I was a bit under the weather-diao, diah, diro – THE TROTS & an infected cut on my leg so the dragon thought it a good idea to take me to the vet. She’s had better ideas. Whilst we were waiting there was a brazen bull dog girl who perpetrated such atrocities she emptied the waiting room!  They complain about greyhound gas. I was flapping standard.

 I am fine after a course of antibiotics although my nostrils have not quite recovered from their abuse!  X Pim

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The Dragon is not using the central heating this winter, she is using old fashioned coal fires.  She gets her fire started early evening so it is roaring and the sitting room is warm in time for her to watch her favorite program on that tv thing.  She settles into her reclining chair with a cup of tea, and very soon both cats get on her knee – this used to be Boomer’s place.  In no time at all, they are dozing.  Humans are so unattractive when asleep, especially with open mouth and dribbling out of one corner.  Whilst the three of them are snoring in the land of nod I hope they don’t expect ME to stoke the fire, not after the way she has repeatedly shouted at me for removing coal from the coal scuttle!

Militant again Pim

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Well friends Christmas is nearly here, the sprouts are simmering and the goose is in the oven (or I wish it was).  As you are all aware The Dragon is very fond of her poultry, as are all the local foxes – she still hates foxes, ever since one tunneled into her old wooden hen hut and stole a chicken, but not before it had ripped the heads off all the others.

    In the years since I wrote to you regularly, there have been comings and goings with her birds.  I am cool with the hens, and they likewise with me.  The turkeys were a different kettle of fish.  They were big and black and used to surround a boy, staring at me with their small beady eyes and wobbling their wattles above my head whilst going, “gobble gobble”.  I’m convinced what they were actually saying was “Yum Yum where shall we start”.  However turkeys are the most stupidest of all birds, and I always managed to disappear from sight before they’d even noticed I’d gone.  They would then all stand round looking at the empty space on the ground with a most perplexed look on their ugly faces!  They left one Christmas.

    Then came the geese.  Oh the geese!  The three girlie geese were ok, but the boy, the gander – Sid Vicious – he is something else!  Nobody warned me that geese have teeth and a worse temper than any terrier with PMT.  The first time I met the four geese, I expected them to be thick like the turkeys, boy was I wrong!  As I sauntered slowly past them, Hissing Sid postured at me and the next moment ran from nowhere and attacked me!  He managed to clamp his teeth onto the end of my tail, and would not let go.  I yelped, I ran, but still he held tight to my tail.  The faster I ran, the more he flapped his wings, and the higher off the ground went Sid with my tail.  In the end with my ears flapping and the gander also flapping on the tip on my tail, I looked more like a Chinook Helicopter than any dog.  Which was quite apt, as in the fracas and noise and chaos, the yard was more reminiscent of a war zone than the idyll farm scene it usually is.  Finally I managed to dive under a trailer full of straw, leaving Sid embedded beak first in a large bale.  He did look like a giant woodpecker!  The moral of this story is that I always poke my ‘sneck’ round corners to see where Sid is.  I sidle round the buildings when he is about, watching his every move.  As soon as he postures or honks, I sprint off at a speed that would put Ussain Bolt to shame.  His little dumpy legs are no match for mine, and he soon gives up the chase.

    Talking of little dumpy legs, The Dragon has a favorite goose, which is one of Sid’s daughters.  When she hatched she had a deformed bill, and it became apparent that she was also nearly blind.  It does not stop her, as she uses her right wing to feel her way round the yard, and at night she sleeps safely in a dog crate in a stable.  She often trundles down to the pond at the bottom of the very steepest hill on the farm.  Every twilight The Dragon goes down the hill to fetch her home before the foxes come out.  ‘Bint Vicious’ normally gets part way up, then lies down to be carried the rest of the way.  She is a very heavy goose.  Each time The Dragon gets back up the hill, she sounds like a broken record, “If I have to carry THAT goose up THAT hill one more time, I’m going to wring it’s neck and eat it”!  It has been at least three years and she has not eaten it yet.  I wish she would wring Hissing Sid’s neck, I’d LOVE to chomp on his wing!
Merry Christmas to you all,

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I don’t like walking in the rain…..she got me a waterproof coat….wrong result.       

Foiled again Pim

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Once again The Dragon is causing me upset by ‘dissing’ me.  I’d 
gotten used to her referring to me as the black bin bag and even the 
banker – spelled with a ‘w’.  However, her new name is totally uncalled 
for!  I still remember, although she has probably conveniently 
forgotten, when I first came here to the farm, one of the first things 
that happened was a visit to the vet.  When I woke up, things were 
missing.  Now when I meet other dogs, I feel obliged to sniff them all 
over.  The Dragon always apologises to the other dog walkers, ‘Sorry, 
ignore him, he’s a pervert’.  Why can’t she see I’m not a perv, I’m just 
checking that some other dog is not wearing my missing bits and 
pieces?!  I love it when the lady dogs roll over and show me their 
tummies, but I don’t really know why.

      She sometimes walks me at night when it is pitch black – like me.  
She got fed up of misplacing me in the gloom, so she bought me a special 
collar to wear after dark. It is florescent. To this hideous collar she 
has attached a small globe which flashes alternately bright blue and 
red. So I either look like a police dog with my ‘blues and twos’ going, 
or I look like I am wearing a strobe light from a nightclub.  So DON’T 
call me pervert – I’m DISCO DOG!

Peace and Love Man, peace and love.  Pim

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 Several years has passed since this incident so I am reasonably comfortable about telling you about it now, so long as The Dragon never reads this.  However, before I tell all, I must explain about one of my little ‘foibles’.  I often don’t relish the idea of being left on my own, and try to explain to my humans in the only way I know how.  When they are going out, I ‘paw’ them with a front foot. If they ignore this, I get hold of a trouser leg or sleeve.  If this fails to get their attention, I grab hold of their arm in my mouth whilst my eyes plead “take me”.  I suppose a ‘non doggy’ person might possibly misconstrue this action……..

      The Dragon’s husband had been quite ill in the last few years of his life, and in the final twelve months, he’d had to move into the sitting room with us boys – bed and everything.  I loved his bed and snuggly duvet, but Dragon was livid every time  she found me in it!  The three of us, Husband, Boomer and me were mates and had some very good months together sharing meals and the bed (as long as the Dragon was out). She joined us every evening after work.  It was one Sunday 
afternoon whilst watching his favorite rugby on that TV thing, still with his cup of tea in his hand that the Dragon’s Husband went on his long sleep. Now when humans set out on their long sleep, another ‘undertaking’ human comes to the house. 

This person is a very serious man called a ‘Funeral Director’.  Funeral Directors are not at all ‘doggy’.  When the undertaking man had taken our mate out to his special car, he came back in to speak to the Dragon, and make some 
arrangements.  “One of those dogs nipped me”, he told her. 

A quick glance in my direction, and she smiled at him, “You must be mistaken.  The black bin bag is far too big a wuss to nip anything larger than a biscuit and the ginger tripod has only one tooth left in his head”.  No more was ever said about it, and that is the only time the Dragon has ever defended me.  I will leave it up to my reader to decide the truth about what happened………

XX Pim

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She forgot to put it in the jar (Pim proof).  I hid it in my bed.  She spent all evening looking for the remote.  What a jolly jape!       

                                                                          Te He X Pim                                      

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 means a great one for me

The Dragon has had a bad week.  The vet had to help her old white 
cat go on his ‘long sleep’. She was sad, but he was very poorly.  I 
haven’t told her but I am delighted.  Alfie was a greedy pig!  As if 
eating four times as much as each of the other cats wasn’t enough, he 
always helped himself to anything in MY bowl.  Now everyone knows what a 
polite chap I am,  so each time he started troughing out of my dish, I 
had to stand to one side drooling until he had finished with my food or 
my treats or my milk.  He even managed to hook pieces of chicken out of 
my mouth with his claws! So no, I’m not sorry he’s gone.

      Today I have had a great walk. HALF a mile has taken us at least 
30 minutes.  The Dragon is grumpy she could’nt go any faster. She was 
carrying hay to one of the horses  yesterday when she tripped on some 
baling twine and fell on her bad knee, so this afternoon it was too 
stiff to go at her usual pace – yippee!  You’re never going to believe 
the story of how she got that bad knee.  As it happens, I was 
eavesdropping as she was telling a friend about it.  On several 
occasions her vet took loads of cartilage out of said knee.  Apparently 
this left enough space for someone called Arthur Oritis (it sounded like 
Arthur) to move in.  How ridiculous! How do humans tell unbelievably 
wild tales, and think they can get away with such ‘porkies’!?  As long 
as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand everything humans 
say.  Who ever heard of anyone living in some one’s knee!!  Ha! Ha!  Any 
how, if it slows her down, I’ll be happy to humour her about this so 
called Arthur Oritis.

      So the Dragon’s bad week has been a great result for me, but just 
don’t tell her.  Next time remind me to tell you about the funeral director.

XX Pim

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    Well I’m just back from another one of the Dragon’s awful route marches.  Why won’t she realise that a boy needs to stop frequently and smell the flowers (or anything else of interest to a canine).  I consider it a good walk if a mile takes us two hours.  The Dragon is not happy unless said mile takes no more than 15/20 minutes including my ‘pit stops’.  My paws are still smarting so this will only be a short note.

    I’m really worried as ever since ‘Le Tour’, she has been talking about buying a bicycle.  She currently has an old one which was ‘liberated’ out of a skip about 6 years ago, but for the past 3 it has had a flat tyre – thank God!  I’m definately, flately refusing to accompany her if she gets wheels!  At her age she should know better.  Hrrump.

Militant Pim

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Well guys its been ages since I spoke to you all – a few years in fact! So much has happened in those years, I hardly know where to start, to bring you ‘up to speed’ with events in my life here on the farm. I had to stop my blog when the Dragon’s computer packed up. I personally think it took serious offence at the way she spoke to it and the fact she kept threatening to ‘hoy it out the window’ when it didn’t do what she wanted. Anyhow when it stopped working the kids offered to let me use their ‘tablet’. Have you seen the size of those things!? There is no way on this earth even I could have swallowed that. When I calmed down they explained it was not the sort of tablet one had to swallow but an alternative sort of computer. They called it a ‘me pad’ or something like that. My paws just would not fit on it so that nearly got ‘hoyed out of the window’. Finally two very kind people donated me a couple of computers which fit on top of my lap – COOL I can lie on the settee whilst I write. Thanks Sarah, thanks Mandy and thanks Bobby for setting them up for me.

In the years since I last wrote much has happened on the farm. The Dragon has become a widow and a granny in the space of a few months.; She likes one but is not a fan of the other. Baby Molly is now eighteen months old. Hey guys did you know that baby people wear their puppy training pads on their own bottoms? YUK how disgusting is that!!!! They also sit right there on someone’s knee and do a ‘dump’ without any sign of trouble. Had it been me the Pim wacker would have been resurrected.

Before Christmas last year, Boomer became ill. He went into hospital, then back and forth to the vet for weeks. The Dragon had to inject him twice daily which they both hated, and he had to give up his little chocolate treats – spoiled brat – I never got as many treats! After six weeks the Dragon made a very hard decision. On the day the vet came, Dragon got into Boomer’s bed with him and they scoffed a box of ‘After Eights’, the Brat’s favorite, then the vet and nurse bent down and seconds later Boomer went on The Long Sleep and joined Figment under the tree. Now I am the sole canine, but that doesn’t mean I get double the treats (whine).

This spring the Dragon had to go into hospital for an operation, which resulted in six weeks off work. To stay fit, she started walking, once a day, slowly and for short distances at first. I loved going with her – to start with. It soon became twice a day and much faster and for long distances. When she has time, these route marches have become a habit and she drags me along with her up to eight miles at a time. I wish someone would have the nerve to tell her I am built as a sprinter not as a stayer. The speed she goes at anyone would think her ass was on fire! My buttocks are certainly smoking!!!

Anyhow that is basically all the news since I last wrote. I will tell you everything in more detail when my paws have stopped smarting from my last speed march. Remind me to tell you the tale of the funeral director.


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There had been a few quiet weeks, until the one just gone – boy did I forget the damn rules big time! It started with the taglatelli (pasta to you and me). The dragon made way too much for her tea. There was enough left over for lunch and tea the following day. She left it in a huge bowl to cool. She left it on the counter and came into the living room to watch that tv box thing for the evening. Nat came home about 7 pm and I got up as usual to greet her in the kitchen. When I came back in later I plonked myself heavily down in front of the tv thing with a groan. The dragon noticed my bulging tummy and made a mental note, ‘stick greyhound on a diet’. At bedtime she noticed the empty bowl and put two and two together. She also put together a new Pim Whacker.

Two days later she had the bright idea to do a French evening for tea. This entailed a huge casserole dish of homemade French Onion Soup together with toasted French bread and cheese. The soup was accidentally left on the hob when she went to bed. It accidentally found its way into my tummy along with the French bread in the breadbin, which she also forgot to lock. Their French themed evening turned into tinned tomato soup and toast, and I’m having to practice the French lingo. She promises that she will tie me to the bicycle of the next French onion seller she meets. Her new name for me sounds something like ‘couchon noir’. I’ll have to look in my dictionary to see what she is talking about. Ce La Vie.
Bon Nuit mes enfants XX Pim
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Well guys, this holiday started so very well. Boomer and I each got such a big bone four days before Christmas, and the Dragon got £200 she never expected – we were all well excited! As the Dragon is a confirmed insomniac and only ever seems to fall asleep in front of the television, she determined to buy herself a telly for her bedroom in the hope of getting a little more sleep. The Snitch and I set about enjoying our bones. Boomer ‘gummed’ his all day, however I chewed all day and all night. The next day I chewed all day and all night – my teeth were becoming remarkably white!

Pim ToiletOn the day before Christmas eve I was a little under the weather – constipation – how embarrassing. The Dragon applied liquid paraffin down my sneck and by lunchtime I was a little better. However by evening I was quite distressed and she had no option but to take me to the emergency vet about 9.30.

Nat offered to come with us. Now the Dragon is full of cold and her nose is bunged up, Nat’s however was not! She said I smelled like something which could gag a maggot so we drove all the way there with the front window down so Nat could breathe. The Dragon on the other hand froze to death. After 3 injections and 2 cat enemas we were sent home with the advice ‘if no better in the morning take him to your own vet’. That will be £191.78 please – there goes the telly.


I was not better in the morning so off we went to Keighley. “He is pretty bunged up” was the vet’s diagnosis once I’d finished squealing, crying and yelping any time she went near my nether regions. “Best give him a general and I’ll rake him out”. WHAT!!!! Have you seen the size of the rakes the Dragon uses in the stables or garden?! I was out of there as fast as I could go – or at least to the end of my lead! Struggling was no use against the 3 of them – I was dragged screaming to another room where the process was to begin.

To be fair, I really remember nothing about it until I came round and the Dragon came to collect me. “He’s not really very brave is he?” I remember the vet lady telling the Dragon. NOT VERY BRAVE! I don’t think she would be very brave either if she was going to have a draining rod up her bottom with or without anaesthetic! Liberal quantities of liquid paraffin were poured down both my front and back orifices, but apart from the ‘John Wayne’ walk, I did feel better.


The upshot of the whole fiasco is that we will never be having those sort of bones ever again, and the Dragon will not have a telly in her bedroom.

She says that she will take me upstairs to the bedroom and look at my £700 arse until she drops off! Merry Christmas Dragon.


John the Wayne Pim XXX



Postscript; Tom, Nat and the Dragon went to a party a couple of days after Christmas. They did not expect to be away long – they were.

She forgot to lock the breadbin, where I found a full loaf of bread and 6 very large breadcakes. Yum Yum! And what was that on the table? A brandnew box of chocolate biscuits someone had given her for Christmas. It did take me most of the night, but I finally got the lid and cellophane off, and scoffed the lot as well! Yum Yum! To be fair I did leave her 2 steaming pressies on the floor. Yes I am well better. Happy New Year Dragon!


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If I could just get my paws on the numpty who told the Dragon that we black greyhounds were called ‘Bin bags’, I would throttle them!

You can imagine how embarrassing it is for me when we are out. People, who don’t know her, sometimes see us and question her. “Oh, I’m just taking this bin bag for a walk”. Their usual reaction is a pitying look toward me (as though I am out with the village idiot) and normally they scuttle off quickly in the opposite direction. The only thing, which could be any worse, was if she used her normal name for me – the banker – only she still spells it with a ‘W’.

I am NOT a bin bag, banker or any other name she calls me. I AM a dog, a black dog and a very special dog. I HAVE been published, and deserve better respect – or at least a chicken wing!


DON’T Diss me – Pim XX


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WELL, that’s the last time I help the police with their enquiries! They came today about the burglary I tried to stop. I was not interviewed. There was no medal. There was no chicken wing. There was not even a measley pat on the head! HUMPH!


Well Miffed Pim XX


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The Dragon is always the first to get up, and she follows a very strict routine.

She feeds the cats, gets dressed, comes downstairs, goes into the porch to check the gate by the side of the house is still closed, comes through into the kitchen to greet us boys, lets us out to relieve ourselves, cleans up whatever mess I have managed to leave for her, gets our breakfast ready, by which time we are back up the kitchen stairs waiting for her to hurry up.

Today started as normal until she opened the kitchen door to let us out. Boomer ran into the garden, and I tore round the corner, out of sight, barking all the way.

I was actually shouting, “STRANGER! There’s a stranger in the bottom yard”. Daft Dragon thought I was shouting, “SQUIRREL! I’m going to get that squirrel”. (She is perfect at understanding Boomer, but has never mastered greyhound speak. If she bothered to learn Pim speak there would probably be a lot less agro round here!)

Anyhow, I digress. As I disappeared into the bottom yard, giving voice all the way, she continued to get breakfast ready. Boomer soon returned, and the Dragon was irked I was not with him. She left it a few minutes and then went to find and chastise me for not coming when called. Her face must have been like ‘a slapped bottom’ when she saw the bottom gate wide open.


During this time I was, by myself and all alone, heroically following the burglar on his bicycle. I must have followed him three quarters of a mile or so up onto the main road. However at the traffic lights some kind Samaritans, to avoid an accident on the road, picked me up and took me to the nearest vet’s. My collar has no address on, but the vet managed to scan my neck and found my identity chip and quickly traced me back to Tia. Wow that was lucky. No dog could get lost if we were all chipped!


In the meantime the dragon had been in the car, frantically trawling the local area for an hour and twenty minutes, expecting at any second to be picked up by the police for ‘curb-crawling’.

That’s when her mobile phone rang, causing absolute panic as the calling number was withheld so she expected the worst news. She nearly wet herself when she answered. “He’s ok, he’s at the local vet”, and recognised Debra’s voice.Pim in the car


I was picked up, a few minutes later by Mrs. Grumpy. It was not until we got back to the farm, saw what was missing, and the tyre tracks of a bicycle, it became evident, that on this occasion, I was blameless and had actually been trying to warn the stupid woman what was happening! Yep it has been a strange day.


The police are coming in the morning. I expect they are bringing a medal for me, or at least a chicken wing!


XXX Heroic Pim

Ps. The gates are padlocked tonight


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