Wednesday, 5 January 2011


Regular readers of these tales will know that here at Rock HQ we have a number of large dogs. Six of our own, one we foster, all big beautiful Bernese Mountain Dogs. One of the best things about Berners is that although they are a giant breed, they are not the biggest of dogs. Big enough, but you are able to leave things out on the worktops, safe in the knowledge that the cats will run off with it rather than the dogs. They do counter surf from time to time, Reba is the worst, or best, depending on your viewpoint. But on the whole you are unlikely to find a Berner trying to get through the cat flap with your supper.
A colleague has a dog, a Dog de Bordeaux, I think that's how its spelled, an enormous thing that looks like Scooby Doo as its crossed with something like a Great Dane. Anyway she decided to cook a pack of our now famous sausages for a family supper, laying the sausage out in the frying pan, mouth watering smells soon wafted from the kitchen. The family waited hungrily, watching TV. The phone rang and she went to answer it asking her son to keep a eye on the sausages while she dealt with the call. Annoyingly she found him sat on the sofa watching TV on her return and asked him why he was not watching the sausage as asked. He huffed, like most teenagers, what sausages. The ones in the pan. The pans empty. She checked. There on the cooker was an empty frying pan. Right next to a very tall dog trying desperately not to make eye contact.Guilty!
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