Mollie and Her Ridiculous Life

Habits - The Walk Ritual

2013-03-31T18:54:00.002-07:00

Again, it's been a little while, so apologies to anyone who's been awaiting the next post. *exhales* Life, ya know?

It's EXHAUSTING, I tell ya!

Anyhoo, I wanted to make a little post about something that Mollie does that really tickles me. It's to do with her pre walk rituals, and her little quirks that have now become commonplace when she realises that a walk is on the cards.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

Now, my dad is retired, and so he walks them twice a day, everyday, without fail. It takes a pretty urgent matter, or a pretty severe storm to stop him, and I think he enjoys it as much as the dogs. He's certainly gotten a lot fitter through it, and of course, he likes to have a little fun and wind the dogs up. When Bingo knows it's time for a W-A-L-K (don't say too loud!), he'll walk quickly in circles (we call them his pirouettes), but that's about it. It's pretty cute.
But Mollie's a smart cookie. She's worked out approximately what time my dad takes her for a walk. Around this time, she'll look up at him with big eyes, and he'll laugh and say 'wait, not yet...'

My dad, or "The Food Man" as he's known to the dogs.

When the time finally arrives, he'll get down to her level, whisper "Mollie... What shall we do?". He used to have to finish the sentence, but there's no need anymore. She leaps into action and runs to the conservatory, scrabbling madly at the door on her hind legs. Then she leaps up on to the chair nearest the door and stand on the arm of it, standing like a pointer with one paw up. It's the most hysterical thing you've ever seen. We then open up the door, and are treated to the sight of Mollie enthusiastically donutting round the garden. There are probably little paw mark crop circles in my garden by now.

Once we get her on the lead, she rushes up to the side gate and proceeds to POUND it with her front paw in impatience! If ever the phrase 'chomping at the bit' was accurate, it really would be here. That little scruffball isn't waiting for anything.

I wish, I wish, I had a video of this to show you, but unfortunately, that's something I'll have to get when I return back to the UK in the summer. For now, I have a little video of Mollie being silly when I told her we were going for a walk. Not quite as entertaining, but hey!

Til next time, fellow troll-dog owners! I'm planning another puppy-antics post, so prepare for the little hairy whirlwind that is Puppy Mollie!

In the meantime, I'd love to hear if your dogs have any crazy, silly things they do when they hear the magic word! :)

Video Evidence of Trolling

2013-03-10T16:34:00.000-07:00

A quick post for those hungry for more trolling!

So, if you've read my post a waaaaays back about one of the most basic ways Mollie likes to troll (see: Mollie and the Newspaper Game), then you'll know all about her habits of stealing something she knows you have an attachment to, flaunting it in front of your face, and then running away and/or shaking it about and growling, all the while making sure that she remains close enough to ensure that you're in range to witness this spectacle.

Well, rely on your imagination no longer, because here is the video of Mollie playing the Newspaper Game with me. Watch out for her bashing into Bingo, before we both watch her run figures of eight in exasperation.

(Spoiler: I lose.)

Enjoy!

Rabbit Hunting - Close, But No Cigar

2013-02-25T12:55:00.000-08:00

Oops, so it's been a little while since I last posted! Apologies, you'll just have to believe me when I say it's because life gets in the way a little bit!

But! This blog is about Troll Springer Spaniels, not me, so let's not dwell on whether or not it's the increasing abundance of late-shifts at work which are eating up all my time or not - on with the blog!

Pictured: Impatience.

Anyhoo, so the last post was all about Mollie and her love of rabbit hunting, and how the fact that she is mostly terrible at it does nothing to dissaude her from doing it, much to my dad's chagrain. It's the hunter in her, unfortunately, and while it's still good that she hears and answers the call of the wild, doing it by rolling in fox poo and hunting half-dead rabbits isn't the way we want her to connect with her inner-wolf.

Bingo, however, is more of a bear. A Canadian one at that. COMPARE!

I can think of many times Mollie has driven my dad to exasperation with her hunting antics; she will usually act in the way described in the last post: carry her trophy proudly home and stay out of arm's reach from my dad. Usually works a dream.

That is until my dad attempts to outsmart her.

I remember being home one day, when I had no lectures or anything to do, when my dad asked if I wanted to walk the dogs with him. I declined, maybe because I actually had things to do, or maybe because I just wanted to put my feet up, we'll never know. I usually like accompanying him so maybe I WAS actually in the middle of something.Whatever.

So, it was about 45 minutes later, and my phone starts ringing. I get the usual 'OHMYGOD, WHO'S BOTHERING ME' heart-attack-style feeling, but lo and behold, it's my dad calling me. I pick up, because it really could be anything.

"Yeah, Mollie's talking about blowing up the skeleton sword again. You'd better come help."

"Hey, could you come out to the alley near the park?" He asks.
"Yeah, sure. Everything okay?"
"Could you come from the other side though? Mollie caught another bloody manky looking rabbit and I have to get it off her. She keeps running back when I try to grab it."
"Yeah sure, dad. I'll be right there."
So I put my shoes on and head around the other way to the alley that leads to the park. It takes an extra minute but when I arrive the scene is laid out before me. My dad and Bingo are at the other end, and Mollie is quite near me, with decomposing rabbit in mouth. As soon as she sees me, she is immediately conflicted in her feelings. Her tail wags madly, ecstatic to see a family member OUTDOORS! But she won't go as far as coming up to greet me - she isn't that stupid.
"It's a nasty one," He calls to me. "It was already dead,"
An already dead rabbit is like free beer at the student bar to Mollie. It's all the rewards for none of the effort, and she's very much into reaping the spoils with minimal work.
"Alright," I say, "Let's just come at her from both sides and just step on it and pull her away,"
So we approach her. I realise this could get messy. Mollie realises her prize is at stake, so grips her teeth tighter around the carcass. We get near enough, I grab her collar and my dad steps on the mangled rabbit.

Just imagine a rabbit in her maw, and the picture is accurate.

A struggle ensues, but we eventually tear it away from her. It is disgusting, and I'm sorry for the next image, but the rabbit sort of... comes apart. There in the alley. Over my dad's shoe.
"Ergh!!"
We get an unhappy, defeated Mollie back on the leash, my dad shakes off his shoe and we turn to go back home.
"Don't worry," He says, as I stare back at the mess. "The foxes will have that."

But even the foxes didn't want it. It took almost a WEEK for something to be starving enough to carry it off.

My dog is disgusting.

But I love her.

Not pictured: disgusting, rotting rabbit corpse hanging from her chops.

Til next time! :)

Rabbit Hunting - The Introduction!

2013-01-21T15:26:00.000-08:00

WELL. What a holiday season, right? I hope your christmasses were as good as ours over here at Mollieblog HQ, and that your new year is getting off to a good start! Apologies for the much-too-long gap between this and the last post; it just will not do.
On Christmas, my family back in the UK managed to figure out this newfangled thing called Skype, and I managed to say hello to both Mollie and Bingo, who are both well and happy, at the time they were VERY happy as they had just been given a glorious dinner of leftover Christmas meal scraps. Not quite as good as rabbit in Mollie's opinion, but pretty darn close.


The opinion of a dog who enjoys the odd rotten apple or ten.

ANYWAY, let's get on with the show, shall we? Speaking of rabbits, I can't believe the blog has already gone this long without a single tale about Mollie's rabbit hunting adventures. I know I've referenced it from time to time, but trust me, I could probably write a whole separate blog solely about her rabbit-hunting misadventures.

Chilling out, dreaming about the next rabbit...

So, as you may have read, Mollie is a troll, BUT! She's actually brilliant when it comes to walking her. This all seems familiar as I type this, so forgive me if you're reading stuff I've told you in previous posts, but a little recap won't hurt.
Despite her trollish nature, Mollie would have made a brilliant gundog. I'm sure if we had started early with a rigorous training programme, this blog would not be about Mollie the Troll Dog, but instead about Mollie the Brilliant Flushing, Springing, Retrieving, Swiss-Army-Knife of a Gun Dog, and that's a completely different audience. I suppose either side can have an appreciation for the other, actually, but whatever. The point is, we still see her potential. She always stays close, never wanders out of sight, is always super-aware of her surroundings, and responds immediately, even going so far as to respond to directional commands. Seriously. She's like Mollie 2.0 from House Mollie, whose only mission in life is to make sure you get into situations which she finds amusing (see: every other blog post). I have often posted lamenting about Bingo's inability to be let off the lead for several reasons (well, actually, just one very big reason), but for all his faults, I've rarely arrived home to find my dad grumbling about his behaviour outside. Except for the times he knocks my dad over, which is hilarious, and don't worry, will have a blog post all to themselves.


Bingo - Canine Bulldozer

So I'm sure all you've got so far is that outside, Mollie = superdog x infinity no returns. Well, I'm sure if you've read the fox poo posts, you'll know that isn't true. Piles of fox poo are such a strong magnet for her, that NOTHING will stop her from ending up horizontal in that. It's a sure thing. Much like taxes and death, you can also be positive that Mollie will roll in that rancid pile of fox excrement. That's one of her little downsides. The other one is that Mollie fancies herself a bit of a hunter.

Something she's worked on since puppyhood.

Now don't get me wrong, Mollie isn't THAT good of a hunter. This isn't a REALLY regular thing, just occasional. It's pretty funny when you see her chase rabbits - they're usually streaking ahead with no problem. Mollie's swift and quick, and it's great to see her really move, but it takes a really thick rabbit to get caught in her clutches.

One with an IQ simiar to a newspaper.

But - every now and again, she manages it, and it's pretty funny how she behaves when she catches one. My dad is usually the one at the brunt of this, poor guy, but he's used to it by now.

After catching a rabbit, Mollie's not stupid. She stays WELL away from my dad, and runs around with the thing flopping out of her mouth like a rag doll, tail held aloft like a medieval flag in battle. This pose victoriously says: "I HAVE CONQUERED THE RABBIT" and is usually carried at a gallop. She won't come near my dad, and he knows just to exit the field, at which point Mollie knows it's time to go home, and will race ahead in front, rabbit still in jaws. She knows the way home, and fortunately, as we live in a quiet, suburban area, there isn't traffic or anything dangerous, so my dad tolerates her walking just out of his reach in front, still proudly toting the rabbit as a trophy, much to his sheer embarrassment if he comes across a fellow dogwalker or neighbour. But Mollie and other dogs don't see it that way - to them, she's master hunter of the great outdoors - just like a floppy-eared wolf! Bingo is of course, disinterested and would be rolling his eyes if he could do that.
This act usually ends up with arriving home, Mollie staying away from the inside of the house, still running proudly with her kill, eating some of the carcass (gross, I know), and my dad defiantly not giving her any dinner depending on how much of the rabbit she eats and generally being grumpy at her actions for the rest of the evening. It's a for-sure pattern.

Sometimes, trolling is worth the consequences. Sometimes it is not.

Instead of making this an extra long post, I'll leave this one here. The next post will be about one of the times my dad tried to fight back against Mollie's tyranny against the rabbits.

You simply MUST join us!

Mainly to see more of this particular picture.

Til then, keep trolling!

Mollie Holiday Special

2012-12-23T20:31:00.000-08:00

Again, sorry for the lack of posts for those of you who might've noticed the gap. Like the rest of the world, Christmas has got me running round like a headless chicken. Or turkey, I suppose. Anyhoo, I thought I would throw in a little Mollie tale to fit in with the festive season. Because Mollie can get festive too.

This picture may have been edited.

Our dogs, like all others (maybe not those border collies), don't know what christmas is about. But they know that any time with amazing food being brought into the open is indeed a good time, and that they will do anything they can to profit from this. The truth is, they don't actually need to. My dad always prepares a little dog-appropriate Christmas meal for them, which includes turkey scraps (as they usually get a bird so big it looks related to a dinosaur), gravy, and anything else that is sure to make an amazing meal for anyone, let alone my two mutts. Another little tradition around this time of year is the dog-walk in the middle of the day. Mind you, this is a tradition that happens every day really, but for some reason it's *extra* special, because it's Christmas. The dogs don't care either way, I'm sure.

"We didn't hear anything beyond 'walk'"

We also try and get them a little something each. You know, standard stuff. A new toy, a massive marrowbone for them to chew on, whatever. However, sometimes Mollie doesn't think that's enough. So here's a short one for you to chew on as you enjoy your festive treats this year.

One day, a few years ago when Mollie was a wee little puppy (not her most well-behaved time, as you may have noticed) in that awkward gangly 'MY LIMBS ARE GROWING!' stage of puppyhood, she was growing into her cheekiness. The little bugger. You only have to read the 'Wee' story to know that no-one was safe in her realm of terror. So, let's set the scene. A friend of mine at the time had constructed me a rather beautiful Christmas card. I'm sure you can already tell where this is going. Now, I'm not a big one for cards. I hate sending them, and not overly keen on getting them (more rubbish), but this particular one was beautiful. My friend had hand-crafted it and filled it with pictures of my favourite musical artists, and quotes, and all kinds of whimsical stuff like that. I wish I had a picture to show you, because it really was something else, and must've taken a while to make.

So, here's a picture of Mollie looking innocent. She is not innocent.

It was a few days leading to Christmas, and at this point she wasn't allowed in the living room without constant supervision, mainly because she had developed a fondness for chewing on the walls. Well, we all did at some point, I guess. So, I was faffing about doing something nearby, and must've forgotten to close the door. Mollie realised this, and was in like a shot, not wasting any time. Clocking this, I followed her, calling her in that same 'ughh, puppy,' disgruntled voice we all use. She immediately ran to the card display, and I swear to you, she paused, looking at each one, SELECTING which one was the most valuable to me. She stopped above the one my friend made.
'Argh!' I remember shouting, as she plucked it from its place and ran off with it. Now, if you've read the Newspaper Game post, you know how this goes. She realises she has something of yours, you get mad and sprint after her like an enraged yeti, she slips easily away from your clutches and laughs at you. It's a fairly standard routine.

This picture pretty much embodies everything that Mollie is.

Needless to say, the card didn't look too good when she was done with it. But it wasn't even that - it was how she STUDIED each card and picked THAT one out of the whole bunch. And trust me, we had a LOT of cards!

THAT DOG!

"Surely you don't mean moi?"

Anyhoo, this is obviously the last post before Christmas. If you celebrate the holidays, we here at MollieBlog headquarters wish you safe, fun times that have all the boundless joy of a young, reckless springer spaniel puppy.

Asked my mum to send whimsical xmas picture of dogs. She tried her best, bless her.

Another Bingo Post - Going Feral

2012-12-04T18:27:00.000-08:00

It's time for another post on my dear beloved boy Springer, Bingo.


Finally, Mollie gets to chill for a post. And generally, whenever she wants to.

I've talked before on this blog about what a lovely dog Bingo is. He's really a big teddy bear, full of love and affection, always coming to you when he hears his name, and being, basically, the polar opposite of Mollie.

Springers of the corn.

That is, of course, until you take him outside. This post is all about Bingo being a troll in the great outdoors.

Let me give you a little backstory on Bingo, for those of you that don't know. Bingo is a rescue dog, probably about 5-6 years old. He was found on the streets of Dublin, roaming as a stray dog and was promptly caught and put in the nearest dog pound, which, unfortunately, was one where they euthanize dogs they can't home. Before they do this, however, the pound calls around any other dog rescue centre where they can offload the stray mutts, sparing them from unnecessary death. Luckily for Bingo, a place in Lincoln (midlands of England) had a spot with his name on it, and he was transported there. Phew.

Pretty sure that was when he worked on this face.

They took a few pictures of him and slapped them on the website, where it came to the attention of my parents, who were very VERY tentatively thinking of getting another dog, now that Mollie had turned one and they had gotten to grips (well, sort of) with her shenanigans. They emailed me a picture, told me they were going to visit the centre on the weekend, and what did I think? I said 'sure, just feel it out and see what he's like', and on Sunday, to my utter surprise, we had a new dog. He was underweight, fur yellow instead of white, and wouldn't look any of us in the eye or come inside the house. He would gobble food SO fast that it would sometimes reappear a few seconds later. He didn't know any commands. Needless to say, after three years of living with us, he has come a very, very long way and is an integral part of our family. Aww.

Okay, so warm fuzzies all round. That's a tried and true Hollywood storyline right there: scruffy, tough character from hard background finds a family and grows a heart. Bingo probably takes a good headshot too.

Also able to recite any Shakespearian sonnet from memory.

But for how lovely a dog Bingo is on the inside of the house, he is a completely different dog when we take him outside. In a way, I feel like he and Mollie are behaviorial opposites: he is an angel inside the house, terrible when we take him out. Mollie is a little troll indoors, but is actually a pretty good and attentive dog when we take her outside. They are like a floppy eared yin-yang.

Sometimes literally.

Anyway, the real issue is that when outside, he turns back into stray mode. He will venture worryingly far from you, not acknowledge any call of his name at all, and the times we have tried to train him off-lead, the times he returns to us feel far too on his terms than on ours. On a field where a 70mph dual carriageway is just a wire fence away, this isn't something we want to risk, so we keep him on the lead, which is a shame, because it's lovely to see him run and barrel across fields like the furry tank that he is. We'll find a way though.

SO! Onwards. This story deals with just before I left for Canada, and I was trying to get the most out of the things I knew I would miss, one of which, of course, were my beloved dogs. So, I asked my dad if we could take them out to my favourite local forest for a bit of a change-up to the field we usually take them to. He agreed (which was good, as I had cancelled my car insurance so had no way of getting there). We set the towels down in the back of my parents' car (the beloved ford focus!), loaded the dogs in, and went on our merry way.

Ughh. Where are the dentastix?

We arrived. The dogs are excited, looking around. I, rather stupidly, open my front door widely. Mollie's fine with this. Bingo spots an opportunity and quicker than I can turn around, he is out of the door and running towards the forest. If we had been in a comic book, there would've been giant exclamation marks above mine and my dad's heads. He's shouting Bingo's name. Nothing. Still hurtling like a floppy-eared comet towards the trees.

Ughhh. It's down to me.

Conehead or not, he's my buddy.

My days as a 15 year old sprinter running in school athletics flash before my eyes, along with the rest of my life, as I bottle after him as fast as I can. Bingo is like a bear. He's built very solidly, but can run surprisingly fast for his size. And he was proving it at this moment. I'm quite a way behind, flailing wildly as my dad, Mollie, and probably some other bewildered hikers looked on. I am running out of puff when I spot that he's distracted suddenly by some probably smelly foliage. Now's my chance. I use what little energy I have left, sprint, and lunge. I grab his collar and try to get breath back into me while the spots in my vision subside. Bingo is very happy to see me, tongue lolling, wondering why I'm so out of puff.

We DID end up having a very nice walk. Bingo, shockingly enough, remained on the leash for the rest of our time outside.

What would've happened if he had kept running, we don't know, and hopefully won't have to find out. That dog is nothing sort of a treasure when there are four walls around him, but take him outside, and not only is he a troll, he's a troll that forces me to EXERCISE.

Even Mollie isn't that evil.

But then, he probably is justified in his trolling.

Til next time! :)

The Perils of Pork Chops

2012-11-19T15:48:00.001-08:00

So. Everyone's pretty familiar with the fact that dogs beg for food. Unless you have super magical well-trained pooches, chances are that yours will give you the big eyes whenever you're tucking into anything from a cheese sandwich to a slab of meatloaf. If you're eating, they want in. To be honest, Mollie isn't TOO bad with this kind of thing. Bingo is much worse, sitting right beside you, big, sad eyes in full effect, and even the drooling to top it all off.

He probably didn't even realise I was giving him a ponytail. He only has eyes for my dinner in this moment.

It's a routine we're all used to in my household. Sometimes Mollie will want in, it really depends on what you're eating. But you can bet that both are going to be giving the Sunday roast FULL attention. This post is all about that.

My parents sent over a load of pictures recently. Most of them were the dogs begging.

So, when the weather is colder, my parents prove themselves to be very British indeed and cook up a roast dinner every Sunday. It's amazing. Being out in Canada at this moment, and with minimal cooking skills myself (a boiled egg is considered a culinary triumph), it's something that I miss. You've got the constants: the roast potatoes, the vegetables. Then the meat of choice, which varies from chicken to pork to beef. We seldom have turkey. I don't know why, I guess because it's such a *christmas* thing. But then you have the meat accompanist, which if it's chicken, you get stuffing. With pork, it's crackling. With beef it's yorkshire puds. Of course, no one can forget the gravy. Bish bash bosh, there's the highlight of a dreary Sunday. I really need to stop describing food now, because maaaan, it's making me hungry.

"No really, tell us more."

Anyhow, so awesome roast is awesome. The dogs are well aware of this and position themselves accordingly next to whoever they think has a malleable spine and is more likely to give into the 'give me food, for I am a poor starving pooch' routine. To be fair, it's usually me. But sometimes, when she's not busy, my nan, bless her, will come over and enjoy the day with us. My parents are probably missing me right now because I'm usually the one to take her home at the end of the day so they can enjoy a few glasses of wine.

SO. Onwards with the Mollie tale. So, when she's in the mood for begging, she will sit patiently. For about five minutes. After that, she'll occasionally let out a small, high pitched half-bark (see: the fox post part one for a barking guide). This is quite a non-threatening sound that is designed to remind you that Mollie is in fact, right there beside you and wanting in on your food. If this does not work, a short growl is uttered in order to gently urge you to give over some food as Mollie is growing impatient. I should remark that it doesn't go any further than this, as she knows not to push her luck too much. But she may bark a little more at you. I should also mention that during all of this, Bingo is silent.

Now she's a little older she knows how to work the puppy-eyes. A lesson that we can all learn from.

It's especially funny to watch my mum get annoyed at this and tell her to be quiet, which is usually not effective. But the usual course of things is that they do get a couple of merciful table scraps, which although doesn't do anything to curb her bad table behaviour, it's something we don't mind doing.

But this is nothing compared to what happened one day when my nan came over and Mollie was still in full fledged puppy mode. Though she was still growing, at a year old she was big enough to know the ropes of the household routines, and manipulate them to her will. Picture the scene: the family goes to sit with a steaming hot plate of pork chops and other yummy things. You want in, right? So did Mollie, and begging wasn't on her to-do list that day.

Sometimes, she really does have more important things to do.

She sat, patiently beside my nan as we sat and ate, talking about various current events and whatever else families talk about on a sunday. Mollie still sat, waiting, watching, thinking. In the throes of conversation, about halfway through the meal, she spotted her opportunity and did she ever take it. She reared up on both hind legs, stretched out her neck and effortlessly swiped the half-eaten pork chop straight off of my nan's plate. My nan half shrieked, half laughed, because really, what else is there to do? My dad stood up and chased her as she gleefully sped off with her winnings. I don't know what he expected to achieve with this course of action, whether he was going to wrestle it from her and plop it back down on her plate with an accomplished look on his face remains a question for the ages, I really just think he was acting from instinct until she bolted out into the garden, running laps and shaking the poor, mangled chop from side to side in her mouth while we watched in disbelief at the amount of cheek this little puppy had.

This isexacty what a victory lap looks like. The item in her mouth is interchangeable.

Fortunately, there is a happy ending for my nan, as we did have a spare pork chop in the oven. But I will never forget the way she reared up and stole that hunk of meat. Though, to be fair, she has never done anything as cheeky as that since. At least with food. I suppose that one day she felt that the class-divide between dogs and humans had gone far enough, and by gum, she was going to show us. I guess she did. We definitely keep one eye on the food, and one eye on the cheeky springer sitting by our side now.

Even the barbecues aren't safe.

A Quick Note

2012-11-02T12:56:00.000-07:00

Hey there!

Thanks to everyone who visited from the Pets United Blog, it was lovely to be featured there as a new blogger, and I hope everyone who clicked enjoyed my stories! If you did then awesome, I have many, many more!

I also wanted to make a brief post to feature this wonderful picture by a Twitter buddy of Mollie's, @behindtheear, who did this amazing picture of Mollie as Voldemort. Gotta say, sometimes she really does feel like the dark lord when she's up to no good! If you want to follow Mollie on Twitter, she is the aptly named @Mollietrolldog. She may be a troll, but she will follow you back!

See you soon with more ridiculous stories!

Wee

2012-10-28T17:53:00.000-07:00

First things first. Mollie considers herself far too sophisticated to troll any of us on a regular basis with any kind of bodily function. I have never heard so much of a squeak of a dogfart from her, she's never belched within earshot, and has never had any problem as far as housetraining is concerned. She could even be classified as a Good Dog in those terms, rather shockingly. But then she would. She is a classy lady after all.

Class.

This particular brand of trolling is from when she was a puppy, and is all about wee.

Now, generally, weeing is a form of submission with dogs, especially with younger ones. Believe it or not, there was actually a time when Mollie would have a moment when she could be considered submissive. That was a long, long time ago, I hasten to add.

Mollie was a hurricane of fur, needle teeth and high-pitched puppy barks from when she was a wee little thing up to adolescence. She was ALWAYS running everywhere, destroying things, and generally training herself to be the best troll dog she could be. Now she's refined her techniques into adulthood, and continues to run rings around me with her cheekiness and love of fox poo, but fortunately, this is something that has been left to her puppyhood, along with chewing on the walls and nipping my feet.

Well, for the most part anyway.

Maybe you dog owners had the same issue if you had a puppy, but whenever something that Mollie considered exciting/amazing/awesome, which could have been anything from someone coming home to you making eye contact with her, she would get this look on her face that basically translated into AHHHI'MSOEXCITEDI'MAPUPPYWHEEE - The tail would start moving so fast I was pretty sure she would be airborne soon, that glint in her eye would return, and of course, she would pretty much evacuate the contents of her bladder to whichever spot of carpet was unfortunate enough to be directly underneath her. There were countless times that my mum would arrive home from work, and IMMEDIATELY, there would be specks and streaks of wee on the carpet, much to my parents chagrin. Out came the carpet cleaner, bish bash bosh, just a minor bit of annoyance. We had already asked Professor Google about this, and read that this was something common to younger female dogs, and that she'd probably grow out of it, so we weren't really worried. To be honest, when something EXTREMELY exciting happens around the house, she might revert back to Puppy!Mollie a little, but to be honest, if something happened like a truck full of bacon arrived outside my house, I would probably pee my pants too, so we don't come down too hard on her for that.

So, one day, when I was in my last year of secondary school, I had half the day off, so I was just ~~lazing around and doing nothing~~ studying hard for classes, keeping an eye on young Mollie as she was whirling around, and basically just being a ~~complete shit~~ normal puppy. The doorbell goes. Mollie, in the garden, stops digging up whatever plant it is that she's destroying and makes a B-line for the back door. Nope! I know exactly how this will go, a hyperactive wriggling mass of slobber and urine. NOPE. Back door is shut before she has a chance to. Problem solved.

To the obstacle that is walls: SOON.

So, I answer the door. It's Tom, my nice neighbour who I sometimes jam with. He's a postman who works in our neighbourhood, and he just thought he'd pop by and say hello. Hello Tom! Of course, he asks about my new puppy. Uh. Sure, come round the back.

"Come and pet my adorable puppy!"

It can't be that bad if she's in the garden, I think to myself. She can pee to high heaven, it's outside. No worries!

So Tom follows me through our little gate where Mollie is already waiting. Seeing that she's meeting someone NEW and FUN and AMAZING and MYNEWBESTFRIENDEVER, she immediately takes off and starts running donuts around the garden to convey her approval. Alright. Then he calls her, and she careens straight for him, and the puppy-fuss begins. She's loving it, he's loving it, I'm standing out of the splash zone.

And then it happened.

She rolls on her back, and a spray of urine goes directly into his face as she rolls around excitedly. He looks up at me and wipes the droplets off his glasses, bemused.

I'm horrified. 'I'm SO sorry,' I say.

He's fine about it, but leaves pretty soon after that. I was mortified and appalled at my disgusting but social little springer.

Funnily enough, as a last note to this story, that particular neighbour ended up being a complete jackass to his partner, who is one of my close friends. When I found out about this, I immediately gave Mollie a treat and shared this story with his now ex-partner, who laughed and told me that the story "made her night".

So, though she's a troll, she is a very good judge of character!

Bearing in mind she has tried to smother me on occasion.

Foxes Part 2 - The FOX POO Chronicles

2012-10-14T18:30:00.000-07:00

FOX POO.

As a dog owner, few things have been quite as big a pain in the arse as this stuff. Seriously. I mean, poo in itself generally isn't fun, but fox poo is something else altogether. Especially when Mollie attaches herself to it.

So, we take Mollie and Bingo to the field at the end of our street for walks. It's brilliant; massive open space, lots of interesting things like trees and bushes, it's not far, there are always other dogs for them to play with. So you see, it's a pretty awesome place. Apart from the dual carriageway on the other side of it, but the dogs don't show interest in that.

So, cool, right?

No, not cool, because, as you may have read from the Foxes Part One entry, we have foxes in our area. But that in itself isn't the problem; they're not stupid enough to be wandering around during the day in a place where a lot of dogs go. The problem is their poop.

Now see, Bingo is great when it comes to certain things outdoors. He doesn't show the faintest interest in dead rabbits, or fox poo, which is a giant relief, especially to my dad, who has had to wrestle many a dead, rotting rabbit out of Mollie's jaws. When there's a pile of fresh fox poo on the ground, Bingo will just saunter on by as though it's a clown passing out lollipops - no sir, I don't want any of that!

"Now get offa my lawn!"

Mollie, however, feels differently on the matter.

It's a dead certainty when she finds some. She usually runs around like a tongue-lolling maniac at the best of times while walking, but when there's fox poo... it's like free drinks at a student bar. She makes a B-line straight for it, and flops right in the middle of it and writhes about in ecstacy. My dad always has the same reaction.
'Oh god, NO! She's got in it again!'
And then the coaxing begins. We try and call her away from it, but nothing could possibly pull her away from it.

She looks at dead rabbits and fox poo in exactly the same way.

I mean, what? The stuff is like catnip to her! And considering how vicious she gets when she sees a fox, the fact that she absolutely adores rolling in their poo is just mind baffling. I mean, she wears the stuff. She'll come back with brown patches all over her once white fur, and the only thing you can do, once you've gotten over, or at least used to the smell, is shake your head at her happy, contented face. She has just had the fox-poo spa treatment, and is feeling fresh as a daisy.

"I'M FULL OF FOX POO AND WANT TO HUG YOU!"

The usual protocol for this was just to leave her outside for a few hours until she had cleaned herself, which she's usually pretty good with. But lately, it's been overkill. And we've taken a stand. The first time it got so bad that it actually made our eyes water.
'No, I'm not tolerating this anymore,' My dad said.
'What are you going to do?' I said. 'We can't stop her rolling in fox poo.'
'No,' He said with a hint of evil glee in his voice. 'We're going to give her a BATH.'

I swear, there was almost a cackle after he said it.

So, I grab the doggy shampoo, a handful of treats and call Mollie upstairs, which is fine, she comes upstairs on the landing. My mum has the bath running, it's nice and warm, but not too warm. I call Mollie in. She freezes. I try and coax her with a treat. No go. She can read the runes like a pro. Bingo, however, is ready, willing and able, and up for doing whatever it takes to get a treat. But of course, he's not the one who's been rolling in fox poo. Of course. Mollie turns around and scarpers, and it takes 15 minutes of me pretty much laying a breadcrumb trail of treats back up to the bathroom to get her back up to the landing, let alone the bathroom. My mum chimes in, and grabs a few treats herself, and eventually she gingerly creeps in. I shut the door and quicker than she can react, lift her into the tub.

"The nightmares. THEY CAME TRUE!"

Now, as you can see from the picture above, when Mollie realises she's in a bit of a check-mate situation, she gets the 'hung-dog' look. One that says 'Okay, you got me, I accept defeat. FOR NOW.' She'll look very sad and blue, but it's only because she knows that she's lost this round. But she'll stil be plotting...

"Soon."

Anyhoo, we gave her a wonderful bath, with suds and everything. We both scrubbed her with our gloved hands, while she gave us her best puppy-eyes, which, despite her best efforts, didn't work. But bless her for trying. To be honest, she actually seemed to enjoy being rubbed down, but as soon as we were done (or at least to Mollie's standards) drying her off with a grotty old towel, she leapt out of the tub, ran downstairs and rolled over as much as she could on our floormat by the door, giving the rest of us evil looks and thinking about her next move.

But hey, at least she didn't smell anymore!

Another picture, as this represents our only victory against Mollie. Short-lived though.

Frogs

2012-10-01T17:50:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure if frogs had vocal cords they would scare their children into behaving with tales about Mollie.
We have a great back garden for our dogs.

As demonstrated by our two lazy volunteers

It's spacious, it's full of interesting shrubs and plants, there are toys and balls and squeaky things that can keep even the most finicky dog entertained for hours. There's even a little kennel round the corner my parents bought for Bingo, even though he never really goes in there. It's a pretty good yard. Unfortunately, thanks to the dogs, it can sometimes look like a World War One trench thanks to the dogs absolutely tearing the grass up. My dad often talks about the red hot poker flowers that used to be the highlight of the more colourful plants in the garden, now long destroyed by the star of this blog. He would always moan about how dogs were supposed to be colourblind. Ah well, dogs chew up stuff, that's just part of the package of owning a dog really. No big deal.

All because Mollie dreams of a world without apples

We also used to have a TON of birds frequent the garden on a daily basis, much to my dad's (my dad is a nerd) delight. From bluetits to sparrowhawks, my back garden really was a cornucopia of all creatures great and small. Mainly small. That is, until we got dogs. Now there are very rarely any animals stupid enough to come within ten feet of the little tornado with teeth we all know as Mollie, but you do get a few contenders now and again who dare to brave it for a few crumbs or seeds, or whatever birds like.

These things come very naturally to most dogs, but especially so with Mollie. I sometimes think it's a great waste having her as a pet, because, for all her trolling, she would make an excellent hunting dog. It's what she was bred for. As you will no doubt read with my tales about the various rabbits she's caught over the years, Mollie is very good at hunting. Bingo, not so much. He's like the charging bull; the heavy duty cavalry. If he were a character in MarioKart, he'd be Bowser or Donkey Kong. So he's not agile enough to catch rabbits, nor would he really know what to do with one if he did. Which is good! Let's keep it that way! But no, Mollie will indeed go after anything that moves and isn't bigger than her.

But Bingo will hunt blue rubber balls within an inch of their life. As long as you throw them.

So one night I was having a lazy evening in, with a few beers and a movie, you know the drill. My mum was flobbing about as mothers often do, just making sure that her dinner was on (she eats later than everyone else) and that things were in order for the night. Once she was satisfied everything was in order, she sat down with me for a while to watch the movie, and after a little while went out to the garden to have a smoke (boo hiss, mum, but whatever). Whenever she does this, my dad winds the dogs up by saying directly to Mollie: "WHERE'S YOUR MUMMY?" to which she immediately scrambles from wherever she is towards the back door. It is always guaranteed to work.
After around fifteen minutes, my mum returns and peers round the door at me.
"I think Mollie has something."
"Huh?"
"Mollie has something in her mouth, can you check?"
"Like a stone or something?"
"No, like a thing. Go check it, will you?"

Sometimes I'll grumble, but I didn't at this because my mother is often at the brunt of Mollie's trolling. I went out in the garden and the security motion light comes on. See, she's a weird creature at night. My dad says she turns 'feral' because she is constantly running from shrub to bush, chasing moths and other insects of the night. She's not as receptive to people, and it gets really hard to bring her back in when she's really got a good forage on. But instead of this, I see her near our apple tree. As soon as she clocks me, Mollie stops dead in her tracks and sure enough, there is something quite large dangling from her jaws. Ugh. What fresh hell is this, I think. I approach her with a few steps, and see that the thing hanging in her mouth is in fact, a frog.

Like this, but at night and with a frog instead of a newspaper.

Ugh. My dog.
This poor foolish frog has been unfortunate enough to be in a garden at the same time as the most obnoxious springer spaniel ever. Not a good day for the frog. Obviously, I don't want her to kill it, and it's not her fault if she does; it's just one of those things. But it would give me a tiny hero ego if I did save it, so I approach her with a few tentative steps, and just like she did with the newspaper, she immediately runs off, shaking her head and absolutely thrilled that I give enough of a damn about this poor creature to enter into her one-sided game. I think. Chasing her won't work, and will just hurt the frog more. She's shaking her head and the frog is bouncing like a slimy ragdoll at this point. I'll have to distract her. I run inside and grab a dog treat. No dice, she still won't come near enough. But then! My mother appears at the back door with the cavalry - Bingo. She's wielding a few pieces of cheese in her hand, and Bingo is out just in front of her, sitting to attention with the cheese firmly in mind.

"Mollie!" She calls. I join her. We sound like high-pitched idiots. Now, Mollie has a little phrase she responds to well, and I only bust it out when I really need it, as I don't want to lessen the effect of it. This way, she knows it's a legit offer, and not a bogus one. We've got Bingo, we have cheese, and we have numbers. It's time for the magic words.

"Mollie - WHAT HAVE I GOT!"

Immediately, Mollie looks up, sees Bingo begging and knows there's food afoot. GOOD food. Miraculously, she drops the frog and bounds over to the source of the goods. I descend in and Operation: Save Amphibean is a-go. Fortunately, it wasn't dead, just a bit stunned. I let it through a gap in the fence to next door's yard, where hopefully it won't be foolish enough to return.

Fortunately, sometimes the old tricks DO work on Mollie. Still, this is really just another night with Mollie as your dog.

Awwww, lookat the cute frog-hunter... !!

Wordless Wednesday

2012-09-26T15:52:00.002-07:00

A picture of Her Hairy Majesty lolloping about.

Mollie and the Foxes - Part One

2012-09-26T15:38:00.001-07:00

Apologies for being a tad quiet over the last few days, I've had a crazy few days at work that ended pretty late, so I've been coming home and collapsing into bed. But enough about that, I shall end the silence with a tale about barking at foxes.

A pose that leads my dad to lovingly call her "The Imperious One".

Mollie is a pretty vocal dog when she wants to be. I'm sure, if you're a dog owner, you know the different types of barks very well. Both of my dogs bark in very different ways though; there's Bingo, who didn't bark at all until we had him for a year. Up til then, he'd just been making weird monkey sounds in the back garden when he saw birds, which is both bizarre and hysterical. I'll post a video of it sometime, you'll love it. He also barks when someone's at the door, which is a low "if you're a bad person, then GTFO." type of sound. For the gentle giant that he is, he has a pretty menacing bark, which I suppose is quite good in the event of a burglary or something.
But that is as far as Bingo's vocal repertoire goes, apart from his grunting and whining when he sees a creature outside that he'd really quite like to chase, but I won't go into detail about that. Mollie, on the other hand, has a far more varied barking sounding board. Here are a few of her choice vocalizings:

There's the "I want something and know that I have to ask YOU to get it for me" bark, which could be to get a particular toy that's too high for her to reach, or to let her outside. It's high pitched, very 'ladylike', as she knows she has to ask to receive. If it doesn't work, repeat. It's hysterical to hear my mother responding to Mollie when she does this ("Oh, do give it a rest!!").
The "Someone at the dooooooorrrrr!!" bark, which is deeper, more 'authorative', and just generally more 'I'M A BIG TOUGH DOG!'
The 'Half-Bark', where she's not 100% sure that what she's hearing is something that needs to be barked at, but she'll acknowledge it with a bark that sounds a bit winded, as though it's not all there.
And of course, the dreaded 'rolling bark,' where she spots something outside, like a hedgehog, or an old lady, and the threat must be eliminated with a bark that carries on through the ages. Kind of sounds like "RUHROHROHROHROHROHROHROHROHROH...etc, etc." Hideously loud, and menacing at first, now it's just a pain in the bum, as it's usually directed at people who have the sheer tenacity to walk past our house.

You see, Mollie has a special vantage point that she uses to keep an eye on whoever dares to cross the threshold of our house, sort of like a really annoying, over zealous security guard who would probably take your I.D. and inspect it for twenty minutes before begrudgingly letting you pass. She sits up on this window ledge that we have, which used to be a lovely feature of our house, and now serves as Watchtower of the Beast. My mother used to try her best to discourage this, but after the lure of the outside proved too inviting for Mollie to ignore, my defeated mother eventually just covered the scratched up wood with a home-made soft mat.

"You're so lucky that I'm here to protect the house."

Anyhoo, we used to let Mollie sleep downstairs in the living room, where the ledge is. We put Bingo in the utility area because of a one off toilet incident that my parents didn't want to risk a repeat of. But Mollie's always been fine in that respect, no trolling in the toilet department. Unless you count the whole 'weeing while excited' thing, but that's another story for another time. But I think she feels that toilet humour is beneath her, and so sticks to the more sophisticated stuff. So, back to the story, where we get back to Mollie sleeping. We set her bed up just before we go to bed, but sometimes she'll leave it and do a night shift up on the ledge. Sometimes she just watches from there until the wee hours of the morning, and I've even come downstairs to find her still there, sound asleep. This used to be fine. Until Mollie decided that she *hated* foxes.

"Did you just say fox?? I swear I heard you say that. You definitely did. WHERE IS IT?"

Now, I mean a serious hatred. I've never heard her bark more viciously than she does at a fox, and I seriously think that if a fox were to wander in our yard while she was in it, things would be bad. Thankfully, that's never happened, maybe because of territory marking or whatnot, but let me tell you, foxes are just as big trolls to Mollie as she is to me.

Not an easy feat.

Thursday is garbage collection day, which means Wednesday night is put-your-garbage-out time. In the US this can mean it's raccoon party time, but in the UK, our raccoons are sleek, ginger, and out to ransack your garbage. And troll my dog. The first time she spotted one in the wee hours while perched on her ledge, the whole house was treated to the raucous sound of what roughly translates from dog into 'YOU COME HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE YOU GINGER SUCH-AND-SUCH,' and various other expletives. I was latest to bed that night, so I ran downstairs to shush the dog and check what the heck she was roaring at, expecting maybe, you know, a burglar, or Satan himself judging from the amount of noise that was coming from my dog. She was clawing at the windows, which, quite rightly, infuriates my mother as she's torn the net curtains before. So I pulled her down and peered outside. There was the fox, just standing there, not bothered. There was almost a grin on his face. Mollie ran to the closed door, begging to be let out to chase the fox. Haha. No. Upstairs to the spare room she went for the night, until the next day came. We let her spend the next night down in the living room, where we expected no more foxes, as the garbage had been taken out. But no, our furry ginger friend had caught on to the thrill of seeing the lion at the zoo rage and roar from a safe distance, and I was seriously not amused to find that there were actually TWO foxes peering back at me when I went downstairs to shut my dog up a second time.

So, now she sleeps up in the spare room. She barks (the high pitched one) for about twenty minutes, but compared to the late night version, I'd take this anytime.

I suppose she just feels she's protecting the house, as opposed to doing this for any other reason, but good god. For a dog that loves rolling in their poo (hold tight for part two), she really REALLY hates foxes.

The Escapee Dog

2012-09-19T11:11:00.001-07:00

So, being away in Canada at the moment leaves me only able to post stories about Mollie as anecdotes, obviously, as she's back in the UK. But as I have quite a collection of stories about her, I'm not too worried about running out until I return and can continue to mayhem with my little whirlwind of a spaniel. However, in the meantime, my long-suffering parents are at the helm of her mischief, and she definitely does not let up on them any more than she does with me. My mother usually emails me with how things are doing back home now and again, and in her latest email she had this little gem of a story that I couldn't resist putting up.

"Both dogs are well but still drive us mad by barking at the window. Mollie has been digging holes under the fences and a few weeks ago escaped into Ron's garden unbeknown to us for about half an hour. When we realised she'd escaped Dad went into a mad panic because we could hear her barking far away from the garden. I decided to go to Rons and start searching there. I put my coat on, opened the front door and there she was - demanding to come in! She was very relieved to see me and hasn't done it since, although we have
barracaded the garden with all sorts of rubbish such as chip board, paving slabs, flower pots and mesh!! The garden looks a real tip!"

Ahh, now she's heading north, to Ron's garden, as opposed to west, like last time! At least I know she hasn't changed in my absence!


Always mugging it up for the camera.

A troll picture for you

2012-09-18T15:26:00.000-07:00

"Well, the wind changed direction one day..."

Mollie and the Newspaper Game

2012-09-18T15:00:00.000-07:00

So Mollie has a game that I lovingly call ‘steal the thing that Sarah wants and run around like an idiot until she’s puffed out from chasing me around to get it back’. It’s a highly entertaining game for her, and one that is highly effective.


"Come on. You know you want it. It has COUPONS."

It starts by selecting something that you’ve formed any sort of attachment to. A slipper, a newspaper, a phone, an ice sculpture of a swan. It doesn’t matter, but you can bet that the moment Mollie clocks it, she’ll already be scheming a way to get it out of your hands, and into her evil clutches.

"I was just playing last time. I'll let you have it this time FOR SURE."

Once she catches you off guard and grabs it, she will TAKE OFF. Fast enough to make you chase her like an infuriated yeti in tow, but not so fast that you have no chance at all and give up. But don’t even think about doing that, she’ll just come close enough so you chance a swipe to grab it back, and then you’ll be clawing at a Mollie-shaped dust cloud.

"I don't know what you mean by 'your newspaper'"

Curses. Outwitted by my dog again.

"We both want this newspaper. I have four legs, you have two."

Also, don't judge me for reading "The Star", they deliver it to my house!! It has coupons!!

Introducing Bingo

2012-09-14T19:53:00.000-07:00

So I feel it’s only fair to introduce to you all, amongst all the chaos that Mollie causes, my second springer spaniel. Bingo.

Can usually be found looking like a sad old man.

Bingo is a rescue dog, and we got him from a dog rescue in Lincoln (Midwest England), after he had been found on the streets of Dublin, running around and foraging for food. Though when we first got him home, he wouldn’t really respond to us, would wolf down his food at a crazily speedy rate, and just generally be very on-edge, it didn’t take him very long at all to settle in and learn that our home was not a place he would have to defend his stake in his share of the food.
I cannot speak highly enough of his temperament; unlike Mollie, who probably, as a dog we bought as a puppy from a breeder, feels a bit entitled. It’s almost as though Bingo has a sort of gratitude, without anthropomorphising ($10 word there) too much, in contrast with his old life on the streets of Dublin.
Though he and Mollie don’t fight as such, they definitely don’t get on. It’s more like a tolerance between them that exists until Mollie decides that Bingo’s tenacity to actually exist in the same room as her is just not acceptable, and she will either:
a) Nip at his ears
b) Flaunt a toy in front of his face so that he tries to get it before flinging it away (see: The Newspaper Game).
c) Run into him and initiate full melee mode.

To be honest, we troll him a bit too.

All of this Bingo takes without even a nip in response. I’ve heard him growl at her, but it’s mainly when they play tug-o-war, when talking smack is part of the sport. But though I’m building up a picture of Bingo as an absolute angel in comparison to his surrogate sibling, he, like most dogs, has his moments as a troll. ESPECIALLY when we first got him, when he was a creature driven by food and food alone. Just ask my mother about the time she served carrot cake to her friends on the garden table, only to have a liver-and-white ninja stealthily leap onto the table, seize it and leap off without even disturbing the cups of tea beside him. And for a 30kg dog that’s no easy feat! Or the time my dad was preparing a sandwich, turned to grab the pepper, and faced only an empty plate upon return. Or the fact that we just (rather sadly), cannot let him off the leash at any point because he just turns into a feral version of himself, as though he remembers how things used to be before we took him in. He just doesn’t listen or respond to our calls, which is a total 180 from how he is when he is in the house. But that’s something that can be improved upon in time.
So oh yes, Bingo too can be a little troll when he wants to be. But as it’s a crown usually worn by Mollie at all times, Bingo does a wonderful job of being the dog who rolls his eyes when I’m chasing Mollie around for something, or telling her not to dig at the footmat at the door, or just having a staring stand-off with her when I’m SURE she’s up to something.

Usually with less fish-eye, but a stand-off nonetheless.

I swear, if Bingo could talk, he’d be my inside man (dog) to tell me the next deed she’s plotting.

Maybe. Once I stop playing with his face.

Mollie and the Neighbour's Garden

2012-09-12T19:48:00.000-07:00


"I have been quietly reading in the conservatory. I swear."

If you have a dog with even a little rebellious streak in them, chances are that you’re no stranger to the joy of catching the digging in your garden. It’s part of their genetic code; I’m sure that one day, scientists will probably be able to identify the gene which makes dogs dig. Right after they identify the one that makes them roll in fox poo. But that’s a different post for a different day.
Anyway, here is a little gem of an anecdote that I have to unfortunately tell from my mother’s point of view, as I was, rather upsettingly, away for what proved to be an entertaining evening. At a karate class if you must know, but that’s neither here nor there in terms of the story.
So, Mollie, being the little troll that she is, loves to dig. As though she was a mole, or an industrial oildrill in a past life. She used to dig in the ground of my parents’ greenhouse, before they took it down, and this used to infuriate my dad. In fact, when she does it anywhere, if he notices, he’ll march into the garden, sharply tell her to stop, and only gets in response a look that simply says ‘I’ll give it five minutes before continuing’. Once they had a long-term standoff with the issue, with my dad laying a plank of wood over every hole she was working so diligenty on. The end result was a garden that looked like a dodgy carpentry dog, and a very annoyed springer spaniel.

Green paws. Like Greensleeves, but with more digging involved.

But no, Mollie knows exactly how to bide her time, and that she did. She was working on a sneaky hole that was suspiciously close to my elderly neighbour’s fence, working on it a little at a time, until she could recreate her own version of The Great Escape, right from our own back yard. And that she did.
Right around the 8:30 mark, my mother went into the back garden to smoke a cigarette. Usually when she does this, the dogs stampede after her, and use this as an opportune moment to pee, hunt insects and frogs, and generally forage in the night. My mother noticed that instead of doing her usual moth-hunting routine, Mollie instead made a B-line straight for a specific area of the fence, and began furiously digging. My mother of course, spots this and immediately starts yelling at her. Mollie pays no attention, and with victory in her clutches, manages to easily shimmy herself under the fence, and into the neighbour’s yard! SUCCESS!
My mother immediately utters something non-PG rated and sprints after her, crouches down and sees her runnning a victory lap around the neighbour’s garden, her tail held high and aloft like a flag. The motion-detector light is on, following Mollie’s lap. She’s savouring every moment of being in the forbidden land; her hard work has paid off! She pays no attention to my mother trying her best to frantically coax her back; she’s far too smart to go back to the dull confines of the garden!
So my mother dashes inside and returns, brandishing a leftover chicken leg from the night before, trying to bribe her back with this by thrusting her arm through the hole she dug. Still, nothing. She might as well be invisible, this victory is worth far more than a cold piece of chicken.
The next half-hour was a struggle. After a confused phonecall from the neighbour, a visit to the garden from my mother and some serious coaxing, she was actually able to get her back. You’d better believe both parents watch that side of the fence like a hawk now, but that doesn’t stop Mollie from trying, bless her. You at least can’t fault her for that.

Mollie the Troll English Springer Spaniel

2012-09-07T19:33:00.000-07:00

This is a blog, because I feel the need to introduce the world to my dog, Mollie. The picture above is of Mollie just before we picked her up from the breeder, when she was a ridiculously cute little ball of liver, white and floppy ears.
But lo! Mollie grew up to be the dog equivalent of a hormone-raging teenager, a true troll, constantly finding ways to outwit her owners and generally find ways to be the most amusing pain-in-the-backside any family could ever dream of.

I would like to share with you the laughs this little troll has caused, I love her to absolute bits, and hope you enjoy the comedy she continues to bring into my life!