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in www. LeineBlick. de |
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Hello!
Second delivery - My family
Third delivery - Christmas
Fourth delivery - My great love!
Fifth delivery - My friend, the human being
Sixth delivery - winter joys
Seventh delivery – At the Vet’s
Eighth delivery - on travelling
Hello,
my name is Jimmy aus der Bauernhöhle (i.e. Jimmy from the old farm
hovel). Members of the pack either related to me or feeling friendly are
allowed to call me Benno. At the moment the hunting grounds of my pack
are in and around Garbsen, a small suburb of Hannover in Northern Germany.
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myself. I do not know why but the leader of my pack
does not seem to relish the idea of my taking part in the hunt. How else
could I explain the following phenomenon:When I go out with my leader I
am restricted in my mobility by a long, rope-like device which almost strangles
me to death whenever I want to dash off to catch a juicy piece of meat.
This really gets on my nerves because, in all modesty, I am very fit and
in excellent shape, ideally suited for hunting all sorts of prey. Furthermore
I daresay that I am no coward and perfectly able to support myself. If
I were allowed to hunt my own quarry, being an expert dietitian, I could
even alleviate the constant food crisis in our pack. It is a crying shame
that someone like me is so cruelly restricted in his freedom of movement
whereas cats are allowed to do what the hell they like.
Unfortunately it is impossible to knock any sense into the leader of my pack and convince him of the necessity to let me sniff my way around Garbsen whenever and wherever I want to. But, dear Welshies, I fear, I fear he will not listen. Day in, day out I will have to be satisfied with a sad bowl of food dished out for me in an unfuriatingly condescending manner. Oh, how I would love to bite a chunk out of my leader`s backside and enjoy the bliss of freshly hunted meat. Weakened after writing this letter but in joyful anticipation of your answers, I can only pray that I haven`t barked up the wrong tree. More than I have said, loving friends of Welsh terriers, the leisure and enforcement of the time forbids to dwell upon. Yet remember this: From now on, about once a week, I will comment on what is going on in this world from the point of view of an experienced and not altogether dumb Welsh terrier. Woof, woof ! |
Whenever I talk of family life a feeling of deep sorrow comes over me and I am on the verge of crying. I am not ashamed to admit that I have sighed on my midnight pillow many a time because I have not heard from the other members of my original pack since those carefree days of my early puppyhood. This does not mean to say that I am unhappy in my new pack because I am showered with love and affection. I have plenty of everything. And yet from time to time the wounds of the far too early loss of my first family open up their congealed mouths and bleed afresh. Although the memories of the happy days of my puppyhood are slowly receding in the constant |
ebb and flow of time, I can can still distinctly hear the
happy barking of my three siblings remembering clearly how the four of
us sucked on the taut teats of our darling mother, Aconda aus der Bauernhöhle.
Now the secret of my birth is out and the informed Welshie expert will
immediately know that I come from the kennel community Eggerking. My father,
by the way, was no less than the British Champion Craftsman of Gwenog.
Were I permitted to utter a wish at the end of this letter, it would have to be the following: If anybody in the large community of Welshie friends knows anything concerning the whereabouts of my brother and my sisters will you please get in touch with me? I am also very much interested in the whereabouts of aunts, uncles and cousins, once or twice removed. In this context I would like to mention my grandparents on my mother`s and my father`s side as well. In the British line, on my father`s side, they are the proud Groveview Welsh Knight and his wife Felstead Fix It and on my mother`s side they are the unforgotten Abbo aus der Bauernhöhle and his wife Debbie. Woof, woof!
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Third delivery - Christmas
The height of lunacy is reached, my dear Welshies, when they excitedly remove the paper from all those beautifully wrapped-up pieces of quarry on the day they call Christmas making such a tremendous racket that you do not know whether they are coming or going. They are all over one another, rubbing their mouths, roaring and howling strange songs which I intuitively join in, being endowed with a sonorous voice by Mother Nature. |
When one jolly festivity is over, the other one is about to start, i.e. New Year`s Eve. Well, there is not much more to report than the fact that the human members of my pack club together with their kind, gobbling up large quantities of quarry, drinking loads of alcoholic beverages, with all of them barking at the same time. In the middle of the night the most interesting part of the festivity starts as far as I am concerned. All of a sudden they rush out of the house as if driven by a secret command. Then there are loud explosions and there is such roaring that my hunting instincts are activated right down to the last fibre of my trembling body. Alas, once again I am denied the right to hunt my own quarry. Dear friends of Welshies, what else can I do now but to wish you a gentle fading-out of the old year hoping that in the New Year all of your wishes will come true. You will hear from me again. So Benno says, take good care and stay as you are. Woof, woof! ![]() TOP |
Several times in the course of a year a very special scent wafts across which produces a mighty longing and yearning in me. As though directed by a magic hand an uncontrollable desire draws me towards my beloved. No delicacy can please me, no little game can divert me; howling and whimpering I prowl up and down the fence. Yet man`s uncomprehending and brutal whim keeps my Sally hidden on precisely those days when I am almost beside myself with the ecstasy of love. But what a feeling of happiness goes through me when we meet on one of our evening walks. Of course I can pick up my beloved`s scent from very far away; a scent so sweet, so much more attractive than even the loveliest hedgehog droppings, rises to my nose making me immediately as stiff as a poker with my left foreleg and my right hind leg up in the air. I remain in this position for a few seconds but then, quite overpowered by the toxins of my own lust and with all the strenght I have got, I drag the leader of my pack behind me towards the object of my desire. |
Whether or not I succeed in impressing my Sally with this dance I am unable to say because whenever I have her sweet hindquarters right in front of me and when I am about to proceed from foreplay to the real thing, the nasty leash of my leader mercilessly pulls me back. Enough, lament no more: Heavenly roses into our worldly leave.“ Dear friends of Welshies, I do not know what your love life is like but maybe you can derive some comfort from the relentlessly candid description of mine. A truly frustrated Benno says TOP |
I have received a lot of requests to deal with the subject „Man - dog`s best friend“. Let us start off with a few general, commonly accepted findings. Man can be called the ideal companion of our species because over the human animal is equipped with a readiness to learn and a degree of intelligence as well as means of communication which are not much different from our own. Hence human beings although they have never been trained in a pack of wolves or dogs are perfectly suited for a life with us four-legged creatures. Furthermore the human being is endowed with a strong play instinct which forever makes him throw little sticks through the air which we retrieve for him not so much out of interest but more out of pity. As to our emotional equilibrium we are well, sometimes even too well looked after. Just recently experts go so far as to say that human beings have the unpleasant habit of combining their interests with ours in an often intolerable manner. In reality the master`s or the mistress`s own need for tenderness makes them shower us with their love which has led to growing |
Whoever wants to lead a life full of happiness and dignity and toys with the idea of achieving this by living together with human beings should first of all answer the following questions in all honesty: Can I and am I willing to spend the next fifteen years of my life with a mistress who fanatically tries to keep her house spick and span and throws a fit each time she comes across my footprints? Am I prepared to sacrifice the best years of my life with a master who insists on going jogging or cycling with me and who is convinced that he is doing me a favour whereas in reality I`d rather carry on dreaming of love? Did I really want to swap the peace and quiet of a secluded life in the woods with the noise and clamour of ill-bred children who are always trying to please me with their daft little games thus preventing me from dealing with the really important issues in life? - Woof, woof! TOP |
Furthermore this featherless biped most definitely seeks satisfaction in spiritual rather than carnal desires which bliss- experienced Welshies can easily discard as a fruitless enterprise. Whereas we on these beautiful, cold winter days are irresistably drawn to the snow-covered countryside, our noses close to the ground following the transitory scent of a |
The leader of my pack owes me a debt of gratitude when I after capering and fawning on him for minutes manage to make him accompany me to the virgin and fresh wonderland of snow. Even when my master has the blues somthing shocking, he is quickly cured of it when he watches me gallopping at breakneck speed, jumping up and down and doubling back so sharply that the powdery snow shoots up into the air. Thus I succeed in imparting a little bit of the joy to my master which is very simple and primitive on the one hand but contains such a massively explosive power on the other hand. It is at times like these when man may devine the true meaning of happiness although he will never fully experience it for a moment. That`s all for the time being, loving friends of Welshies. |
Dear friends of Welshies,![]() next to philosophical contemplation it is above all leading a virtuous life which promises Aristotle and me a maximum of bliss. Thus being of the same opinion as one of the most outstanding representatives of the guild of profound thinkers I will now, my friends, familiarize you in this letter with one of the most contradictory chapters of our existence which is simultaneously (paradoxically?) so very dark and so very bright.
As we all know, great events cast their shadows before them and so thanks
to my infallible instinct, aroused by a long series of preparatory
activities and confirmed by the sight of the accompanying picture, I know
that that particular day has once again come.
Level-headed caution coupled with my own particular sense of humour
makes me immediately assume a pose of stubborn impassivity which
I won’t snap out of for love or money no matter how hard the leader of
my pack tries...
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Totally humiliating, however, is the display and appraisal
of my teeth because it reminds one of oriental slave markets.
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Thank goodness the now following examination of my ears proves to be
painless.
Once it is over I leap off the table but not without having shouted at my tormentor those memorable words from Schiller’s ‘Kabale und Liebe’: “Hark, man, thou wast schooled by the hangman. Thou pliest a sad trade which will never bring thee salvation.” Thank heavens at the end there is still enough time to smooch with whitecoat’s lady dog from the tribe of the Labrador retrievers. Woof, woof.
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More than a month I let slip by, my dear friends of Welshies, but now at long last I have the time and the energy to put pen to paper to convey to you the impressions of my last journey. So manifold were the olfactory sensations, also so vivid the images of the wonderful Italian lady-dogs, just called "bella donna" in Italy that I was unable to write them down immediately and undigested. For as long as I can think back, my dears, as far as travelling is concerned, I have been captivated by the sensitive descriptions of a Laurence Sterne as well as the French itinerary of the 18th century, well, even the influence of a Moritz August von Thümmel (Journey to the sunny Provence from 1881) cannot be denied. With these specialists for manic depression I share the view of travelling as a psychological healing process, a therapeutical enterprise for the grief-ridden and tormented soul. And like all great minds I also suffer from the malady of our time, the lingering illness of the modern age, which is quite simply hypochondria. Only while travelling can I escape from the self-tormenting blues and the civilizational misgivings for a short time and completely abandon myself to the serene sedateness which falls in more with my true nature as I quite obviously belong to the "gente di mare" (sailors). ![]()
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Only at the fashionable beaches of the Italian Riviera does the Mediterranean sun succeed in melting away the outer layers of that gloomy-brooding Nordic dullness to unearth the merry essence of my race. Actually the aim of travelling - if I may digress from the subject for a moment - is neither the departure nor the arrival but the unnamed yet genuine aim of travelling is change. ![]()
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