Til Havs and have nots!!

Sleeping, dozing etc.,

I should imagine by now, you’ll have gathered our dear friend Bingo is very much the ‘sporting’ chap.  If you've ever given him a pat, or he's allowed you to stroke or tummy tickle him (something he really quite likes) you will have spotted there isn’t an ounce of fat on the lad. This of course means he’s very keen to keep ‘old puffers’ like me up to scratch!

I toss this germ of information out there, dear readers, by way of a prologue to another tit-bit regarding the day to day routine of a sporting hound.

Having therefore paved the way, so to speak, the main body of this little scrawl is an observation I’ve noted, regarding the recuperation of expended energies and the variety of attitudes adopted whilst regaining a fully charged battery! In short – sleep!

Now if there is anything our pal is bred to do, it is to perform the highly important requirement to regenerate his energy.  Thus over the months I’ve noticed his great capacity for finding a suitable space to partake of what we shall call ‘forty wags.’

I can’t recall ever seeing such a talent for dozing at the drop of a hat – certainly my efforts are pretty average, compared with the lad himself.
 
A good example would be the other day when I wandered into the lounge, and decided to sit at the piano and trundle out a tune or three.  The baby grand, having recently been given a right old going over by Mr Kear, (piano tuner and dog lover) I commenced to tickle the ivories, and desperately tried to keep up with my voice as I thrashed my way through a Swedish favourite ‘Til Havs’ (The Sea).

Now I'll admit my pronunciation is maybe not quite of the ‘native’ but I live with the delusion that what I lack in phonetic accuracy, I gain with enthusiasm! As the sea trembled and I prepared to launch into the final verse and chorus, I became aware of a deep rumble emanating from below!  Nervous that I might have tested the dear instrument to within an inch of its ‘highly strung’ life, I rapidly 'beached' myself and sat in silence not daring to breathe. Heavens, the rumble was still there, I gingerly lowered myself to a kneeling position and peered under the apparatus, rather like a mechanic inspecting matters under a bonnet.

There, on a pouffe, I discovered the prone shape of Bingo!  His snores had noticeably quietened, as he no longer had to compete with the raging storm, above his head!
I tip-toed from the room, thus observing the old adage ‘let sleeping dogs lie’

It occurs to me, as the boy is of French ancestry, perhaps I could practice ‘La Mer’

(The classic Charles Trenet song, not the Claude Debussy piece…even I know my limitations - thank you very much!!)