Bitch on the Blog

August 2, 2017

More dog

Filed under: Amusement,Animals,Beauty,Cats,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 12:17

Our perception is shaped by the experiences we have had. It’s why I view the Spitz (the smaller the worse) with deep suspicion. I am convinced Spitz are vicious – by temperament. I wasn’t even jogging. I was riding my bike when this Spitz took a shine to both my left foot and the pedal, yapping away. They certainly expend an awful lot of energy to little effect. A bit like … no, I won’t say it.

The larger the dog the better. Though will draw a line. Anything bigger than a German Shepherd is too big. Mind you, one of the most magnificent dogs (mega) I ever had the privilege to meet was that of LSF’s family. An Hungarian Shepherd (a Kuvasz?). White. Curly fur. The size of a calf. He loved me in a way most unwelcome. What is becoming in a puppy is a bit daunting in an adult. I’d come through the door and – by way of greeting – he (the dog, not my friend) would put his front paws on my shoulders, his head towering over me (at least he didn’t lick my face). Though strong I was only a slip of a girl and, my back being pinned to the back of the door, I’d slowly slide down it under the dog’s weight. Still, sooner or later someone would pass by and save me. Yes, that dog was one hell of a beauty. And a wonderful spirit.

Come to think of it, Spitz aren’t the worst. Collies are. Collies, Lassie not withstanding, are most definitely prone to neurotic behaviour. Mental. Mind you, some say the same of Dobermans. I once read a book written from the point of view of a Doberman. I was about twelve. Heartbreaking. I cried. Let no one say anything about Dobermans. Intelligent dogs. I believe most dogs to be a reflection of their owner and Dobermans appear to be particularly sensitive. So if you come across a disturbed Doberman beware of the owner.

Then there are the aesthetically dubious ones – like naked dogs. Say, those racing dogs – greyhounds. Though, in their long legged way, they are rather elegant – a bit like Coco Chanel in her little black dress, tooth hound black and white box jacket and a string of pearls.

Some dogs I’d rather not comment on. Otherwise I’ll have John and Winnie on my case.

Oh yes, not to forget the Dackel. A small sausage dog. Very sweet. Enormously trusting. Beautiful auburn colour. My youngest sister pestered my father for one till he cracked. Tini (pronounce teenee) was a hoot. One of the most endearing memories I have when my brother (even as a teenager he was man enough not to mind being seen with a very small dog) took Tini for walks. The tall slim young man with sky high legs in skinny jeans with a sausage on the leash. Sweet. It really was. I like it when people are not self conscious.

There was a moment in my life when I came close to becoming a dog owner in my own right. Not that I particularly wanted to be. But I will  take gladly what life throws at me (as long as it’s not shit). Father-of-son and I met up with his parents in some Yorkshire pub. Or maybe it was in the Lake District. Anyway, there they were, in front of a blazing fire – a pile of black long haired toddler stage Labradors tumbling round and over their mother. FOS was the closest I’d ever seen him to yield in the face of such joie de vivre and beauty. Even on the way back down South he talked about them non stop, me fully expecting him to turn the car round any moment now, zoom back and make the breeder an offer. Still, his particular brand of reason prevailed. Pity. A dog would have suited him.

Please do inundate me with your own dog stories. They need to be told.



August 1, 2017


I have taken to wearing scarves. No, not Grace Kelly style. Isadora Duncan more like it. Long and floating. You’ll never know when next occasion arises you may wish to hang yourself whilst out and about. Better prepared than wanting, I say.

Why do people look in the mirror the moment before they set foot out of the house? I did earlier, and what I saw resembled an Afghan. The dog. My over the shoulder long hair accentuated by a scarf round my neck (similar colour to my hair) made me look not so much hangdog as, well, an Afghan. What dog do you resemble on a bad hair day? Not, of course, that I am not able to answer the question on your behalf. But then people do see themselves differently to how they are perceived by others. Ask Iris.



August 30, 2016


Filed under: Amusement,Animals,Atmosphere,Beauty,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 15:03
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For light relief, and please forgive me before you continue reading, I have just come across an article stating the obvious. Namely that dogs react to the way you speak to them, your intonation.

Who’d have thought it.

I once, and once only since I am not cruel, tested this on our then two cats, Fleury and Bouncer. Despite being mother and son they couldn’t have been more different in temperament. Which was great. Who wants sameness in everyone around you?

As an aside: Unfortunately (for Bouncer) he inherited his mother’s looks and his father’s brain. The other way round would have been better (for everyone) but, being placid and not destined to be an alley cat, he made the best of both his beauty and his deficiency.

My experiment? Mitigating circumstances – both my arms broken and in plaster cast, being more or less immobilized lying on the sofa, I needed diversion from watching Bette Davis films on the loop. So, there they both were and I told them truly horrendous not so sweet nothings in a soothing voice. They purred. Oh, did they purr. Not a clue what I was actually saying. It wasn’t nice. No one talks to ME like that. Then, some time later, I shouted at them that I loved them to bits. And – guess what – just on the strength of my voice they bolted through the cat flap. It broke. Served me right. Collateral damage.

Don’t report me to the RSPCA. I wanted to prove a point. And I did. As they say in the motherland: “Intonation makes the music”. Pity in many ways. I’d rather content set the tone. Still …


July 18, 2016


Filed under: Communication,Formalities,Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 16:30
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Brief interlude before I answer comments on my last post.

Some of you use blogspot as their blog host. And some of you, though not all, have drawbridges in place.

Do you really think it necessary to infantalize your readership, or rather those inclined to comment, by asking them to “verify” that they are not a “robot”? Tick box. No, I am not a robot. But I may well employ one soon to tick the box verifying that I am not a robot. It gets worse.

“Please tick all pictures showing a shopfront/trees/mountains”.  Come again?

What’s all the paranoia? Do you really think you are so precious that someone will take the time (after having penned a more or less considered reply to your musings) to then jump through the hoops like a dog with a biscuit waiting the other side?


January 14, 2014

View from below

Filed under: Amusement,Animals — bitchontheblog @ 12:44
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As some of you know I am not particularly competitive. Which is not good. It’s a short coming.

My point being?

My point being that bloggers tend to preen themselves on how superior they are. If the world were like bloggers make themselves out to be we’d be thrown out of paradise because God would be so bored. All of you paragons of virtue:  I am not a dog. Which reminds me: Had startling thought this morning whilst watching a man walking his dog. It’s a dog’s life. If you are a dog. You are supposed to be at heel and even if you are too big to fit a New York woman’s handbag you’ll never be higher than the knee of the one who has you on their leash. Unless you are a Doberman.

Thank dog I am not a dog waiting for a stick or a biscuit to be thrown – at my owner’s discretion.

Enjoy your walk.

Hugs and hisses,


July 20, 2013


This post is dedicated to the one and only John. And no, I will not give you his blog link. He is already far too popular to answer all his adoring followers. So leave it. And anyway he has Albert and other fur and feather to look after. And unmentionables to wipe.  Fact is, if it weren’t for Chris (my foe), I’d ask John to marry me. No strings attached. And I do make a mean Scotch egg or two (for those who’ve already lost the plot don’t worry: It’s an in-joke). Mind you, I am no fool or under any illusion: An egg will NOT swing a deal. Not even in Wales.

Yes. Upshot being: I am in love with John. I do like to play it safe.

Certain that he’ll take me under one of his hens wings when the time comes. And wring my neck when I can’t hang myself.

Hugs and kisses,


April 4, 2011

And the fork ran away with the spoon

Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 14:47
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This is what I love about my blog: One moment I steam ahead on that spleen of mine which is in urgent need of being operated on, the next hornets compete with rattle snakes, ankle weights are discussed and we all bounce on the trampolines of our lives into orbit.

Somewhere hidden in the comments BHB will ask you whether you are a fork or a spoon. If you were already given a knife. If that isn’t genius I don’t know what is. As implements go I’d prefer a fork to a spoon, mainly because forks double for purposes other than picking up your steak (particularly when you have forgotten to pack cap top bottle opener. No bottle is worth ruining your teeth on).  However, as Jean says, there are practical considerations. So, it’s got to be a spoon. Whether you like it or not. After all, soup might be the only choice on the menu. And where would that leave Tom, BHB? I myself prefer to eat with my fingers which I do unless I am in company easily embarrassed. The English are good that way. The length they will go to to eat chicken on the bone (with knife and fork) is sometimes excrutiating to watch. Pick up that wing or drumstick – yes, with your fingers – and gnaw away. I remember once meeting a Spanish guy who worked on the ground with father-of-son and as it happened I came along for the ride (I think it was Mallorca). Pedro doesn’t like Germans. Full stop. No exceptions. Poor man had to take me for lunch. After that he was converted. He volunteered to take me for lunch every day after (they were supposed to take turns since everyone working). He said to FOS: “You know what, I love watching your wife eat.” It literally changed his views of the master race by my picking up a lamb shank and licking my fingers. Yes, good old Pedro. Brings back memories of many a sun drenched happyness. He wasn’t the only. Even my father remarked on how one can taste the yoghurt or an icecream just by looking at how I devour it. Enough titillation there for Ramana.

One of my sisters takes a different approach: Used to drive my father quite unnecessarily mad. After all, we should all be allowed our idiot syn crazies without getting into trouble. When little she’d bring food, say, a bit of egg on the spoon, to her nose before putting it into her mouth. No idea where that came from. Like cats. They will sniff carefully and reject – just in case the sardine is past its sell by date. Yes, cats and their sense of smell. Fascinating. If I am not careful we’ll be pondering on sniffer dogs in a minute, and why dogs indiscriminately will slobber up their food unless they are dainty in which case they will elegantly accept the odd morsel from your very own fingertips. Flights of fancy and fantasie. Have to watch it. It’s actually such a pity that my fingers can’t hit the keyboard or pen and paper as fast as I think. Or maybe it isn’t a pity. Maybe it’s a mercy. Still. A lot gets lost just on the law of physics and speed. Sometimes when I wander around the parks and streets, go and see people in their offices I can’t help thinking how much we do not know of each other. And how often we judge people and have no idea whatsoever what goes on behind whatever facade they show to the world. You might meet a down and out, someone ‘people’ will ignore, yet start talking to him and it is amazing what his mind will come up with (by the same token speak to a non-bummer in a shiny car and trousers to match and you will be amazed at how LITTLE the mind will come up with).

So that was that. GM naturally has lived up to expectation. Or maybe she is still refining her prose. To give her her due: She did heed my advice to be careful of laws of libel/slander in this country.


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