About Me

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Officially, I am Boowire Sunny Bay a Welsh Terrier. I think there's some mistake in this name for surely I am Ozymandias King of Kings. Ask my two human servants - they will tell you. For day to day purposes I use the name Archie though for some reason, my servants address me by many different names.

Friday, 14 December 2012

On Christmas Number Three

Well, once again it's Christmas and once again I wonder why there are 7 years between each Christmas Day. Still, I'm looking forward to the servants falling asleep after their dinner so that I may select a few morsels for myself. Meanwhile, let me wish everybody out there a very very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Friday, 30 November 2012

On Sleep

To sleep perchance to dream...so here am I tucked up all nice and snug in my caravan. But remember, a terrier sleeps with one ear cocked and one eye open...so don't mess with me!

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

On Bonfire Night

I just cannot get my head round the weather in this country. Here we are on November 5th and rather than put on my hat and scarf to keep the chill out, I get the chance to catch a few rays on the rockery.  Don't worry about me when the fireworks go off later tonight. I give them a couple of barks and then maybe I'll have a snooze while the humans enjoy the cacophony. I'm told that my spiritual sister Brillo the Airedale, did not care for fireworks and spent the evening in a state of great distress. The way I look at it is that I'm Welsh - Guy Fawkes a Yorkshireman pretending to be Spanish and trying to blow up a Scottish king on an English throne is nothing to get in a fuss about. Bring on the air bombs baby! 

Wednesday, 24 October 2012

On Minstrels

If music be the food of love play on!...I certainly love food and I must admit that I like a nice tune now and again. There are many ways to listen to the work of one's minstrel. I find the through the spine method gives greater resonance. 

I am capable of the classic Nipper in His Master's Voice pose but I'd rather not give my minstrel ideas above his station. Best just to snuggle down and let the music flow!

Wednesday, 15 August 2012

On Terrierism

I don't know what it's like for my friends in other countries, but here in the United Kingdom Terrierism is rife.  We must even keep our servant on a lead when entering a bank. Do I see signs barring labradors? No! Signs forbidding collies? No! It's an outrage! 

Monday, 13 August 2012

On Escape 2

It's been a long time since I last wrote.  My secretaries have idled away the last two weeks watching the Olympics despite the computer having at last been repaired. However, I digress.

Having camped for the last couple of years and been flooded off the Keswick campsite in both Year 1 and Year 2, some of you will know that my female servant persuaded my manservant that a caravan would better suit my needs. Caravan Expedition 1: Day 1 Hail and Snow. Day 2 Hail and Freezing Winds. Day 3 Clear Skies and Sunshine. Day 4 Hail followed by Freezing Winds, Rain, Rain and Rain. Day 5 Retreat Home!

Caravan Expedition 2:  Arrive in Yorkshire in glorious sunshine. Things are looking up, do a bit of this, do a bit of that, eat al fresco, catch a few rays.
Day 2 Glorious sunshine. A bit more of this, a bit more of that. Canoe up the river. Canoe down the river. Female servant has idea to try out the awning. Some hours later and with the aid of some experienced caravanners the awning is up. Realise that the awning is actually an attempt to imprison me but my would be captors did not reckon with a Welsh Terrier's ability to unzip even the zippiest of zips!  Manservant grumbles because he now needs to walk through awning from caravan to go and sit in the sun.
Day 3 Rain. Drive to this place and that. It's a race meeting and ladies are making their way to the racecourse in their best summer dresses, hats and shoes- it's going to get messy!  Not allowed in Ripon Cathedral so me and manservant wander about in the rain while female servant wanders about inside very impressive (apparently) cathedral. Market traders are packing up due to the incessant rain but manage to buy a new ball on a rope from the pet stall to replace the one my female servant lobbed inaccurately into the brambles earlier on.
Day 4 Visit Mother Shipton's Cave in Knaresborough. Look at the water dripping on to objects which it petrifies in a couple of months.  Meanwhile water continues to drip on me from the heavens. Get back to camp site where the river level is rising and the caravan is now in a small lake. Advised to take down awning as there might only be an hour's notice of flood.  Manservant grumbles that we shouldn't have put it up in the first place. Check river again and the moorings are now under water. Advise servants to back up and flee. Flee we did and a good job too because yes, the site flooded! In fact, it would seem that much of Northern England flooded over the next couple of weeks. Horrendous drive over the Pennines with only about 15 yards visiblity.
Now that was the real escape!

Monday, 16 July 2012

On Catching A Few Rays In The United Kingdom

First I must apologise to my friends for my apparent silence. Blame my manservant for this for it is he that has failed to get the computer hard drive repaired. Thus it may be that the next series of blogs appear disjointed. My readers in the United Kingdom will understand why I am forced to try catching a few rays of the sun indoors. It may be that I am Welsh and that Wales=Rain but come on!  This is beyond a joke!  We are now nearly a third of the way through an English summer and where I might ask you is the sun?  Not in my bloody back yard I will tell you!  My first caravan holiday at Easter - driven off the site by snow and hail! My second, as we headed towards the Longest Day - driven off by rain and flood!  My third, in Somerset, started drizzly, was drizzly in the middle and, on the 200 mile journey home, concluded in torrential rain and flooding.  And still there is no respite!

Friday, 27 April 2012

On Monuments and the Stick of Destiny

It's taken some time but it seems at last that a human sculptor has created something in my honour. I was a little concerned about the grey hair but this is clearly artistic licence to illustrate my wisdom. I carry the Stick of Destiny in my mouth, the significance of which is known to every terrier.

Monday, 2 April 2012

On Spring

They say Spring comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion.  It looks like we've had our lamby bit with a week of beautiful sunshine and temperatures of near 20 degrees centigrade.  Alas, my servants have decided to make their first trip in their caravan and I, of course, will be going along to supervise.  Needless to say there's been a dramatic drop in temperature and rain, sleet and snow is forecast - hence the hat!

Monday, 27 February 2012

On Birthdays

27th February 2012!  My 21st Birthday or, as my human servants seem to think, my 3rd Birthday.  They seem to have the same problem with my birthday as they do with Christmas - only once every 365 days! Do they not know that a year = 52.14 days!!!  Granted, this is one of seven consecutive Leap Year years of 52.28 days but come on, it's not exactly difficult is it?  Still, one has to humour them.  Now where's my cake?

Friday, 24 February 2012

On Dieting

Well it seems that I've been putting on a bit of weight - a whole kilogram too much!  Hence I have taken to grilling tomatoes rather than frying them in olive oil and butter.

Wednesday, 8 February 2012

On The Six Nations

Well there are a lot of happy Welsh humans and Welsh Terriers this week with a narrow victory over Ireland on Sunday.  It was definitely the best of the three matches over the weekend.  My human servants remain gloomy after Scotland's defeat by England despite having the better of the possession.  Tough!!!
I had better explain to my American friends that I am talking about human Rugby Union Football. They would all have been glued to the set watching the Super Bowl, the highlight of what they call Football and every other human in the World calls American Football.

As I understand it, in the human world, ball games had various names but for nearly 2,000 years in the British Isles the favourite was to move a piece of leather from one village to another by an indeterminate number of humans, sometimes many hundred, by whatever means available; biting, spitting, kicking, throwing (both ball and opposition), hiding ball up clothing, using sticks and clubs - in other words by whatever means possible.  During the first part of the19th century the British started codifying the game and in fact found that they could get several different codes out of this one game.  Strangely, the idea of handling the ball was dropped - except for goalkeepers - and the means of moving the ball around was restricted to any part of the body apart from the hands and forearms.  Could have been named Headshoulderchestbackfootandarseball but Football was the name that stuck. A good name as over 90% of the game today is played by kicking the ball with a foot!

This idea of not handling the ball (though originally you could catch the ball and punt or drop-kick it) lasted but a few years as a pupil of Rugby School, William Webb Ellis, caught the ball (permitted) and then ran holding the ball (definitely NOT permitted).  Thus the idea of handling the ball returned to The British Isles.  The name Rugby Union Football was given to this new game and the ball took on its new shape to assist handling.  Later Rugby League Football developed in the North of England which broke the then amateur code as the players were poor miners rather than gentlemen, and were paid in lieu of the time taken off work.  Team numbers in Rugby League were reduced to 13 from 15 for purely financial reasons.  There can be a good deal of kicking the ball in Rugby Union, less in Rugby League but in both games more than in American Football.  This game developed from Rugby Union by a similar breaking of the rules - the forward pass!  The strange thing about this game is that apart from kicking for goal, the ball rarely makes any contact with the foot!  The game in America where the ball is kicked with the feet is called Soccer!!! which comes from our term "Association" Football ie. FOOTBALL!

But I digress!  My reason for writing is nothing to do with the human 6 Nations Rugby Union Football tournament, but the far more exciting 6 Nations Mouthball Tournament.  Feet are for running, digging, leaping and pawing.  It is inconceivable that a human could sustain 80 or 90 minutes of mauling as in a game of mouthball...but we dogs!

My problem on the international stage is that I am Welsh.  To field a full fifteen, our pack is made up entirely of Cardigan and Pembroke Corgis.  That's the only weight we can muster and since tail docking is now illegal in this country, their surprisingly fox-like tails often get caught up during the scrummage.  The English pack has the formidable Bulldog as hooker, two English Bull Terriers front row, Bull Mastiffs second row and it wouldn't surprise me if their No.8 was a a damned Hereford Bull there's so much beef in there!  Now English wing forwards?  Probably Staffordshire Bull Terriers.  Yep, there's certainly a lot of Bull in England!  English wing three quarters, well, I just have to say one name - "Greyhound"!  Do you see where I'm coming from? Hmmmph!  Pick who you like for the English backs.  There is more choice than anywhere else in the world!

Fortunately, we do have our Welsh Sheepdog.  This collie is intelligent, quick, agile, brave but being the fastest runner, we've got to play him as wing three quarter.  Scotland unfortunately have play anywhere Bearded Collies, Rough Collies, Smooth Collies and the collie of all collies the Border Collie, so quick and intelligent that in agility trials he has to be given time penalties before he even starts.  There's also the pugnacious  Border Terrier for scrum-half, probably my pal Mac for this position but he's got to remember to pass the ball! That's not to mention the big Scottish fullback - the Deerhound second only to the Irish fullback the Wolfhound!

It's only fair that we give our Sealyham Terrier a game because, to be quite frank, we're running out of Welsh dogs.  Well he's a terrier so scrum half.  He's quick and IF our Corgies DO win a scrum he'll get the ball out to me (fly-half) effectively.  Otherwise, he'll probably just get crushed by our pack as the scrum collapses.

As for the Italians?  Be they Abruzzese Mastiffs, Maremma Sheepdogs, Italian Greyhounds, Levrieros or whatever, they will be too busy sipping the brandy from their St Bernard's barrel, polishing their sunglasses and saying "Ciaou bella!" to any female pooch spectator for us Welsh to be worried.  The French, on the other hand have a formidable range of both backs and forwards to rival the English.  The list is terrifying. Fortunately, I noted on my last trip to France that they have become so pampered by their servants that even the big forwards like the Briard and the feisty French Bulldog are decorated with bows, eat out in restaurants with humans and are, in fact, turning into poodles!

And me? Well the Welsh captain of course!  And my position?...
Bloody everywhere!

Monday, 30 January 2012

On Welsh Terrier Athleticism v Human Athleticism

 A Colleague Demonstrates Ball Catching Expertise
Usain Bolt - An Apparently Quick Human

Well, where do I start?  First of all the Welsh Terrier so expertly catching the ball is not me.  For some reason my manservant is incapable of doing two things at once eg: throwing the ball and taking a photograph at the same time.  My female servant claims to be capable of multi-tasking but so far has proved incapable of capturing my expertise on camera whist peeling the potatoes, talking on the telephone and reading a book. The photo is thus for illustrative purposes only.  So, I have set ten tasks to demonstrate the superior athletic qualities of the Welsh Terrier compared to his or her human counterparts.  My servants objected that some of the tasks were not pure athletics but this is my page so tough luck to them!

1.   SPEED

Usain Bolt, the fastest human on record over 100 and 200 meters achieved a speed of 27.79mph between 60 and 80 meters before being forced to decelerate.  Now though I don't normally run much above 20mph, I can hit 30+mph when I need to, such as when I got mistaken for a rabbit by Connie the ex-track greyhound (45mph) who was fortunately muzzled at the time. That's 30mph whilst ducking and diving!  Plus the fact my inside rear leg measurement is 9" compared to Bolt's 36", so multiply by 4 and you'll see that I can run at the human equivalent of 120mph.  Even if you half that because I have the advantage of 4 legs, that's still the equivalent of 60 Usain Bolt miles per hour...and the man calls himself an athlete!


Ten throws - Ten catches.  How hard is that?  Well, if you're a human it appears to be very hard indeed!  My female servant refused to take part in the challenge.  My male servant, although able to catch peanuts reasonably well, failed miserably with every attempt with the tennis ball and split his lip on the first attempt with the frisbee. Quod erat demonstrandum!


Despite years of yoga, aerobics, zumba or other bendy activities, my female servant has never achieved this simple and often pleasurable task.  My male servant cannot even touch his toes!  QED again baby!


My servants refuse to even acknowledge this considerable skill.  My points again!


Again my servants are unhappy about this as a legitimate event.  Why?  I'll tell you why - THEY CAN'T DO IT!


They won't do this either so I'm sure you can see that I'm heading for a clean sweep.


Now this is a two part event.  Stage 1: Vomit  Stage 2: Eat as much of it as you can before your servants can stop you.  My servants have apparently only ever achieved the first stage of this event.


I admit that I have only achieved this the once despite many chases.  However, my human servants never get off the starting blocks and just seem to stand there looking at the said rodents.  I can only put it down to fear on their part...but whatever the case, that is a score of 1:0 to me!  Watch and learn humans!


I use the word "invisible" with reservation. Of course they're there!  I see them: I bark.  The servants look to see the invisible object but fail every time and so are obviously not entitled to bark under the rules of the game. Sometimes I see many invisible objects and thus I must bark continuously. This is a sport in which humans must try harder if they're going to make any progress.  London Olympics in a few months.  Will they be competing? I think not!


I only get to play this game when Mac and Sam the Border Terriers visit.  I've given up all hope on training my servants to compete in this sport.  I make it clear that I am quite prepared to eat their dinners and they can eat mine but they seem totally incapable of understanding the rules.  The rules are simple.  Three dogs - three bowls of food.  Mac and Sam try to eat mine while I eat theirs - a difficult task as I've got to try finishing two bowls before they've finished one.  Sometimes Mac will counter by pushing me off Sam's bowl, Sam then moves to Mac's which forces me to mine; on seeing this they both go for my bowl leaving me the option of either of theirs.  Complex and fast moving - fattest stomach wins!

And so I rest my case.  Welsh Terrier 10 Humans 0 

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

On Coats

I am a Welsh Terrier!  My ancestry (of over 2000 years) is Welsh!  Over that 2000 years we Welsh Terriers have learnt to grow our coats to suit the Welsh climate, can be warm, can be very cold but above all it can rain and rain and rain.  Any human holiday maker who goes there at any time of the year will soon learn to carry a cagoule or umbrella - or both - at all times!  It is the only way to survive in Wales.  Okay, I have my own coat trimmed a few times a year to suit the English climate and to keep up appearances, but the essential Welshness of my coat is that it is windproof and waterproof!  We dogs sorted that one out.

So what does my female servant do?  She buys me a human made coat for the rain!  My man servant, being a Mancunian from the city famous for its rain, reluctanltly agreed that I should wear it next time the heavens opened.  Well, that was today and I was not happy!  However, here are a few tips for any Welshies out there which I deployed on this morning's walk:

1.   When the coat is put on, stand stock still making out you can't walk.
2.   Make out you can no longer jump in the car and have to be lifted in.
3.   Make out you can no longer jump out of the car and have to be lifted out.
4.   Do not run for the ball so that your servant has to retrieve it.
5.   Do not cock your leg fully so that you can wee on the underside of the coat.
6.   Make yourself look unsteady whilst pooing.
7.   Shake youself every 30 seconds to make it look like the rain's getting through the coat.
8.   Roll in horse poo.
9.   Roll in fox poo and make sure you get most of this on your head to demonstrate the coat's futility.
10. As you are unable to jump into the car for the return journey, you servant will have to lift your horse and
      fox poo covered body into the vehicle and of course out again when you get home.

Watching my man servant grumbling and shaking his head whilst hanging up my coat, I am fully confident that this has been an effective strategy.

Monday, 16 January 2012

On Dish Washing

Happy New Year Everyone!  Despite that, I still find it my duty to inspect the dishwasher and clear out any morsels of food that should have been scraped off by the servants BEFORE placing the dishes therein!!!