Other than baking/cooking, and even more important in my life, are Airedale Terriers.
Here are some pictures of my own Triton (sadly departed April 2014) and Scout (sadly departed August 2016), siblings from the same litter.
Mum’s home! Mum’s home!
Triton: “I’m sure Mum said Santa’s coming down there … how??”
Scout thinks: (“Mum, do we tell him yet?”)
Scout: “Look what I found down the back of the sofa!”
Triton: “Me, ‘Lounging Man’. Me get top model contract.”
Triton: “I’m dreaming of a starry night …”
Scout: “They’re fireworks, you eedjit.”
Scout: “I’ve seen your T-Rex impression before, Triton, and it’s still BORING.”
Triton thinks: (“Scout beat me to The Chair – but she ain’t comin’ down … My ear needs flipping … But I’ll ignore that, she’ll be expecting some Mum Interference”)
Scout looks to camera: “Mum, you promised I wouldn’t have such a div for a bro …”
It is a false economy to have Siamese Twin separation surgery using magazine coupons.
Our first holiday!
The water tastes RANK but Isle of Wight sand is FUN!
“I’M guarding the rucksack!”
“No, I AM!”
“ouch … you win”
Leave the dishes! Feed Us Again!
Wet Dog I – Triton
Wet Dog II – Scout
A late evening on a Conwy beach
Triton: “Yeah, I know I haven’t washed the ocean off yet.
I rest now.
You hoover later, Mum.”
There was a rat earlier in our back garden.
We’re just gonna sit here.
In case its relatives come by to mourn its grisly Death By Airedales.
Triton: “Budge up, did you see that traffic jam?”
Scout: “Naw, the bin’s more interesting, mate. It’s moved 3 inches since this morning.”
Triton: “Did you make that smell?”
Scout: “Don’t you try to blame me, mate, it’s always you.”
Triton imitates Dali’s clockface on a chair
(he was a dog with very artistic references).
Triton is announced as the new Green-Eyed, Massive-Moustachio’d, Long-Bearded and Mini-Legged Doctor Who monster!
(from the planet Gemmlbemel Of The Big Black Shiny Nose)
Scout is resigned to not getting a Doctor Who cast role:
“I prefer directing, anyway”
Scout, nose in air: “I smell sausages!”
Triton grumpily thinks: (“That bag says ‘manure’. Eedjit.”)
Dinner Time à deux!
Where’s the ruddy grass gone??
Scout: “Doesn’t the ‘go outside’ rule get cancelled for snow?”
Triton anxiously awaits the postman:
“My internet order should be here today!”
Triton’s last photo, holding my leg on the bus home from holiday in Scarborough
Scout in Whitby, smelling to see if Triton’s nearby
Scout enjoying her Bristol city-break.
(She insisted on finding all the Nick Park statues.)
Scout: “I own this staircase.
To pass, you must pay the toll.
One sausage, ta.”
Scout, after a long day on Welsh heritage trains.
Scout’s last photo, getting home-made liver cake.
Neither Scout nor Triton lived to see this. But they ate good home-made food their whole lives.