Ziggy's Story (Part One)

Now, it has to be said that Ziggy is really a bit of a nutter. Maybe that’s a bit harsh but he does have this habit of…..

Hang on a minute though. First, I should tell you about how he came to be here at “Xerika”.



About a year ago, the humes were going off on some trip or other for a couple of weeks and they’d taken Sammy and Rory (my and Poppy’s dads) to be looked after by some hume friends. Our dads really liked going there as these other humes had a dog called Rosy, who was apparently a good laugh and fancied Rory like crazy. Rory felt the same way about her and I’ve heard the humes say he used to write love poems to her. Personally, I think that’s daft and also too soppy for words.

Anyway, the night before the humes set off on their trip -.

ZIGGY: Not writing about me by any chance, are you?

BUSTER: Er, yes, I am as it happens.

ZIGGY: Perhaps it would be appropriate if I took up the story myself at this juncture.

BUSTER: Eh? Oh yes, right. Whatever you say, Zig. It’s your story after all.

ZIGGY: My thoughts precisely, old chap.


Hello, readers. Ziggy here. Now what’s the young ragamuffin been saying? Hmm… Bit of a nutter, eh. I shall return to this point later.

In the meantime, it was the night before the humes set off on their trip and it was absolutely lashing down with rain. How I came to be roaming the hills on my own at that time of night is quite another story but suffice it to say for now, my previous humes had taken me up there a few days earlier and had just left me to fend for myself.

I’d been managing to find bits and pieces of food and wasn’t in too bad a shape. But when the rain started, I knew I had to find somewhere dry to shelter. I’m really not at all keen on getting wet and it looked like a serious storm was on its way. There was a hume-house I’d seen the day before and although I’d been avoiding such places, this was an emergency and I made straight for it as fast as I could.

Now I hadn’t had a lot of luck recently what with being abandoned and so on, but that night the Dogs seemed to be smiling on me. Firstly, the farm gate was open so I didn’t have to mess about trying to find a hole in the fence and getting wetter and muddier in the process. Secondly, there was a nice dry shed with no door next to the hume-house and, thirdly, there was even a basket with a couple of blankets inside it.

I was cold, wet and tired so I quickly got in and settled down for a good sleep.

The next thing I know, I’m aware of some kind of presence - the way you can be sometimes even when you’re fast asleep. As soon as I woke up, I got the scent of another dog and it wasn’t a pleasant scent either. My eyes focused, and I saw this very wet mangey old mongrel standing looking at me from the shed doorway.

“What the bloody hell do you want?” I barked, jumping to my feet.

“I just thought I’d -.”

“Well, you can just think again, hume-breath!”

“Listen, there’s plenty of room in here for both of us.”

“No there isn’t. So just bugger off.”

“Yeah? You gonna make me, shorty?”

I puffed out my chest and did my best snarl, trying to look as mean as I possibly could. He did exactly the same and we stood eyeballing each other for a few moments, snarling and growling, both wondering who was going to lunge first. To be honest, I don’t really do violence and it’s very rare for another dog to be taken in by my pretence at aggressive posturing but on this occasion, and much to my amazement, the other dog suddenly stopped snarling, muttered something I couldn’t make out and promptly disappeared.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and went to the doorway to make sure the mutt really had gone, edging forward carefully in case this was some kind of trick and he was going to pounce on me when my guard was down. But, sure enough, there was no sign of him and once again I settled back down in the basket feeling a little ashamed that I’d driven off the other dog. He’d been right. There really was more than enough room for both us but I’m always a bit grumpy when I get woken suddenly and -.

Just then, I heard a door opening nearby and an outside light came on. The commotion must have woken the humes. Now I’ll be for it. I lay as low as I could in the basket, trying to make myself invisible, and held my breath. I strained my ears, listening to the sound of footsteps going first one way and then another and then, slowly but surely, coming towards the shed itself….

Oops. Sorry folks, but they’ve just shouted us for supper. I’ll carry on with the story another time.

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.

The Journey Begins

OK, so I've realised I was telling you about how I came to be here at “Xerika” and then got a bit sidetracked by the all important issue of food.

As I said, my mum was a chicken-guard on this farm and she had these two boyfriends – or maybe it was three....

Now listen here a minute. I know what you're thinking and you can stop that right now. Capiche? Having more than one boyfriend at a time is perfectly normal in the dog world and no reason for you humes to start tut-tutting and banging on about my mum being no better than she ought to be or whatever.

So now that's cleared up, I'll get on with the story. Right?

Anyway, these two boyfriends were called Sammy and Rory and it just so happened that they lived on this farm called “Xerika” a couple of miles away.

To cut a long story short, a while afterwards us pups were born. [Ed. On the 14th July 2007.]

BUSTER: What?

ED: Sorry. Just thought I'd add a bit of background information.

BUSTER: Well don't. Just butt out and don't interrupt when I'm on a roll. Right?

ED: Er.... Right.

Jeez, I'm sorry about that, folks. These humes think they're so damn clever. Yeah, well if they're so damned clever, how come they never learned to lick their own bits. Case proved, m'lud.

What happened after we were born is a bit hazy. I mean, give me a break, I couldn't even open my eyes for days afterwards.

The next thing I know is we wake up one morning and Mum says, “Right, kids. It's time you met your fathers.”

[Ed. It is not commonly known that a litter of pups can be sired by more than one father.]

BUSTER: What did I just say?

ED: Sorry.

So Mum gets up and shakes herself, ready for the off.

“Mumma forget stuff,” says I. (And before you all start having a go, I was a very young pup then and didn't always talk like I do now. Right?)

“What stuff is that, ********?” (I absolutely refuse to make public my mum's pet name for me when I was a pup.)

“Mother dearest, it would appear you are tethered to a chain and are totally incapable of venturing more than a few yards,” chipped in sister Poppy. (Oh, all right, she was always a bit further advanced than me.)

Mum gave her one of those grins she does and says, “No problem, sweetie.”

In an instant, she was off the chain and off up the track before you could say Jack Russell.

“How she done that?” I looked at Poppy, wide-eyed and four-legged.

“No idea, sweetpea, but she done it nonetheless and I suggest we leg it after her toute suite.”

Toute suite? Toute bloody suite??? Smart and pretentious. What a bloody combination.

It turns out later that Mum had done the Houdini trick loads of times, but more of that later.

IT'S SUPPER TIME AGAIN!!!!