SULPHUR SIMON met a

SULPHUR SIMON met a ....


You all know how it is.  “Funny how much wax builds up in this dog’s ears.”; “Funny how Simon never finishes his meal all at once.  He just takes a few mouthfuls and then lies down.  Funny dog”

These innocuous remarks never really led anywhere.  They were just observations on my peculiar behaviour.  Until, that is, the internet came on the scene.   One wet Sunday afternoon, while surfing the web, my Mum came across a site which proved a revelation.

“ Souli (short for Suleiman, if you please!!) shows no interest in food … but mention going for a walk, and Souli is right there … first one up in the morning, like clockwork … gait is swift if not pulling …When we come home, ….the boy, the athlete and the skinny one always runs to us with one of his stuffed animals, with great anticipation and a hearty welcome …. Souli is a Liver or Wood type (Sulphur constitution).

This information seemed to open some kind of magic box for my Mum (I do all those things too, you see). She immediately set about doing what she does best - garnering information.  The author of the web page on “Homoeopathy for Man’s best friend”, Luc De Schepper was tracked down and she devoured everything she could find about Sulphur.   Next thing I knew I was getting tiny granules with Sulphur remedy.  A couple of days after taking the first one, the smell from my ears disappeared and so did the wax which usually built up. Other bodily odours also diminished dramatically. This was a breakthrough.  She was over the moon at this success.  After about 10 days the smell began to return to the ears so I was given another dose.  Then, as she read that, according to good homoeopathic prescribing practice, it was not advisable to keep repeating the same dose, what did she do next? Enrol to take a Homoeopathic First Aid course.

That really did it.  Now we are all suitably analysed.  Me Sulphur.  Lupa the cat Lycopodium.  

So, what does being a Sulphur dog involve?  The first thing is that Sulphur is one of the main Psoric remedies which means that Sulphur people are prone to itches.  And, oh boy, is that true!  Suddenly, for no reason that I can think of, I just itch. Well, the itching has almost gone with my remedies.  In a way it is a pity no longer to have what is categorised in the Homoeopathic Repertory as ·”voluptuous itching”.  Not that the itching is such fun but the description is certainly exotic.

Some of the general characteristics of the Sulphur child might apply to me:

• Intense curiosity – always exploring everywhere


• Play with 2 toys at the same time


• Good communicators


• Always messy and muddy (On that score we have just been given a poster which says “Watch Out Bearded Collie About and carries a picture of a gung-ho beardie brandishing a large jar of mud!)

I also display some characteristics of Type 1 Sulphur Child like:

• Happy-go-lucky


• Exuberant


• Love to be centre of attention (Love getting my photo taken!)


• Great energy

If there is one great defining characteristic of Sulphur people, that is LAZINESS.  And, I have to admit, lounging around under the palm tree is my favourite occupation, until, of course, there is any mention of going for a walk, and then I am queuing at the gate.  In fact, they don’t even have to mention the word, I know when they are getting the lead and putting on their shoes , so I just sit looking alert at the door.  We are just like the volcanoes: lying dormant most of the time and then lunging into action.

The other great defining characteristic which I display in abundance is HEAT.  Sulphur types are hot. Not surprising when you think about it, since sulphur comes from  volcanic eruptions. They have to stick their feet out from under the bed clothes.  That’s me.  I only lie on a rug when it gets really cold. Most of the time I prefer to lie on the cool tiles.

Feet are a sore point with Sulphurs.  I must admit I don’t like having my paws combed very much, but I do put up with it all the same.  Also, before I started taking my remedy. I had – dare I say it – smelly feet. No longer!  On the whole we Sulphurs are happier not being touched too much, except, of course, when we are having our ears massaged and such like.

In the food preferences category, I definitely fit in where it says preference for sweets and chocolate, especially chocolate.  Then I slake my thirst with vast quantities of cold water.  That’s another characteristic feature.

When we get to the more delicate matters of personal toilette, the book says “regular bowel movements (perhaps 3 or 4 times per day)”.  Yep.  True.

So you see, it pays to know what you are.  Now that we are into this homoeopathy business, I would say that the major inconveniences of my life have more or less disappeared.  No more itches, no more wax, no more smelly feet or ears.  Pretty good really.  And all it took was some sleuthing on my Mum’s part to work out what I was.  

If  there should be any dramatic changes, I’ll keep you all posted.

Simon

JOHN WAYNE EAT YOUR

JOHN WAYNE, EAT YOUR HEART OUT!


Last week my teacher called up to ask if I would mind going along to a casting.  They were looking for a long-haired sheepdog and I was the only one he knew, so, although I was the wrong colour (the specifications were honey-coloured), we went along to the preliminary meeting.  “Beautiful dog! Wrong colour, though.  They’ve never accepted a black and white dog before (I’m a slate but there’s no accounting for the ignorance of these two-legged creatures) but come along on Monday anyway.  The director will be here then and we’ll see what he says”.

On Monday we got into the car and drove about fifty kilometres to Jimena de la Frontera, the village where the advertisement was to be shot.  There was me, a German shepherd and a sweet little honey-coloured bitch from the pound who was terrified of men because she had been beaten in the past.  I just stayed in the car.  When the director arrived he rejected the German shepherd because that wasn’t the image they wanted to promote. He liked Mona, but the minute he stepped towards her she cowered away.  “No good”, he said.  “No more dogs?” “ Yes, she has one”, they said, pointing towards my mistress.  “Well, bring him out”.  I went bouncing out, kissing everyone in sight.  “That’s my dog”, said the director.  This man’s got taste, I thought to myself. “Can you make him sit and stay and will he come when you call him?”  Being her usual understated self, my mistress said, “Well, I can try”.  Did this mean she lacked confidence in my intelligence, my ability or just in my willingness to do as I was told, particularly so soon after my amorous experience?  Well, we did a couple of demonstration exercises right there in the steepest street you ever saw and that was that.  

Of course, as we had not had the slightest hope of being chosen, we had not taken along any clothes or food or anything else. So we had to rush home to pick up all the things we needed and then rush back again to Jimena.  When we got there, a slight problem arose.  The owner of the one star hostal where we were to stay (there are no hotels in the village) said that I would have to sleep in the patio or the garage.  I have to hand it to her, my mistress stands for no nonsense under these circumstances and in a trice she put him in his place.  Did he not know that I had travelled half way round the world and stayed at famous four and five star hotels?  No way was I coming to a two bit hostal in a God-forsaken village to sleep in a patio!  I might bark, he said.  Bark!  Bark! Whatever was he thinking of?  She was polite about it, but the message came across loud and clear.  The man realized he was fighting a losing battle, so that was the end of that little dispute and off we went to bed.  I made not a murmur throughout the night despite the comings and goings of the film crew getting up before dawn.

The first day we had to be on set by seven thirty which meant getting up at SIX a.m. I ask you!  As the human toilette proceeded, I just took myself off to the darkest corner I could find and tried to pretend nothing was happening.  But then it was my turn: up on to the table to be groomed before it was light, then out for a walk along the railway line and back to the restaurant for breakfast and to wait while the make-up lady got my shepherd ready for the day.  Oh, I forgot.  I still haven’t told you what the plot is.  

The story board - as we say in the film business - is that my shepherd and I leave home early in the morning, crossing the village greeting the few neighbours abroad at that early hour, set off for the hills where we wander through a cork-oak forest before having lunch (the cheese being promoted, naturally) seated on a dry-stone wall.  Then we continue on our way, resting in a field of chamomile and on a rock by the river before wending our way homewards as the sun sets.

The first shot in the village square had to be cancelled because the light conditions were wrong, so we went straight up to my “home”.  Here I had to sit behind a patio door and wait till my mistress called me.  Then I had to come running down a steep, narrow  alley with my shepherd coming down behind me.  Now, just how fast or how slow did my shepherd have to walk down? How long did he have to admire the scenery? We had to repeat the sequence about twenty times before the director was happy with the pacing and the result.  Then I had a rest while they filmed other sequences inside the patio where I didn’t have to take part and then interior kitchen shots with a girl model  who would display the cheese in the domestic ambiance as opposed to the rustic scenes we were shooting.

The following day we worked from sun-up to sundown.  The weather had changed and a sharp wind was blowing.  My call sheet showed that we had a number of locations for the morning: a long village street where we filmed our return (clever these film people, filming the evening scene with the morning sun in the evening position), the castle (that was windy!) and a little nook in the village where I had to sit at a gate while my shepherd talked to a village lady who then had to take in her washing.  “Reset.  Action! .......  Cut!” Again and again we had to shoot the same scenes because the extras, people from the village, either didn’t do what they were supposed to do on cue, or laughed out of turn, or stared straight into the camera lens or, when the extras got it right, then people would come barging out of their front doors right into the scene or stick their heads round the doorpost or children would come racing up. Is there is no limit to the incompetence of the human two-legged species?! Then “Checking the gate..... Gate clear”.  Yippee!!!

After a rest in my own car while my mistress had lunch, we headed off for the hills to shoot the scene where my shpeherd has lunch, eating the famous “Patros”  cheese.  We set up under a cork-oak.  My shepherd had to sit and I had to lie on a dry-stone wall with a howling gale blowing all around.  The sun kept being obscured behind the clouds so  the most repeated phrase of the afternoon was “Waiting for light” as John, the lighting man, strained looking through his little black lens.  “A minute and a half.   Thirty seconds.  Ten seconds........  Sorry, it’s gone.  No luck!”  As I lay there, about six bulls came charging past, then a silly man with horses and his dogs, then a herd of goats.....  I was itching to get off that wall and run after them, but my mistress was standing in front of me and, every time she saw a possible distraction, she said “STAY”.  No point in looking for trouble, so I just stayed put.  “Stand by!  Turn over! Speed!  ACTION!” It took more than two hours to shoot the scenes covering the three cheese presentations, but finally we got down from the wall and headed over to a different cork-oak to admire the countryside and the setting sun.  By the time the sun finally did sink over the horizon we were all well and truly frozen to the marrow.  After a quick walk, I had dinner and promptly sank into deep slumber until the human toilette forced me to seek a dark corner again the next day.


The third day was just as windy as the previous one and, if anything, it was more cloudy which made filming even more difficult.  After shooting the scene in the village square which we had been unable to shoot the first day, it was back up into the hills.  Shots of me coming over the horizon, walking through the hills as though hunting for a rabbit (I ask you!).  Fortunately my trainer appeared on the scene in time for that shot, so he hid in one place and my mistress in another and I went seeking them out one after the other.  That did the trick!  After lunch (and a rest in my car) we went back up into the hills to shoot in a field of chamomile flowers where the perfume was intoxicating.  I only had to sit facing into the wind while my shepherd perched in a tree trunk and carved a piece of cork but the precise spot chosen for me to park my posterior was covered in wicked thistles, so they had to be dug up to make room for my delicate behind.  They filmed that pretty quickly and we headed down to the river.

We were taken over to the far side of the river and my shepherd and I had to wait around a corner for the signal, whereupon I was to run ahead and find my mistress who was hidden among the bushes by the river bank.  On the way I would meet a man with two horses.  I got into a bit of a panic for a minute because I couldn’t see my mistress, so I thought I would check out where she was before we went any further.  I went down the bank before the spot where she was and nearly jumped into the river.  The director told me later that he nearly had a heart attack when he saw me heading down to the water. But you may remember that I learned my lesson about swift flowing currents in the Amazon so I was not about to make the same mistake again.  Once I knew where she was it wasn’t a problem and I did what they wanted me to do, despite the unsolicited presence of dogs and pigs and other four-legged intruders.  

The last shot was to be sitting on a rock which jutted out into the river.  In the dry season it is easy to get down there but after the rains the river was swollen and there was no way down except to be lowered from the remains of the Roman waterworks which once served the village.  My mistress climbed down and was hauled back up again, but she refused to contemplate the possibility of me jumping down or doing anything equally foolish.  The only solution was to find a ladder and have someone carry me down with her following.  In a trice a ladder appeared and I was handed to Alex who carried me down.  My mistress followed hanging on for dear life.  Once she had set me up just where they wanted me, she hid in a crevice under an oleander bush within earshot so she could give me instructions as required.  The camera trundled along on the dolly and, just as the sun was setting, the welcome words “It’s a wrap!” rang out. We were all hauled back up again and I got a piece of omelette sandwich followed by a piece of shortbread as a reward for my sterling performance.

I must say the experience was good for me.  I met lots of lovely people (There were fifty people between the film crew, production teams, props, catering, advertising agency representative and so on) who all became members of my fan club, taking pictures of me (particularly the stills men) and cuddling me and stroking me and offering me titbits of every kind.  I didn’t take many of these because I’m not used to eating between meals, but every now and again I had a little nibble just to keep them happy.  Duncan, the director, was very pleased with me.  He would come down and say “What’s the story, Simon?  You’re doing a great job!  Terrific dog!”.  

If I was tired, I can’t begin to tell you how tired my mistress was.  She ran up hill and down dale, at least twice as far as anyone else, because she had to position me and then run to her designated position out of camera-shot as fast as she could.  It was also a good experience for my mistress because she realized that I really DO know what I am supposed to be doing and can do it to perfection when required.  There’s only one drawback to this: never again will I be able to pretend that I don’t know what’s expected of me!  Oh well, fame bring its own sacrifices.

I think this is one occasion when I have to sign using my stage name, don’t you think?  They do say that names are important.  I have certainly done my best to live up to mine.

Willowmead Simply a Star

(Simon)

NEWS FROM IBERIA

NEWS FROM IBERIA

The last year or so has been rather full, some things good and some not so good.  When we came back from Bolivia, I had to set about letting all the neighbours (canine and human) know that I was here.  I decided to be rather decisive about this as results would be achieved all the sooner, so I barked long and loud at everyone who passed by my territory and soon it was clear that they had  understood the message and all  I had to do now was maintain the status quo.

I was just beginning to enjoy this life of laziness and good times when ..... what did they do?  Take me off to register for classes!  I ask you!  One fine day we all went off in the car and before I knew it I was in a ring being paraded up and down - slow, fast - stop, sit, down.  Twice a week we had to go.  Well, Paddy came along for the ride but I had to do all the hard work.  He just sat in the car watching me and when he got bored he would go for a nap.  After the initial shock to the system, I actually quite enjoyed it.  

At first I was the only “day boy”.  Most of the other pupils were boarders whose families had left them there to be trained and their folks came into the game at the very end, when all the hard work was over, to learn the essential dos and don’ts.  They were mostly German shepherds.  I was at a bit of a disadvantage there.  You know how it is!  These German shepherds have brainwashed everyone into thinking they are so smart so when I appeared on the scene, a shaggy, long-haired specimen, well, they sort of don’t take you seriously.  However, I did manage to overcome that slight disability.  They didn’t push me too hard at first because they had this idea that our kind of people are rather sensitive and need different handling from the tougher German specimens.  I was fairly amenable in all this and did not put up too much opposition.

Then another puppy came along to join the class - a rottweiler.  He was smart and full of fun and learned really fast.  The next recruit was a dalmatian.  The problem there was not “Golfo” (That’s his name and it means Ragamuffiin) but his owner who was a teacher.  I hope he imposed better discipline in his schoolroom than he did with his dog, because Golfo just did whatever he liked.  He didn’t do anything drastic, mind you.  It’s just that he didn’t like the idea of sitting and staying so he would get himself into all kinds of contortions trying to avoid sitting down.  Then, one day things got serious and Golfo thought it might be wiser after all to do as he was asked without making too much fuss about it.  After that, he got on like a house on fire and made great strides.

I had never had any phobias but suddenly, one day in summer when we were walking along the beach, fireworks went off and I got the fright of my life.  After that I was always on the lookout for more big bangs so my folks decided they had better nip this potential problem in the bud and we did some noise training at my classes.  We had guns, and squibs and then we graduated to rockets. I can’t say I like these shocking noises any better than before, but I think I did learn to seek refuge with my own folks and not just pelt off in any old direction.  

My best days were when prospective new pupils came to have a look at what we did there all parading up and down.  Then I really pulled all the stops out.  I would stride out decisively, stop dead at the slightest upward movement of the lead, sit stock still, lie down in a most dignified posture, wait till given the order to proceed and then I would swagger past them all with my nose in the air.  It really is great to be able to show off a bit now and then!


Then just before Christmas something really horrifying happened. We went out for one of our rambles in the hills.  We parked the car and set off.  Paddy was off the lead and I was not.  Suddenly Paddy just dropped down on the ground.  When we tried to stand him up again his legs would not support him.  Then we saw that his lips were turning purple, so we turned tail and rushed back to the car, but, by the time we got to the vet, he was dead - poisoned.  I missed him for a long time because he was the one who showed me all the tricks.  We were going to get another addition to the family but my teacher suggested that they should give me time to find my feet as an independent dog rather than second-in-command.  

I think I’ve done that pretty well now.

Simon

Dear Friends

Dear Friends,

Well, we are back in Europe again.  On our return journey from Bolivia we passed through Brazil again and, although our flight was slightly delayed, we managed to get  to Madrid by the skin of our teeth to catch the plane to Málaga.  The airline staff were very nice and had Paddy and me booked straight through to save time.  The only problem was that we couldn’t get out to do our business but we just held on for another hour, which wasn’t too bad.

When we got to Málaga our neighbours were there to meet us and we had a fine old time jumping all over them and kissing them like mad.  I think they came specially prepared with their dog clothes on.  Then, we got back home and would you believe it? We remembered everything about it - where the water bowl should be and the food drums and the cats and the goat .......  I suppose it is not so strange that Paddy should remember because he was already grown up, but I was only a puppy when we left.  Then, when we had checked the whole place out, we had a game of chases round the bushes in the same sequence we used to do it before we went away.  That was great fun.

Since we have been back I have had a lot to do.  The first thing was to let all the dogs and other inhabitants of the place know that we were back and this was ours, so we had to bark at everyone as they passed by - goats, sheep, cows, dogs, neighbours, cars, motorcycles - you name, we didn’t let a single one off.  This business of patrolling the territory is a very arduous job but I have had to take it on, and once you take on a job you might as well do it right.  This means that every morning and evening I have to patrol my land and make sure that all is in order and that nobody trespasses.  

When the patrols are over, then I have a rest.  This was particularly important during the heat of the summer, but today it has started to rain so maybe the autumn weather will be setting in soon.  Well, I thought it would be a good idea to have a secret place where I could take a nap without anyone knowing where I was, so I made myself a hideout under the fronds of the pampas grass plant.  Nobody can see me there because the trunk of the strawberry tree blocks off the view of the entrance and the fronds fall right to the ground all the rest of the way around.  

I am sure all you beardies will understand (maybe our folks won’t) that all this patrolling involves running through brambles and thorn bushes and around trees and that doesn’t help the coat, because the truth is that I leave half of it on the bushes.

Nevertheless, last Saturday they took me to the Gibraltar Dog Show.  I had a great time watching all these big dogs growling at one another, because some of their silly owners make them face up to each other, and little dogs being spruced up and sprayed and combed and I don’t know what.  I just found myself a quiet shady corner and lay down to watch the world go by.  For the first time since I left my Mum and Dad when I was a puppy I met other bearded collies.  


There was a very nice little lady nearly the same age as me and I wagged my tail at her.  The only thing was that her owner wouldn’t let her move in case she creased her skirt so I just had to make friendly signs from a distance.  Poor thing!  Just as it was her turn to go into the ring her owner, who was wielding her grooming brush, gave her an energetic comb and one of the metal bristles came loose,  perforated her skin and made her yelp.  Then they prodded her about so much that the bristle went further and further in.  I don’t know what happened after that but I must say I felt sorry for her.

All in all it was a lovely day. The judge was very nice to me. I think he was most impressed with my gait despite my lack of coat.  He was very gentle and patient with all the dogs - and particularly their owners.  These humans are a bit neurotic, don’t you think?  They get all worked up about silly things and then make us nervous with all their shenanigans.  You would think it was them who were taking part in the competition instead of us.  Well, not much we can do about that, is there?  We’ll just have to be patient and understanding and put up with them.

FIRST LOVE

FIRST LOVE

I know the TV is full of it and everyone is very blasé about it, but the truth of the matter is you can’t understand how it feels until it actually happens to you.  I’m nearly four year’s old, so maybe some of you will say I’m a late developer and perhaps you’re right, but that doesn’t alter the powerful nature of the experience.

About a week ago a little bitch came walking by my house.  I was lying in the shade minding my own business but something caught my attention and I sallied forth to greet this unexpected visitor.  When she went away, I couldn’t settle down again so I kept wandering back to the spot where I had seen her.  I looked all around but she was nowhere to be seen.  Then the next day and the next she came back again, and this time she managed to squeeze between the bars of our gate so I followed her all around my territory.  The chap next door, a fawn German shepherd cross, tried to get in on the act but she was in my patch and anyhow - and this is quite flattering - she paid no attention to him, so I didn’t have to get involved in a squabble over this matter which would have been quite undignified. Not that I’m too hot on dignity as a general rule but .... under the circumstances ....

After that, every morning she would squeeze through the gate and come and sit by me.  By this time my folks were getting pretty agitated.  You know how it is: they thought she wasn’t good enough for me although they agreed she was sweet. Sweet she was indeed and quite pretty too.  She was small and slim with a cinnamon-coloured coat and a sunny disposition.  One morning, just as I had won her over completely, out came my Mum and that sent the poor thing scurrying off.  She ran as fast as her legs would carry her and flattened herself to the ground so she could get out under the gate.  Funny how she always went out UNDER the gate when she could just as easily have squeezed through the bars.  

Anyway, for days I pined.  I didn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep.  I prowled up and down the lounge the whole night through.  I tried to follow her but to no avail.  I explored the neighbour’s land which is accessible from mine but their fencing is just as unassailable as our own.  They took me for long walks to the beach and into town to try and take my mind off this unwise affair but, although I made an effort to please them, the image of that little brown beauty haunted me day and night.

Then after a few days she stopped coming around.  Sometimes I can hear her barking down by the road but I haven’t seen her again since.  In physical terms everything is the same as it always was before, but somehow the world has changed for me. I suppose this must be what in anthropology (or should I say “caninology”) they call “the passage to manhood”.

Simon