Sonny and I Are Innocent!
I’ve just seen the film Marley and Me. I’ve still got slightly wet hair, as I cried so much. Very confusing marketing….but that’s beside the point. I do want to talk about dogs though, and as has been pointed out recently, it’s been a while since we had a Sonny the Black Menace themed post. Believe me, just like the writer of Marley and Me did in his weekly newspaper column, I could do a Sonny post every time. This post is on behalf of me and Sonny, two innocent bystanders in the evil world of dog poo.
Last night I had a conversation with a friend about the dog poo situation in my village, which I will name and shame- it’s Newmachar, Aberdeenshire. Hang your sorry head in shame, Newmachar! The streets are pebble-dashed with an enormous amount of dog poo. Really, it is quite spectacular. It would look like the entire village had gone back in time to the Seventies if it weren’t for the fact that the dog poo isn’t white….and there’s no “park porn” rustling in the bushes beside it.
I’ve just come back from taking Sonny for his afternoon walk/lark about, and in our 20 minute fun-filled walk in the biting North East cold, I counted 23 pieces of poo lying on verge, green, pavement and road. 23!!! Twenty-three!!!?
What makes the entire situation worse is that the singularly worst location for dog merde is the school road. It is as if someone is strategically placing them right outside the school gates as an elaborate sick joke against kids and the mothers who have to scrape the offence out of the tiny treads in school shoes. (Top tip, someone invent an implement for this very purpose- you’ll make a fortune).
A couple of things are clear to me:
- This is not the work of just one dog owner (notice I said “dog owner” and not “dog”)
- Since a great deal of it was on my street, people may assume that it is the work of me and the Black Menace. This upsets me as not one of Sonny’s little parcels have even been left to even go cold before being scooped into a bag and disposed of. Not once. And I’m a Girl Guide, so I don’t lie. But I feel the stares of non-dog owners as they tar us all with the same accusatory brush. Sonny may be called The Black Menace but, really, his crimes only extend to the culling of the kids’ toys* and the occasional bout of escapology.
So, what to do about it? My friend contacted the local council Dogshit Warden, they have a proper title like Dog Colonic Wastage Technician, but who are we kidding, Dogshit Warden is what they are. Nothing was done anyway, so quite what their duties are is unclear. They said they would “look into it”. Wow, what a strategy!
Since her abortive attempts at “going the official route” my friend has been keeping vigil in her kids bedroom, watching over the park space at night after a morning when she counted seven overnight deposits on her way to the school gates. She’s not quite sat on the Grassy Knoll with a rifle, but that’s only because she doesn’t want to roll in anything unsavoury on the aforementioned Knoll. She has yet to catch anyone. Now either we’ve got dingoes or someone is lobbing Fido’s offerings with a tennis racket over their back garden fence into the public arena.
Quite what my pal is going to do when she catches the perpetrator is unclear, but let’s just say she’s fairly handy and I don’t fancy their chances when she does.
The problem is that short of catching every offender and fining them, what can be done to stop this behaviour? Now, I’ve said before that I would gladly accept the responsibility of full police powers (and any accompanying anti-personnel devices on offer), and so would my friend, but no one seems to be taking this on board.
So what can be done? Do you have an answer (comical, useful, sadistic or otherwise)?
*You would know if it was Sonny’s poo, it would have a Polly Pocket limb or head in it, or a piece of Star Wars Lego.

A public service announcement for dogs
My favourite story of the week concerns the successful litigation by actor Nicolas Cage over allegations in an interview in the Daily Mail with former “When Peggy Sue Got Married” co-star, Kathleen Turner.
Ms Turner’s allegations* were,
There is so much about this story that makes me laugh. But is this the tip of the iceberg, though?
Are we to be treated to stories of Kevin Spacey half inching a Lhasa Apso on his many walks through Clapham Common after the Old Vic closes its doors at night?
Does that rat that Britney Spears insists on carry actually belong to the bereft residents of a local old folk’s home she woke up in after mistaking it for her house after a night out?
Are the Queen’s Corgis really hers and hers alone? Well, are they? Has anyone actually seen the registration papers???
What basis do I have for an epidemic of celebrity dog snatching behaviour? Well, I’m glad you asked me that.
Yesterday me and Sonny, the Black Menace, were taking a stroll on Aberdeen Beach. We were not on the sand two minutes when the gamboling spaniel was accosted by a loud booming and very jovial Simon Callow.

“He-ellloo there!” bellowed Four Weddings and Funeral star, Callow, wearing a roomy (Ah-Hah!), black coat reaching down to fuss over the fast approaching innocent pup.
He nearly had him away too, the thespian blighter!
“Unhand him, you National Treasure!” I shrieked at the beloved actor , “You may currently be appearing to great acclaim in Equus at His Majesty’s Theatre, Aberdeen, and have delighted audiences with your darling portrayal of Charles Dickens in the second series of Doctor Who, but NONE of that gives you the right to make off with my dog!”
And off he scarpered, eyeing a couple of Yorkshire Terriers across the sands.
True.**
*Can’t anyone tell funny anecdotes anymore? Are we to be to be spared stories of Michael Douglas walking about like a monkey with his undies wedged up his bum crack for the delight and amusement of the “Romancing the Stone” cast and crew, for fear of litigation?? I fear so.
** We did meet Mr Callow. No, we did! Ask my dog! (He did not try to steal Sonny, he just gave him a friendly pat and seemed like a nice bloke who wouldn’t dream of nicking anyone’s pet.)
Dog’s Abuse
As regular Misssives readers will know, I am a novice dog owner.
The object of my dogged affection is seven month old Sonny, (aka, “The Black Menace”). I love him. But I love him the way Peggy Mitchell loved them Mitchell sons of hers in “Eastenders”. Dogs can sometimes be hard to love. They are sometimes a bit too doggy and do dreadfully doggy things.
I love that boy despite the fact that at Christmas he chewed through the straps of my treasured Cath Kidston cowboy weekend bag.
I still love him despite the fact that just this morning he chewed the corner of my favourite Marimekko scarf that I brought back from yer actual Finland (home of the Marimekko loveliness) WHILST I WAS STILL WEARING IT.
Expensive tastes….I think. Grrrr!
Despite all the transgressions and the occasional and brief urge to take him back to the shop for a refund, I remain resolute: that dog is the making of the Flying Martinis. And anyone who don’t like my dog, can get tae Falkirk.
Which brings me onto a little annoyance that happened this week.
Sonny was present at a little birthday party. He likes a chocolate finger as much as any kid would at a birthday tea. He likes to loiter with intent around the table offering birthday treats. He also likes to hopefully cruise by those with opposable thumbs who may be in possession of…. or even better, offer him a birthday treat. It’s a shame he isn’t allowed birthday treats but he lives in hope. Who can blame him?
What neither me or the dog was expecting was that one of the adult party guests would slap him sharply on the snout whenever he approached the table. This happened about four or five times. Oh and this was neither the birthday boy or the owner of the table. Not that being either of these people would have excused this behaviour.
I don’t hit my dog. It’s wrong. I believe you should not hit dogs anymore than you should hit children. A dog that has been hit is a dog that is more likely to bite in the future. I was very angry.
But I said nothing. I just tried to control him and keep him away from the dog abuser.
I don’t know why I didn’t wade in and tell him to keep his hands to himself. Not my style, I suppose: but I should have. I found out later that, after the last slapping, my sister had stepped in and done the job for me. And I thank her for that.
So I am annoyed on two counts; first at the bloke who hit my dog. But far more I am pissed off at myself. Why didn’t I take him to task?
I need to be more like my wee sister.
Sometimes you need to sweep social niceties aside and stand up for yourself (and your delinquent pup).
And also isn’t it the way it always goes, in the same way childless people tut and tell you how to control your children, that folk who know sweet FA about dogs always seem to know best when it comes to training a dog?
This is going to run and run. For about 14 years, I reckon.
Dog News

Welcome to Dog News: The news for dogs about dogs done in a dogged fashion. Doggy-style , if you wish.
“Misssy, how are getting on with that dog?” I hear you ask…
or,
“Enough crap about real issues, Misssy. Gosh, you’ve been a drag this past week, how’s the damn dog doing?”, I hear you murmur.
Well, it’s complicated, folks. In the name of brevity, am going to list the good and the bad.
The Good
1. Sonny can sit on command. (Except on frosty pavements, where he hovers one millimetre above nut freezing tarmac. Fair do’s.)
2. Sonny will leave an object (including food placed right on his front paws) on command until given it. Whether he can be trusted beside a full roast turkey, Christmas time will tell.
3. Sonny will roll over and play dead if you point your fingers like a pistol at him and shout, “Bang!” . A real crowd pleaser. It’s particularly funny if you do when he’s running full pelt towards you. May also work with real gun.
4. Sonny can dance in circles. Pointless, but entertaining.
5. Sonny will lie down on command. I can get the dog to do this, but Junior Misssy still won’t go to her bed…something ain’t right there.
6. Sonny uses the catflap to go out and wee in the garden. He also uses the catflap to run after the cats. The only time he won’t use it is if Harleyboy, our 15 year old bruiser cat (and Sonny’s nemesis), is waiting outside the flap (with a flick knife…probably)
7. Sonny can give a paw on command. Again pointless, but folk expect it. And who are we to disappoint?
8. Sonny comes back when called 99% of the time. Unless there’s a cat involved..in which case, you can forget it.
9. Sonny gets down, when asked. Not in a “Get down!” James-Brown-funky-kind-of-way. But it’s only a matter of time before that, too, is part of his repertoire.
10. Sonny is ignoring the Christmas tree, except to drink from the bucket it stands in.
11. Sonny will stay on command. He doesn’t like it, but he’ll do it.
12. Sonny is destroying heaps of kids toys we want to get rid of anyway. Want shot of that annoying talking Furbee? Feed it to the dog!
Die Furbee, Die! (He squeals as he’s mauled. Funny…)
13. My dog trainer, Billie, has pronounced Sonny super-smart and wants to move him up to the junior class. So proud. He’ll be on University Challenge soon.
14. Sonny is beautiful. But you knew that.
The Not so good
1. Sonny can get too excited and run about the place like a dervish. Always when you’ve a hot cup of tea.
2. Sonny chases my two little girl cats. The lady cats have simultaneously asked for swords in their Santa letters. Harley-boy already has his own.
3. Sonny previously slept all night at the bottom of Indy’s bed, but this week seems to think it’s a laugh to creep through to mine and Meester’s bedroom and lick my face at 4am. I am now immune to most germs.
4. Sonny is teething. Nothing is safe. We won’t be putting presents under the tree. For if we did, we may as well set them on fire in the garden.
5. Sonny pulls on the lead. This is my biggest bug bear. I have arms like Gillian McKeith.
Things are so bad, I have turned to YouTube for help.
See here:
Super Dog training man in action
Check the comments on the clip.
I have asked the dog training guy for help and he has responded! He is making us a special video to show us how to crack the pulling problem. God, I love the internet!
By way of return I am going to show him the results on YouTube when Sonny and I finally can amble and sashay leisurely around the place.
“Watch this space” as they say when they don’t have a clue how to end a post.
If CSI came to the House of the Flying Martinis

It’s dark. The scene is a house on a hill. Police cars are everywhere and the house is cordoned off. There is a small crowd of neighbours watching the comings and goings of the CSI team.
Gil Grissom arrives in his SUV and grabs his bag before entering the dark house. As he enters, he switches on his flashlight as it looks moodier.
“Grissom, you’re here. Good.” says Brass, “We’ve got a possible B and E, but no sign of anyone else on the premises. Just this smell and this mess.”
He gestures to a couch that has been ripped apart. There is foam and stuffing everywhere. A child’s Baby Annabel toy doll is lying on the floor, still blinking and calling for mama, but with her innards ripped out.
“And the family?”
“Go by the name of the Flying Martinis. No real previous. Married, two kids. All gone.”
“I see, who was first on the scene?” Grissom asks.
“I was” says Sara, looking up from swabbing an area of carpet, “No bodies, no inhabitants, just this mess…and that smell”
“Have you found anything?”
“Traces of urine…not human. Animal, maybe?” she says with a business like air, unsuccessfully trying to mask the sexual tension between her and Grissom .
Greg Sanders suddenly rushes in the front door, “I’ve just come from the back garden. For want of a better word, it’s carnage, Grissom. Plants are eaten, lawn’s all ripped up, there’s broken household items everywhere; I’ve never seen anything like it. No bodies, but there’s woman’s underwear under a bush. It doesn’t make sense.”
Footsteps are heard overhead.
“Who’s upstairs?” asked Grissom who has felt the vibrations, not hearing the noise, given that career-threatening inner ear problem.
“Catherine, she’s looking into the possibility of the underwear belonging to a stripper.”
“Why’s that? Do you think it might have something to do with all this?” asks Grissom, confused.
“ Nah, it just wouldn’t be the same without Catherine revisiting her old stripper days, It’s kinda what she does in the show” remarks Brass.
“Yeah, and we get to have a flashback to her in her heyday. Something for the Dads, isn’t that right Brass?” says Nick entering the room looking foxy.
“You said it” Brass says with cheeky smile.
Grissom moves upstairs to see Catherine.
“What are you getting Catherine?”
“I’ve been swabbing the bedroom and the upstairs bathroom. I’m getting traces of urine. But what’s strange…”
“Is that it’s not human?” offers Grissom.
“How did you know?”
“Sara’s downstairs reporting traces of animal urine. The lab will tell us more. What else ya got?”
“Well, there’s a lot of toys everywhere, all of them completely destroyed. Whoever did this is outta control. I’m thinking psychotic.” Catherine says as she shakes her head.
All of a sudden there’s a commotion downstairs.
“Grissom! Get down here! Someone, call the SWAT team!” yells Brass.
The team are faced with a black and white beast leaping about the living room.
“Well” says Grissom with his customary opening scene pun, “Looks like this place has gone to the dogs…”
Cue: “Who are you?” by the Who and Opening Titles.
Mr Blessington of Blessville
The magical properties of dog spit
I don’t often write about my students. They are mostly harmless and don’t deserve to be used as subjects of my witterings, as they might start demanding editorial rights or something. To be honest if I did decide that they were fair game then I could pretty much just fill my blogs with a transcript of them everyday and leave it at that.
That’s what I love about my job. It’s not the easiest of professions, but I do spend a lot of my working day laughing.
So I think I’ll just quote today’s thing that had me chuckling on the way home.
We’re in the studio and the students are working on filming a scene, and some members are in front of the camera chatting in between takes…
Student A : Aaah why did I do that? Aaah!
Student B : What?
Student A: I’ve just picked a scab off my elbow. It’s bleeding. Aaah!
Student B: Oh you’ve just reminded me. I’ve got one too, I’m going to pick mine off too.
Me: What are you doing? It’s like watching chimps, stop picking stuff!
Student B: Like your nose
Student A: …and eating it. That’s supposed to be good for you.
Student C: I heard that, it’s supposed to be good for your immune system
Student A; Yeah, that’s why you should share an ice-cream cone with a dog.
Oh there will be more from this lot…don’t you worry about that
The magical properties of dog spit
I don’t often write about my students. They are mostly harmless and don’t deserve to be used as subjects of my witterings, as they might start demanding editorial rights or something. To be honest if I did decide that they were fair game then I could pretty much just fill my blogs with a transcript of them everyday and leave it at that.
That’s what I love about my job. It’s not the easiest of professions, but I do spend a lot of my working day laughing.
So I think I’ll just quote today’s thing that had me chuckling on the way home.
We’re in the studio and the students are working on filming a scene, and some members are in front of the camera chatting in between takes…
Student A : Aaah why did I do that? Aaah!
Student B : What?
Student A: I’ve just picked a scab off my elbow. It’s bleeding. Aaah!
Student B: Oh you’ve just reminded me. I’ve got one too, I’m going to pick mine off too.
Me: What are you doing? It’s like watching chimps, stop picking stuff!
Student B: Like your nose
Student A: …and eating it. That’s supposed to be good for you.
Student C: I heard that, it’s supposed to be good for your immune system
Student A; Yeah, that’s why you should share an ice-cream cone with a dog.
Oh there will be more from this lot…don’t you worry about that
Last Thai Misssive..for a year anyway…
I’m so glad we came back to Bangkok. I wasn’t looking forward to it as I can’t say I was that enamoured the first time, and it also signifies the end of the trip. The first time, Bangkok seemed hot noisy and stinky, but I realise now that I was freaked out and jet lagged. I can confidently say I now am firmly in the camp of LOVING Bangkok. Can I go back there, please? I apologise for ever speaking badly of the place. I now wish we’d had more time there.
So it’s Saturday and we check out of the Davis Hotel.
John gets his bill for the bottle of wine he orders on Room Service that cost more than our entire food and drinks bill in our WEEK in Koh Lanta. Here’s him signing the visa bill…Old Chinese Proverb says; “Never order Room Service unless other man is paying…”
Today is our last day and we’ve got the whole day to check out more Bangkok. We need presents for our loved ones… So we head for the famed weekend market. I am so excited that I am practically foaming at the mouth. Remember my jewelry prize? Remember I painted a picture, sold it on ebay and John said he would buy me jewelry as a prize? You might have forgotten- I haven’t.
First things first, we need to check the Songkran situation. Remember we fly out tonight, we can’t get covered in flour. The hotel receptionist seems to think we’ll be fine at the market. And she’s mostly right. There’s a bit of water pistolling going on, but nothing we can’t handle. In fact the occasional cold jet of water is quite welcome as we go through the steaming labyrinth of shopping heaven.
In all we spend 5 hours here, and it’s the first time in the whole holiday that Indy complains. He is understandably disturbed by the single-minded rabid shopping psychosis his mother goes into, coupled with the fact that, like every other 8 year old boy he hates shopping. John placates him by taking him to a weaponry stall whilst I look at trinkets and baubles. And when I mean weaponry, I mean medieval type stuff. Look at this!
John buys himself and Louis a penknife as we’re guessing customs aren’t going to let this item through.
Next ,we visit animal aisle and I find this the hardest of all. It’s not that the animals are being cruelly treated; these are pet shops of the types we used to have in the UK years ago where you could buy your dog or cat from them. The animals are being well treated, most of them have fans trained on them to keep them cool and most are in airconditioned shops. When I say it’s hard to take , it’s just that I want to take every puppy home.
I’ve been wanting a dog for some time, particularly a cocker spaniel. I am now confronted with my dream golden cocker spaniel puppy and have to be dragged away from her, practically sobbing and wailing “Did you see how we connected? Did you see that? We had a wee moment!!!”
Then I similarly connect with this beautiful retriever in the next stall. Tooooo difficult! I am led away, with John trying to calm me down by reminding me of the jewelry.
So here’s me minutes later making the deal of the century on two rings, one swiss blue topaz and the other peridot. I am a happy monkey. And a female stereotype, it would appear.
So fast forward four hours later and the market starts to wind down, the Flying Martinis buy a new case to take their newly acquired booty home in and Songkran madness starts again. But we are ready this time. Check Indy going all Rambo through the market. That’s my boy!
And check Indy’s Mum (unarmed I may add) getting absolutely soaked just in time for boarding the plane home.
See why you’ve got to love this place?
On the way home we plan our return trip.
I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading the Thai Misssives. And I hope even more that I’ve encouraged some of you to buy plane tickets to Thailand.
Last Thai Misssive..for a year anyway…
I’m so glad we came back to Bangkok. I wasn’t looking forward to it as I can’t say I was that enamoured the first time, and it also signifies the end of the trip. The first time, Bangkok seemed hot noisy and stinky, but I realise now that I was freaked out and jet lagged. I can confidently say I now am firmly in the camp of LOVING Bangkok. Can I go back there, please? I apologise for ever speaking badly of the place. I now wish we’d had more time there.
So it’s Saturday and we check out of the Davis Hotel.
John gets his bill for the bottle of wine he orders on Room Service that cost more than our entire food and drinks bill in our WEEK in Koh Lanta. Here’s him signing the visa bill…Old Chinese Proverb says; “Never order Room Service unless other man is paying…”
Today is our last day and we’ve got the whole day to check out more Bangkok. We need presents for our loved ones… So we head for the famed weekend market. I am so excited that I am practically foaming at the mouth. Remember my jewelry prize? Remember I painted a picture, sold it on ebay and John said he would buy me jewelry as a prize? You might have forgotten- I haven’t.
First things first, we need to check the Songkran situation. Remember we fly out tonight, we can’t get covered in flour. The hotel receptionist seems to think we’ll be fine at the market. And she’s mostly right. There’s a bit of water pistolling going on, but nothing we can’t handle. In fact the occasional cold jet of water is quite welcome as we go through the steaming labyrinth of shopping heaven.
In all we spend 5 hours here, and it’s the first time in the whole holiday that Indy complains. He is understandably disturbed by the single-minded rabid shopping psychosis his mother goes into, coupled with the fact that, like every other 8 year old boy he hates shopping. John placates him by taking him to a weaponry stall whilst I look at trinkets and baubles. And when I mean weaponry, I mean medieval type stuff. Look at this!
John buys himself and Louis a penknife as we’re guessing customs aren’t going to let this item through.
Next ,we visit animal aisle and I find this the hardest of all. It’s not that the animals are being cruelly treated; these are pet shops of the types we used to have in the UK years ago where you could buy your dog or cat from them. The animals are being well treated, most of them have fans trained on them to keep them cool and most are in airconditioned shops. When I say it’s hard to take , it’s just that I want to take every puppy home.
I’ve been wanting a dog for some time, particularly a cocker spaniel. I am now confronted with my dream golden cocker spaniel puppy and have to be dragged away from her, practically sobbing and wailing “Did you see how we connected? Did you see that? We had a wee moment!!!”
Then I similarly connect with this beautiful retriever in the next stall. Tooooo difficult! I am led away, with John trying to calm me down by reminding me of the jewelry.
So here’s me minutes later making the deal of the century on two rings, one swiss blue topaz and the other peridot. I am a happy monkey. And a female stereotype, it would appear.
So fast forward four hours later and the market starts to wind down, the Flying Martinis buy a new case to take their newly acquired booty home in and Songkran madness starts again. But we are ready this time. Check Indy going all Rambo through the market. That’s my boy!
And check Indy’s Mum (unarmed I may add) getting absolutely soaked just in time for boarding the plane home.
See why you’ve got to love this place?
On the way home we plan our return trip.
I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading the Thai Misssives. And I hope even more that I’ve encouraged some of you to buy plane tickets to Thailand.
















