The Most Evil Cat In The World

”Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


As I’ve said before on this blog, I’m a doggie person, but I know that there are a lot of people out there who like cats. However, I don’t think any of them could have liked the cat that is the subject of this post.

It happed a few years ago when a colleague and myself were on a business trip that included a visit to a small town in West Virginia. It was a lovely little town, called Rednecksville (I won’t tell you it’s real name so as to protect the guilty), full of lovely, very friendly and hospitable people.

During the time we happened to be there they held a local fair come flea market where people from the town and the surrounding countryside would gather. Some set up stalls to sell their home crafted goods, others, like myself just went along to see what was on offer and perhaps buy a few trinkets as gifts. 

But, whilst the experience itself was enjoyable, the items that were on sale left a whole lot to be desired. They were quite unbelievably crudely made.

There was a guy with what I think were supposed to bird nesting boxes and/or feeders, but they looked more like an old plank of wood with a bit of drain pipe nailed to it. (It looked like that because that’s what it was, lol)

Other stalls were selling home made jewelry in what you could only call primitive style.

And yet more had bits of metal junk.

Surprisingly one of the junk stalls seemed to be doing good business, selling big rusty nuts and bolts and bits of chain and so forth. On second thoughts perhaps not so surprisingly since this was a largely rural community and new uses can always be found for stuff like that.

I smiled quietly to myself as I wondered if the bird box guy had been a customer of this stall the last time they had the fair.

At another stall a woman was selling some stuffed toys/animals she had very obviously made herself. None of them were good, but some were just downright awful.

For some reason best known to himself my colleague chose to buy a stuffed cat for his wife. He was getting on in years and had been married a long time, but in all those years he never had any idea about women or what they would like – and that was especially so in regard to his wife, although in his defense I have to say that she didn’t seem to like anything he did very much.

To my utter amazement he choose the most unusual stuffed cat I have ever seen. It wasn’t that it looked ugly as such, or that it was badly made. This thing looked pure evil. And no matter where you would be standing it always seemed to be looking right at you, or through you.

It was terrible, horrendous, occultish. If Steven King had been there he’d have written a book about it for sure. If Vincent Price had been holding it in some horror movie set it might have looked more acceptable. Or if we had been in Haiti, I could have understood it if it was supposed to be some voodoo ritual piece. But this was right in the middle of good old evangelical Christian Bible Belt America. This was no place for the cat from hell.  

“What do you think?” he asked, proudly showing me his new purchase.

“I hate it!” I told him in no uncertain terms. “What the hell did you buy that thing for?”

He seemed rather miffed.

He must have been more miffed when he got it home. Needless to say his wife hated it. Wouldn’t give it house room at all. And I’m sure she made her feelings very clear to him, as she usually did about almost everything.  

So he gave it to his daughter. 

She hated it. Didn’t want it near her house either.

So he gave it to his daughter-in-law. 

She hated it. She was actually scared out of her wits by it.

So he gave it to his grand-daughter. 

She hated it. Started to cry, I believe.

So he put in the trunk of the car and brought it to his office the next day. 

His secretary hated it, too. Wouldn’t have it near the office.  

So back in the trunk it went.

Eventually he must have got to hate it too because it disappeared never to be seen again.

And the weirdest bit of all….

I photographed him with it when he bought it and I would have attached it to this blog post except for one thing – the photo is nowhere to be found!

That was one weird cat!



How To Feature On The Fasab Blog

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


To become the subject matter on a post on the Fasab blog you either have to be incredibly stupid, incredibly bad at your job, incredibly awkward or unhelpful, or do or say something so dumb it’s actually hilarious.

That’s most of the time. The other way to get a mention is to do something rather impressive or inspiring.

A number of posts have also included animals, usually interacting with people, but very few that I can think of have featured animals only. Not surprisingly therefore today’s does.

The first of these includes some really fabulous high speed video of an Eagle Owl in flight



The second one is the Flashdance dog



The third is a Monkey having some fun with a couple of Tiger cubs




The fourth is a Crazy Dog – you’ll soon see why




And finally a baby Panda sneezing – just watch the mother’s reaction!

The Dog That Slept With Its Ass In The Air

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


I’ve said before on this blog that I’m a doggie person. Generally speaking dogs and me get on reasonably well, with just a few exceptions. It’s no secret either that by far my favorite breed is the German Shepherd which is an incredibly loyal and intelligent companion. I’ve been blessed with having two of these family members in my life so far. What an awful shame that their lifespan isn’t more like our own.

I have found out that other breeds and cross-breeds are nowhere close to the GSD. We’ve had three recently, and each one dumber than the last. There was “Lassie” a white fluffy terrier type thingy. Nice little dog and friendly, but you couldn’t even teach it it’s own name. It had been given to us by a nice Korean lady and I offered the theory that it could only speak Korean and didn’t know what we all chatting about. Using google translate I learned a couple of Korean words, but the result was the same blank look.

Then we were gifted another puppy, which we were told was a purebred Rotweiller, but which turned out to be a cross between that and a Pitbull or some other equally macho breed. I really detest the whole macho Pitbull syndrome and wanted to get rid of this one right away. But I was out-voted. Then a few months later it started taking the garden apart with the efficiency of a builder’s excavator, so suddenly the votes were on my side and we got someone to take it off our hands.

Now, as I think I’ve said before on this blog, we have a dog that thinks it’s a cat. I call this one a Doberwaawaahund. Another dumb dog that does not seem capable of learning anything. One of the things it can’t learn is to keep off the public road. It’s never done crawling through the bars of our gate and running down the street barking as if it owned the place.

To top it all, despite the bravado, this is without doubt the most cowardly dog I have ever seen. It is scared of everything.

To cut a long story short, on one of its escapades in the street it either met with another dog, a car or a person fed up with all its annoying barking, but it yelped home one day with a broken tail, part of which subsequently had to be removed by the vet.

I didn’t know dogs could get depressed, but for a few weeks or more after the operation this dumb dog was mystified as to what had happened to the rest of his tail. Couldn’t figure it out at all. Worse than that it imagined all its tail was still there, somewhere, and it was so afraid of getting hurt that it just wouldn’t lie down. Not at all, even to sleep.

And so we ended up with the dog that slept with its ass in the air.

Normal Dumb Dog With Tail
Normal Dumb Dog With Tail



Dumb Dog With Shortened Tail Asleep With His Ass In The Air
Dumb Dog With Shortened Tail Asleep With His Ass In The Air



A Little More Stupidity Is Legal

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


Here is another selection of courtroom bloopers. I hope there are no repeats from the last lot, but even if there are you can read most of them again and still laugh. I know I can.



Lawyer: Now, Mrs. Johnson, how was your first marriage terminated?

Witness: By death.

Lawyer: And by whose death was it terminated?

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Have you lived in this town all your life?

Witness: Not yet.

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Did you blow your horn or anything?

Witness: After the accident?

Lawyer: Before the accident.

Witness: Sure, I played for ten years. I even went to school for it.

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: How many times have you committed suicide?

Witness: (looking confused) Is that a question?

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: And where was the location of the accident?

Witness: Approximately milepost 499.

Lawyer: And where is milepost 499?

Witness: Probably between milepost 498 and 500.

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Was it you or your younger brother who was killed in the war?

Witness: What do you think counselor.

– – – – – – – – – –

Lawyer: What happened then?

Witness: He told me, he says, “I have to kill you because you can identify me”

Lawyer: And did he kill you?

Witness: Yes!

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Was that the same nose you broke as a child?

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Were you alone or by yourself?

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Do you have any children or anything of that kind?

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: So you were gone until you returned?

– – – – – – – – – –


A Texas attorney, realizing he was on the verge of unleashing a stupid question, interrupted himself and said, “Your Honor, I’d like to strike the next question.”

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Now, you have investigated other murders, have you not, where there was a victim?

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Could you see him from where you were standing?

Witness: I could see his head.

Lawyer: And where was his head?

Witness: Just above his shoulders.

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: … any suggestions as to what prevented this from being a murder trial instead of an attempted murder trial?

Witness: The victim lived.

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Did he pick the dog up by the ears?

Witness: No.

Lawyer: What was he doing with the dog’s ears?

Witness: Picking them up in the air.

Lawyer: Where was the dog at this time?

Witness: Attached to the ears.

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: What is your relationship with the plaintiff?

Witness: She is my daughter.

Lawyer: Was she your daughter on February 13 1979?

– – – – – – – – – –


Lawyer: Did you stay all night with this man in New York?

Witness: I refuse to answer that question.

Lawyer: Did you stay all night with this man in Chicago?

Witness: I refuse to answer that question.

Lawyer: Did you stay all night with this man in Miami?

Witness: No.




Stick It Where The Sun Don’t Shine, Too!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


So yesterday’s blog post turned out to be about elephant’s bottoms. Who’d have thought? Sometimes these posts are a surprise to me too!

But it seemed to be reasonably popular so as they say, if you’re on a roll….


Today we’re in La Grange, Georgia and talking about a guy called Antonio Mendoza, an attorney. I probably shouldn’t have told you that last bit, it might take away some of your sympathy for poor Antonio.

Anyhow, Antonio has a dog. And as dogs have a habit of doing sometimes, it dragged Antonio’s things all over the place. One of the things belonging to Antonio that the dog got hold of was his cel phone which ended up in the shower.

And so did Antonio. One morning he was having a shower but he slipped on a wet tile, tripped on the dog and in his own words “sat down right on the thing”, the thing being his cel phone!

That of itself would probably have been enough to spoil most ordinary people’s day, but Antonio’s phone, like the unfortunate guy’s head yesterday, went right up where the sun don’t shine.

You’d think it couldn’t get much worse than that, but you’d be wrong.

Antonio’s phone was one of those flip phone types and the impact of his fall had managed to flip open the cover up inside his rectum. There was nothing for it but go to the hospital where the delicate extraction took more than three hours.

“He was a real trooper during the entire episode,” said Dr.Dennis Crobe. “Tony just cracked jokes and really seemed to be enjoying himself. Three times during the extraction his phone rang and each time, he made jokes about it that just had us rolling on the floor. By the time we finished, we really did expect to find an answering machine in there.”


That’s what can happen if you do it by accident.


Have a listen to the consequences if you are really, really and I mean REALLY dumb!

Duck Shoot Shot!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


I did a bit of hunting when I was a kid and it was enjoyable enough at the time. And I have nothing very much against it for those who are inclined to such pastimes. But as I got older I lost interest in it. If there’s vermin around I’ll take out my shotgun and dispatch it no problem. But these days, and you may agree with this or not, I find that there are much more interesting things to do that trying to outwit a duck.

The same can not be said for these two intrepid hunters.

The story begins with a guy in Michigan, USA, who bought a brand new $30,000 Grand Cherokee, on credit naturally. He was very proud of his new rig, and got hold of his friend to do some male bonding with the new ride.

They decided to go duck hunting on a frozen lake and turned up with their guns, a dog, lots of beer and of course the new vehicle. They drove out onto the ice.

Now, they needed to make a hole in the ice to attract ducks – something for the decoys to float on. In order to make a hole large enough to interest a flock of ducks, they needed to use something a bit bigger than your normal ice drill. But, thinking ahead and coming prepared, they had brought with them a stick of dynamite with a 40-second fuse.

You can probably see where this is going already?

To their credit, these guys realized that they wanted the explosion to be far away from themselves, the jeep and their equipment. However, they also didn’t want to light the fuse and run back to the jeep in case they slipped on the ice.

So far so good, and the logic of their thinking was okay.

Their solution, however, was to stay where they were, light the dynamite and then throw it as far as they could.

Again so far so good, it still sounded like a plan.

So they did that very thing. They threw the dynamite and the explosive landed a suitable distance away. They waited for the explosion.

However, when they made their plan they had no contingencies in it about their dog.

A well-trained golden Labrador, it immediately set out across the ice to bring the back the stick.  That’s what dogs do. And this dog did.

The two would-be hunters started yelling, stomping, and waving their arms.

The dog glanced back but took all the frantic activity as approval and encouragement and happily ran back toward the hunters, fizzing stick of dynamite firmly clenched in it’s jaws.

As the dog approached, one of the pair thought rapidly, grabbed his shotgun, and shot the dog.

Unfortunately the shotgun was loaded with #8 duck shot and was hardly effective enough to stop a dog the size of a Labrador.

The dog did pause for a moment, slightly confused, but then continued on.

Another shot rang out.

This time the dog became really confused and, quite naturally, scared.

He changed direction, and now with an extremely short fuse still burning, headed for the nearest and indeed only cover on the wide expanse of ice.

Yeah, underneath the guy’s brand new Cherokee.

The dynamite went off, and dog and jeep plummeted to the bottom of the lake.

Strangely, the insurance company refused to pay up.



golden Labrador dynamite retriever
golden Labrador dynamite retriever

Willy And Woof!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


A barking dog is often more useful than a sleeping lion.


I’ve always thought the shortened form of the name William was a curious one. If you turn out to be a big guy in later life, say 6 feet tall or better, then you’re fine, but if you happen to end up as closer to the 5 feet mark in stature then the name isn’t so good. Being called ‘Big Willy’ all the time must make for more of a confidence builder than being stuck all your life as ‘Small Willy’ or ‘Wee Willy’.

Fortunately women don’t seem to have the same problem, at least not since the name ‘Fanny’ has gone out of fashion.

This is all by way of introduction to a man I knew called, you’ve probably guessed already, ‘Willy’. He was just medium height and so everybody just called him ‘Willy’ –  to his face that is. Behind his back ‘Willy’ had another nick name.

Willy was a curious bloke. He was by far and away the most disobliging man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. And selfish and bad tempered as well. Everything was about him, what he wanted, and when he wanted it. Nobody else mattered.

And to top it all off, he was as dumb as they come. He never finished school or learned a trade. Any time he was employed it was only for a short while quite frankly because no one could stick his attitude for very long. If he was given a job to do he did it, but as reluctantly and as badly as possible and would never help out any of his colleagues – even when doing so would have helped himself.

Willy was also born with a cleft pallet sometimes known as a ‘hair lip’. In his day the surgical techniques for correcting such an infliction were not as advanced as nowadays and Willy ended up with a quite pronounced speech impediment for the rest of his life.

Eventually though he found a woman desperate enough to take him on and they got married. Her name was Ruth, a nice name. At least it was to everybody but ‘Willy’. For a short time after they were married he called her Ruth, naturally enough, that was her name. But then after a few weeks or months he changed her name (unofficially) to ‘Margaret’, which was not and had never been her name or part of it. But from then on to him she was ‘Margaret’, Ruth was no more.

It wasn’t because he didn’t like her real name, or because he had forgotten it, he wasn’t quite as stupid as that, I don’t think so anyhow. He had an entirely different reason.

It was also the time that ‘Willy’ became known to one and all in the district as “The Dog”.

You see, because of his affliction and consequent speech impediment, ‘Willy’ could not say the name ‘Ruth’ properly – why did he choose a woman with that name to begin with you ask? I think perhaps the number he had to choose from was very small.

When he was out in company, or even just shouting around his own house or garden for his wife, in his head ‘Willy’ was saying ‘Ruth, Ruth’. But what the rest of us heard was only ‘Woof, Woof’.

Now I may be an evil person, I hope not, but this just cracked me up every time I heard it. One ‘Woof’ was funny enough, but when he put two or three of them together, ‘Woof, Woof, Woof’ it was just too much. Absolutely hilarious seeing and hearing this grown man walking about shouting ‘Woof’ like a demented dog. Hence the nickname he got lumbered with for the rest of his days.

Of course all the hilarity made him even crosser than he normally was and the situation was never helped when some of the local wits handed him a dog biscuit when he was in full flight, or tried to feel his nose to see if it was cold, to which he invariably replied ‘WTF’ or in ‘Willy’s’ case make that ‘WTH’!

And that was the tale of Willy And Woof!




Have you had similar experiences? Send them along. Let the world know what is happening before it is too late.


Sometimes Dogs Know More Than We Give Them Credit For!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

It’s Friday 13th today apparently. Superstitious people would tell you that that’s bad luck. Well you’re getting yet another blog post from me so I suppose there might be something in it. Not that I’m superstitious in the least – I think being superstitious is bad luck.

On a similar subject to Wednesday’s post about Oscar the Grim Reaper cat, but staying with dogs again, here’s another short story about our German Shepherd dog.

As I think I’ve said already this dog had become a member of the family. He was a great companion and he liked me a lot because I fed him and took him for walks and played in the yard with him and all that good stuff that you do. But nevertheless he was always fonder of my mother than anyone else.

He loved all the family too, of course, and was ultra protective. As you know from yesterday, he did not like strangers at all and was particularly vicious in his distaste for the postman who rolled in every morning about 10 or 10.30 am.

A routine had developed in the house. When the doorbell would sound there was a scramble to get to the front door first. Lots of running and skidding and if truth be told, sometime the breaking of wind could be heard too. And the dog was almost as bad!

He was tail up, barking, growling and pawing at the glass in the door busting to get at whoever it was. I made valiant attempts, but I seldom if ever got there first, although I would capture him at the door and then attend to the visitors.

If the person there was authorized to come inside he allowed it, but reluctantly, and always made sure he was between my mother and the stranger. Never left her side in fact. He never touched anyone, but it did make for some short visits by some of her cronies, not that I was particularly annoyed about that.

At night he would always take up guard duty on the landing outside her bedroom door and that’s where he slept every night.

That routine went on for several years and then unfortunately my mother became ill. As she got worse we moved her downstairs to a study, which was more convenient for everyone and she did not have to cope with the stairs. The dog duly took up sentry position outside that door every night. Eventually one morning she passed away.

Now if you have ever experienced that, one thing that happens is that a lot of people call at the house. And I mean a LOT. It goes on all day. It starts almost immediately when the Doctor calls. Then there are relatives who start to appear. Then the undertaker arrives. Then more people, neighbors, friends, more relatives and so forth. I must say people are incredibly kind at times like that, bringing food, helping to cater for the rest etc.

On a normal day this activity would have caused me a lot of bother running after the dog every time the doorbell sounded and making sure everyone got ushered into the house and then back out again without interference.

However, that morning was completely different. The dog walked away from the bedroom door and went into the dining room and lay down on the floor.

The Doctor arrived. The dog didn’t move, or bark, or even get up. Same with the undertaker and everyone else who arrived. Even when the postman drove in the dog only glanced in the direction of the door but didn’t make a move towards it or the postman.

And that went on the whole day. The only time he got up was when I took him outside for a while for a walk round the yard. Dogs are remarkable animals, especially the intelligent ones. They don’t say much but they are ultra sensitive to people’s moods and what’s happening around them.

In fact sometimes they know a lot more than we give them credit for and frequently they know a lot more than their owners!

The Supernatural Dog That Could Not Be Stopped!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


Cry “Havoc,” and let slip the dogs of war.

William Shakespeare, ‘Julius Caesar’, Act 3 scene 1


I started off today’s blog with a post in mind that was a bit of a follow on to yesterday’s tale about Oscar the cat, but as I gathered my thoughts together another story came to mind which I will share with you first. You’ll get the other tomorrow, all being well. I’m sure you can hardly wait :o)

I was reminded about a friend of mine called Donald. Every time I spoke to Donald he was making arrangements for me to go to his house or him to come to mine. The arrangements very seldom seemed to come off, and I knew why. You see Donald was terrified of dogs, I mean petrified, and consequently always made some sort of excuse for not turning up.

One day, however, he did, along with a mate of his called Harry, who had no such intense fears. They always phoned in advance to make sure I would be at home so I knew about the visit and was prepared.

In our house at that time the front door opened into a fairly large hall. Off the hall, directly facing the front door and slightly to the left, there was a corridor, and separating the two was a mahogany ‘Georgian’ type door, which instead of being solid wood is made in the form of a window to take small glass panes, in this case about about seven inches wide by about nine long.

Why is this important? Well, because normal people in a normal house would have the ‘Georgian’ door glazed, either with clear or ornamental glass, or sometimes a bit of both. However, in my house I hadn’t done any glazing, not because I hadn’t gotten around to it which would usually be the case, but because when it was glazed it made a solid barrier and I couldn’t hear anyone at the front door.

So, as I was saying, Donald and Harry duly arrived. I was prepared and the dog was in the study down the hall, not able to get to the front door, which I opened and let the two guys into the hall.

As I let them in I was all the while reassuring Donald that the dog was down in the study and the door connecting the corridor to the hall was firmly shut so there was no need to worry.

Not quite taking my word for it, Donald’s head peered slowly round the front door, survey the landscape and seeing that the adjoining door was indeed shut got a boost of confidence and courage and walked manly-like into the hall.

We only had to go three or four steps and we were in the sitting room, but then fate took a hand.

The dog heard the strange voices and came to investigate. First he stuck his head around the study door and took a good look at the strangers. The strangers in turn, particularly Donald took an even better look at him and for about a second, maybe two, that was all that happened.

Then the dog decided he needed a closer look and walked towards the door. To my surprise Donald did the same to get a better look at the dog. Strangely enough he liked dogs, and would even have liked one of his own, but he was just so very, very afraid of them.

And then one of those once in a million things happened.

The dog didn’t like the idea of Donald heading in his direction and started to move forwards towards the hall, not running but quite quickly. Until he got to the door, which was firmly closed.

Now you are probably expecting the door to burst open or for the dog to somehow open it. But it was much better than that.

The dog kept on walking towards the door, now starting to bear his teeth a little to emphasize his displeasure at these interlopers in his house. Donald, surprisingly, stood his ground content that he was safe, but only for a couple of seconds, because when the dog got to the door, mysteriously and very ominously for Donald, his head kept on coming into the hall — through the unglazed part of the door that was tightly shut and that poor Donald thought had glass in it.

One and on the dog came. First the nose, then the eyes, then the ears, then the neck, then more of the neck  –  it was all a bit like that scene in Terminator 2 where the liquid metal robot pushes through the locked gate in the mental hospital.

Of course the unglazed panel was far too small to allow the dog’s shoulders and body through, but in Donald’s head there was no time for rational thought, this dog had super powers and could walk through solid objects!

I could partially see the look on Donald’s face. It really was priceless. It had changed from complete confidence, through equally complete disbelief and momentarily he turned his head towards me and his friend Harry with a clear “How can this be? What’s happening? What kind of place is this? Explain it and quick, FFS!” look etched over his face.

But I hadn’t time to answer, not that I could have anyway, I was in stitches laughing at the whole show. Then Donald’s ‘fright & flight’ reaction kicked in and he bolted for the front door clawing furiously at locks and bolts and door handles to get out of this terrifying and inexplicable place.

He never did come back to see me after that!

But did he have some story to tell when he got home.


Have you had similar experiences? Send them along. Let the world know what is happening before it is too late.


I Am A Doggie Person

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”


I am an unashamed doggie person. They’re great company, fiercely loyal, offer friendship and protection and if you understand them they’re just great to have around. As someone else noted, you can also say whatever balderdash you can think of to them and they’ll always look up at you with that “That was really awesome, I wish I’d thought of that” look on their faces.

Now I know that dog ownership is a very subjective thing, a bit like cars, some people like Ford others Mercedes, or Toyota, or whatever. With dogs some people like big dogs, others small dogs, other a specific breed etc., etc.

I like almost all dogs, with the exception of the tiny, pampered, useless and obnoxiously yappy sort. I’m a bit the same with people, come to think of it. And most dogs seem to like me, though not all. I remember my cousin used to have a collie dog that got along with everyone – except me. When I was in his house all it would do was lie in beneath the television table and growl and growl, teeth beared and ready to pounce (it seemed). It never did, but that probably had more to do with the fact that I never took my eyes off it.

I have owned a few dogs. The first was a Toy Terrier, when I was a kid. Nice little dog, went blind late in its life. Then we’ve had another small white terrier-type mongrel thingy. Very friendly, very, very stupid. Just could not be taught to do anything. There was also a Rotpit or Bullweiller (a cross between a Rottweiler and a Pitbull whatever that makes), friendly with the family, not so keen on strangers, incredibly strong and just demolished everything in its path, particularly the garden. Again dumb as the proverbial “bag of hammers”.

Now we have a cross between a Chihuahua and a Dachshund or Doberman. It was hard to tell with this lot because no three of the puppies were alike (I think their mummy must have been a bit of a floosie!). Lovely looking little doggie and very friendly, but unfortunately it is really stupid too and, probably as a consequence, disobedient.

Oh yes, and it also thinks it’s a cat! It refuses to eat anything but cat food. And now our cat has had kittens again and the dog spends it’s time picking them up and carrying them about and reorganizing them. Until Mrs Cat sees him that is. Then there is a few harsh words spat in his direction, cat claws start flying and she gives him a few right hooks and left jabs until he thinks better of it and runs away, leaving her to collect the kittens and assemble them back in her bed. I think if I was a dog and a cat beat me up I find it hard to live with, but as I said, he’s not so bright!

The best dogs I ever had, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have had two of them, were German Shepherds. They have a bad reputation in some less well informed circles, but if you want a proper dog, one that can protect you and yours and one that is super-intelligent then you won’t be disappointed. They really are a cut above the rest.

So what brought all this on? Well a friend sent me some photos of dogs on Monday. Have a look below, particularly at the expressions on their faces, and if you don’t laugh then there is definitely something wrong with you. They are from a series called underwater dogs.