Another fine mess

Another fun day in the garden for Jack, & judging from the state of his rope in this picture, we think that his previous owners may have taught him macramé. Rather badly. Hubby lost count of the times he had to unwind the rope from around the bird bath, hand rails, trees, a garden chair (which he dragged across the lawn), even the box of drill bits! At one point he managed to hobble himself, getting the rope taut around the same foot that he'd been limping on earlier; he looked so funny, but of course by the time I'd got the lens cap off, he'd managed to extricate himself from that spot of bother - I keep telling him that he now has a blipublic awaiting his next pose, but he just doesn't listen. He also kept getting his rope tangled with the electric extension lead, so that every time hubby went to use the drill we had to check first that it wasn't about to be yanked out of his hands.

Still, in spite of Jack's best efforts, hubby & I had a successful day in the garden, & I'm pleased to report that the arbour was erected with far less bad language than it probably merited: the instructions were hopeless, but luckily I have long experience of project-managing flat packs, so we did eventually figure it out, & are very pleased with the finished article (especially considering it was a real Ebay cheapie). However, I know for a fact that there was more bad language than I actually heard, much of it muttered under his breath; I think there may have been some suggestion as to where it should be shoved, & I definitely caught the words: "Bloody women" ?.. but the use of the plural 'women' surely means that he didn't blame me alone, but womankind in general for the change of mind about exactly where the arbour should be positioned: this wouldn't have mattered nearly so much had moving it not also entailed moving the three large concrete paving slabs upon which it was standing - all for the sake of the arbour being moved about 10" to the right! He did admit afterwards that it looked better in its new position though, but by then we were both too hot, knackered & hungry to even think about trying it out.

Jack clearly hasn't heard that the bee population is endangered, as today he was on a one-dog crusade to decimate their numbers; they did fight back, & we 'think' he may even have got stung on the paw as he gave a sudden yelp & then started limping. But we couldn't find anything amiss on his paw, & he soon forgot about the limp; dogs are such wimps, so perhaps he'd just trodden on it awkwardly & made more fuss than it actually merited?
Rule 27c had to be invoked again today when he stole a (long) piece of kitchen roll, & was so determined not to let it go that a great soggy wodge of it was halfway down his throat by the time we prised his jaws open. We've resolved to be a lot more careful about leaving tissues lying around.

Things we've learned about Jack today:
When he hurts himself, he's a real drama queen
They may have shown him how to do macramé, but his previous owners neglected to tell him about rule 27c.
Fresh air & exercise have had a dramatic effect on how hungry he gets: he came to us with reports of a very poor appetite, but this evening - for the first time - he emptied his bowl, & then turned it upside down looking for more.
His green credentials aren't very impressive (& our plans for a bee-friendly garden may have to be revised)
Kitchen roll is just as tasty as tissues.

I missed the beginning of 'The One Show' this evening, but when I switched on they were part-way through a feature about the number of Staffies swamping rescue centres, & the difficulty in re-homing them - this was exactly the situation as we saw it when we were trawling around the kennels looking for our Jack; I felt so sad when the woman from Battersea said that, unless they passed a behaviour assessment, they would have to be put to sleep - & that many of them don't pass the assessment because they've previously been owned by gang members who have trained them to be aggressive. It's not the dogs' faults, & I know what I'd like to do to those morons who have basically 'doomed' them. Jack got called on for an extra cuddle after that, & I had a little sob into his fur (but didn't let him lick my tears away, as he's not allowed to lick faces, only necks - not that that hasn't stopped him trying to sneak in the occasional French kiss!)