sweetie, or none of us eat tonight.”

Suffice it to say, the dumb klutz's jaw dropped open in horror and the item of footwear fell to the ground.

At that point, the hume stepped forward, picked up the slipper and then patted the Big Guy on the head saying, “Good boy. Gooood boy. Who's a clever boy then.”

Then she saunters off back up to the house, slipper in hand, without a second glance to the rest of us.

Jeez. We're the ones who got the bloody slipper back and he's the one who gets the praise.

There really is no justice in this world. Am I right or am I right?

Journey's End

Sorry for the slight delay, Buster Fans, as I know you're dying to know the next bit of my story. If I remember right, Mum, sister Poppy and I had just set off to find our dads, who lived on a small farm called "Xerika".....

WARNING: This next bit is very sad so if you're easily upset, you might want to skip to the next part.

Poppy and I were less than two months old when we set off with Mum to find “Xerika” and even though it was only a couple of miles, it seemed like an epic journey for our short little legs. It was hot too and Pops and I kept wanting to sit down and rest but Mum kept pushing us on. She seemed so excited about introducing us to our dads.

(Poppy wanted me to add ‘and vice versa’ here but I’ve no idea what she’s on about so I’ve left it out.)

Eventually, we reached the farm where our dads Sammy and Rory lived. Pops and I were so knackered, we just collapsed in the shade. Moments later, we were mobbed by three hooligan dogs who we discovered later were Ziggy, Zaira and Gelert.

Mum went off to look for Sammy and Rory, leaving us to the mercy of these huge (to us) dogs who were clearly intent on playing with us.

Poppy and I dozed in the shade and totally ignored them. Then Mum came back looking distraught. (Pops gave me that last word and I don’t know if it sums up the way Mum looked but I’ll risk it.)

“Where are they?” she panted, looking at the other three.

“Where’s who?” said Gelert.

“Sammy and Rory. Where are they?”

Poppy and I watched as Ziggy, Zaira and Gelert looked down at their paws.

“Well?” Mum was getting impatient.

Very slowly, Ziggy raised his head and looked into Mum’s eyes. “They’re not here now.”

“Not here? Well, where are they then?”

“They stopped living. I’m sorry.”

Mum held his gaze for a few seconds and then wandered off on her own.

Poppy and I were too young to understand what was going on at the time, but Mum explained to us what had happened when we were a bit more grown up.

Apparently, about the same time they helped Mum make Poppy and I, Sammy and Rory kept escaping from the farm and generally making mischief. Then, late one night just before Ziggy’s bedtime, he discovered Rory lying just inside the farm gate. He wasn’t living.

In Greece, where we live, there are bad humes who put poisoned food out for foxes to protect their chickens and it seems that Rory ate some and stopped living soon after. Sammy was never seen again and the same thing probably happened to him but he never made it back to the farm. (Petros, our Dog Doc, gets very angry about this sort of thing but I’ll tell you more about him another time.)

The humes dug a big hole, put Rory in it and then covered him up. Ziggy says he saw water coming out of the humes’ eyes but none of us knows why that would happen.

Mum hardly spoke or ate for days after she heard what had happened to our dads but she’s a bit better now. Ziggy showed her the place where the humes put Rory after he stopped living. She goes there sometimes on her own and sits quietly.

Poppy and I are now six months old so we understand a bit more about stuff. It seems there are good humes and bad humes. Thank Dog, we seem to have ended up with some good ones.

It would have been great to have met our dads but they stopped living even before Poppy and I started living. We’ve heard lots of stories about Sammy and Rory from Mum and Ziggy and I’ll tell you some of them one day. I'll also show you some photos of them.

Mum says I should get to bed now as it’s late but I just feel like barking at something.