The Three Wippeteers

Where's my breakfast?

Angel was incredibly brave on Tuesday: we thought the Madwoman had gone a bit dotty when she omitted to give us breakfast, and then carried on not giving us breakfast even when we reminded her, but it turned out that Angel had to go to the vet for a dental clean up. And apparently if one of us goes without breakfast, then all of us goes without. The Three Musketeers have a lot to answer for.

But her teefs are now sparkly, we have a brand new toothbrush and some more yummy toothpaste, and she even got her picture posted on the vets Facebook page.

A welcome home! 

Just checking

Still feeling a bit woozy but glad to be home 

Dreaming of meals being back on schedule again

How ineffable is that?

We were going to write today about the ineffability of the weather

and in particular the ineffishness of the rain,

and finish with a note on the ineffing shortage of roast turkey.

Except that it turns out that ineffable isn't a swear word after all.

So we'll just have a nap instead while you go look it up in the dictionary.

Another day out

We had just got settled in for a Sunday morning lie-in when the Madwoman 

made us get up again, telling us we were having an outing instead.

This is how it went:

 First toilet break, at Reading services.

Well, we'd had our breakfast an hour before and what goes in

must come out ...

It was kind of them to provide a special dog walking area, but in view

of the number of signs around telling the Madwoman to scoop our poop, you'd

think they would provide somewhere for her to dispose of it.

Not really the sort of souvenir you want to take home ...

 Second toilet break at a picnic area.

Lack of poop bins there too.

 Destination arrived!

Turned out to be Tilley Farm.

Here we are admiring the view just before taking a wee break.

 Then it was time for elevenses.

The Madwoman had thoughtfully provided liver bread and turkey for in-car snacks too.

And here is the purpose of our visit: the Madwoman's horse,

who was presented with a sack of carrots and some party balloons for his 30th birthday.

We think he liked the carrots better than the balloons.

And that's our aunty Robyn you can see in the background.

Getting a good night's sleep ...

We have lots of ways of letting the Madwoman know that we care.

For example, we sometimes like to arrange a thoughtful surprise for her at bedtime:

First of all we make the bed, arranging the duvet so it's all scuffed up and nesty. 

Then we  get the pillows all puffed up

And finally instead of leaving a fattening, calorie laden chocolate on her pillow,

we carefully arrange a stuffed vulture on the bed instead. After a few laps of the bedroom chasing that, she'll be ready for a good kip. Always works for us.

See? We think of everything.

 And now it's time for a short nap ourselves after all that exertion

Menu planning

We made another new friend this weekend at Chiltern Open Air Museum.

You can never have too many friends.

We are hoping she will use her influence in the Snack Shack to

ensure more free range sossidges when we visit and ESPECIALLY sucking pig, which never seems to be on the menu anywhere when re-enactors set up camp. We are thinking that maybe the Snack Shack has not spotted this vital niche and might exploit it. We will, of course, do our bit, volunteering as quality control food testers.

Looking at the number of apples on the trees in the orchard at COAM this year, we are thinking that there will be enough to fill the mouths of several sucking pigs. With plenty left over for apple sauce. Although we will take ours neat, thank you.

Name calling

We are occasionally asked why we call our human The Madwoman.

We did explain in our very first post, and if you've read any of the others,

you will agree with us that her behaviour is often inexplicable.

Take today for example.

It is dark, chilly and pouring with rain.

We have just got in from a walk and our coats are hanging in the porch, gently dripping into her wellies which are just underneath. (We don't need to tell her about this, as she'll find out soon enough for herself when she sticks her feet into them.)

But that's not the reason (although anyone with a bit more sense would have put their wellies somewhere else.) 

No. It's the fact that we are moving into autumn: the nights are drawing in, there are unlikely to be any heatwaves for at least another seven or eight months, 

and it has been chilly and raining like anything for days and days now. 

So does she buy us new raincoats? 

Warm pj's for snuggling in?

No.

She has bought us a cool coat each to ensure we don't overheat.

Currently she is sitting on the sofa under one of our fleece blankets, watching Ben Hur

on the telly, and eating a Cornetto, because, she says, "It is a Bank Holiday" 

So you can see why we call her The Madwoman.

Besides which, we have to call her something:

'Oy, you' would just be rude.

They're back!

Yes, we spotted the Bake Off tent moonlighting again at Chiltern Open Air Museum!

No sign of Mary Berry or the Griddled Wolf though.

It gave us an idea though - the apples are coming along nicely in the orchard ...

if anyone from COAM is reading this, we reckon one of them would look even better stuffed in the mouth of a sucking pig.

Small print in the Magna Carta

 It was Magna Carta weekend at Chiltern Open Air Museum ...

We didn't spot Prince John or the Sherriff of Nottingham but a relative of Maid Marion chatted away to the Madwoman about her rather posh water jug thingy. We didn't pay much attention ourselves as there were some rather distracting smells ...

We rushed the Madwoman past the Robin Hood's merry men ...

... and found a sossidge stall.

We reminded the Madwoman about the inalienable rights of all wippitts to sossidges, as stipulated in the small print of Magna Carta. 

And anyway, she had promised to buy us sossidges the next time there was a stall. 

And a promise is a promise.  

Nom nom nom.

But not big enough when you are sharing between three.

Especially when you consider the size of the Madwoman's gob.

We are considering demanding an amendment to the Magna Carta to ensure a whole sossidge each next time.

Icons

It has been drawn to our attention that we have become mascots for Authors Electric (you can find out ore about them on their blog HERE or FB page HERE)

When the world beats a path to your door, you can of course, only be gracious and modest about it: fortunately we are both incredibly gracious and modest, 

so will not have to do too much practising. 

But an icon cannot live by adoration alone, no matter how well meant and well-deserved. Hath not a wippitt paws, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? If you prick us, do we not bleed? (Although attempt the latter at your own peril) If you tickle us, do we not roll over and demand more? 

So we are wondering if we might - delicately - enquire about what our fee? 

We are quite happy to be receive payment in gravy bones, roast turkey and sossidges. 

See, we are not fussy at all. Just hungry. Not fame hungry, just peckish hungry, as the Madwoman never gives us quite as much to eat as we'd like.

There are always a few corners to fill.

Awaiting our just desserts.

Just fill the buckets with sossidges and gravy bones.

We'll tell you when to stop.

Things to be grateful for

 This week we're being grateful that the Madwoman managed to flush the grass seed out of Archie's eye instead of needing a visit to the vet to remove it ...

We're being very grateful that we aren't Madonna ... 

But most of all we are grateful that we aren't horses.

Please feel free to approach us and ply us with

sossidges, any time you want to.

Or sucking pig.

We'd quite like to try that ...