Captain Midnight here in the studio ready to give my first Ted Talk.

I’ve sent Himself and Hedda off to Shetland for the week so I can get some peace and quiet to compose my talk. I must say, it was very kind of you humans to create a whole media channel to celebrate my wit and wisdom and I shall endeavour not to disappoint my many fans.

“Talk about what you know,” the producer advised, so I thought I’d start the ball rolling (oops, there it goes… must chase… must run… must fetch… got it… that’s better) with a subject close to my heart: How to be Happy.

We super-dogs are very good at being happy and at spreading happiness. It’s not difficult once you get the hang of it. I’m going to share my top ten tips with you, absolutely free of charge (although treats are always welcome).

1. House train your humans from an early age, as it’s very embarrassing if they do their business in the street. Also, if they are properly trained you don’t have to follow them around the house with poo bags.

2. Never pass up the chance to lie down in muddy puddles or to swim in rivers, lakes, ponds etc. Your human will pull you out if the bank is too steep for you to get back up. Stay close when you shake yourself dry. They like that.

3. Opinions are divided on this one but I recommend that you allow your humans to share your bed. It makes them feel loved and secure. You can easily prevent unwanted hanky-panky by lying between them.

4. Humans have very little sense of smell. This is why it’s important to roll in pungent things like fox poo and dead birds to help them detect your presence from afar. They appreciate little kindnesses like this.

5. Snooze whenever possible as you never know when your humans will want to exercise themselves with a riotous game of tug-of-war or ball-chucking. My best places for snoozing are: the window seat in the kitchen; the sitting room sofa; and the upstairs landing.

6. Always bark furiously at postmen to scare them away. If they get through your first line of defence, grab the letters out of their hand as they push them through the letterbox and chew them. It’s your sacred duty to wage war on the Royal Mail.

7. When out in the car, make a beeline for the passenger seat as this encourages human passengers to sit in the back. If that fails, look appealing and jump onto their lap to make sure you still get a good view.

8. Try teaching your human a few tricks. It’s fun for you and it’s good for their physical and mental agility. A favourite of mine is to stand on my hind legs and twirl around until a treat is proffered. It never fails to amuse me.

9. Wag mightily whenever your human hoves into view. They always seem to enjoy seeing a good wag and it’s well known that wagging releases doggy endorphins that make us feel good too.

10. Lastly, choose a “rescue human” like I did, if you get the chance. They sometimes have behavioural difficulties and they’re usually a bit more effort. But they are very rewarding and make lovely pets.

Humans have a tendency to overcomplicate things and make themselves sad, which is where we come in. Regular practice of my top ten tips is guaranteed to bring joy both to dogs and humans (except postmen and they don’t count).

And there you have it; I hope you enjoyed my first Ted Talk.

Coming Soon: Sticks, Stones, and Buried Bones.

Bye for now.

24 August 2016

Captain Midnight here, reporting from Talybont in Brecon.

I brought Himself and Hedda here for a walk today. You know how it is with humans: they need to get out and stretch their legs now and again. Himself drove us from Crickhowell and parked up, then I showed them the way along the riverbank to the waterfall. As you can see, I put Hedda on the lead when we got close to make sure she didn’t fall in.

It was jolly nice to see my humans having fun. I chewed several sticks to indicate my approval and jumped onto Hedda’s lap when we got back into Rosie the Camper Van to show how much I like her. I think she appreciated how wet I was as she said it was like standing under the waterfall, before inviting me politely to go and sit in the back on my customary seat. I also took this picture of them both by the river (which is tricky without opposable thumbs).

I liked our stay in Crickhowell. We went everyday to a place called a Public House where I could sit in the garden while they drank tea and beer, stared at their phones, and got excited about something called a “wifi signal.” I was also allowed to go into the food shops and help them choose what to buy for supper (Black Bomber cheese and Welsh Dragon sausages were my favourites).

Himself and I are back in Folly Cottage this evening. It’s very quiet here and he seems a bit miserable on his own. I hope the pack gets together again soon.

Monday 22 August 2016

Captain Midnight, Hedda and I are in Crickhowell, Powys for a few days. Yesterday would have been Chris’s 50^th birthday so we went to The Bear (very appropriately named, we thought) for a Gin and Tonic to mark the occasion. At 7.00pm we raised our glasses to join friends around the world in a virtual toast to her memory and to wish her a Happy Birthday.

Hedda asked me to tell her more about Chris. For nearly an hour, she listened as I spoke about Chris’s life and work; her art-making and clowning; her intellectual prowess and inspired teaching. I spoke about her illness and her death; her courage and creativity; her enthusiasm for life and her gift for friendship.

We talked about our experiences of love and loss and finding love again. Then we moved from the sofa and took our table for dinner with Ted at our feet, turned our gaze toward each other, and began to make plans for the days ahead. I bathed in the warmth of Hedda’s brilliant smile as we spoke, and I felt my heart expand.

It was a pivotal moment, in which – so to speak – my centre of gravity shifted from the past to the present, and to the possibility of creating a shared future with this wonderful woman. I was ready to love again.

As Goethe said: “Life belongs to the living.”

This is the Kilmurry Beat on the River Blackwater near Fermoy. Chris and I came here 10 years ago for a day’s fishing with guide (and World Champion Fly-Caster) Glenda Powell. We’d been to the Cape Clear Island Storytelling Festival and were coming to the end of a wonderful camping trip round Ireland. I treated her to the day as a late birthday present.

Today I came back to spend an afternoon fishing with Glenda and to put some of Chris’s ashes in the river. In the course of four hours we covered a half-mile of river and, with Glenda’s expert guidance, I caught three beautiful small brown trout. I remember that Chris had caught a baby salmon on her second or third cast and crowed about it for weeks.

There were kingfishers on the river this afternoon; salmon breaking the surface mid-stream; an egret fishing in the margins; and mink scurrying around on the bank. Ted had the run of the place and was in and out of the water all afternoon. I don’t believe in heaven but if I did, it would be like this: sunlight sparkling on a salmon run; trout lurking in the shallows; happy dog trotting nearby.

Glenda remembered Chris and we talked all afternoon about life, love, and loss as we fly-fished our way slowly downstream. At about 6.00pm, we waded out into a fast running stretch of water and emptied a small container of Chris’s ashes into the river. Glenda said a prayer and I thanked Chris for all the wonderful adventures we had together, and for being my playmate as well as my soulmate.

Afterwards, we toasted her memory with a dram of Irish Whisky, and Glenda invited me to stay and camp by the river for the night instead of driving to a campsite. So, I’m writing this by the light of a coal fire in the wooden Fisherman’s Hut by the riverbank.

I called Hedda and we talked about the day and about coming to Ireland together. Then I cooked some steak on the barbecue and had it for supper with a bottle of Guinness. Ted had a fresh marrowbone, also from the butcher in Fermoy, and we settled down by the fire to digest our meals like a couple of replete hunter-gatherers.

It’s 10.00pm now and dark outside. Soon Ted and I will hunker down for the night in Rosie the Campervan. I plan to wake early, get in a couple of hours fishing before breakfast, and head to Rosslare for our final 24 hours before the ferry home on Friday evening.

The Irish leg of my peregrination with Chris’s ashes is almost over.

It’s been a great trip.

Here’s an unashamed plug for the best fishing guide on the Blackwater

Glenda Powell
http://www.blackwatersalmonfishery.com

Last Friday I stopped off in the village of Graiguenamanagh, in Kilkenny. It was nearly 50 years since the last time I was there. Back then, I had come to Ireland with a school friend, Peter Burnett, for a week’s fishing. We stayed at a local farmhouse for the princely sum of 8 Guineas each, full board.

A couple of evenings we walked into town to drink pints of stout in one of the town’s many pubs. I remembered being fascinated that the pub was also a grocery shop and a monumental mason. When I saw Doyle’s pub last week, I thought it might be the one so I parked the Campervan and went inside.

It was exactly the sort of pub that Peter and I had frequented, though whether it was the one, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t look as though it had changed much in 50 years, apart from the fancy coffee maker and the presence of women and children, which would certainly not have been the case in the 1960s.

The bar sold butter, cheese and cooked meats as well as beer and the grocery section was well stocked with the necessaries of rural life, including bottles of de-licing fluid and tubs of rat bait. But no sign of monumental masonry anywhere. Perhaps that had been a figment of my adolescent imagination?

Three grey-haired old geezers (about my age) propped up the bar. I ordered a pint of Guinness and as I waited for it to settle in the glass, explained my quest to my fellow drinkers. Could they remember if Doyle’s had had a Masonry section when they (I mean we) were boys? The question prompted some laughter and much scratching of heads.

I left them to it for a few minutes while I fetched Ted from the Campervan and returned to sample my first pint of Guinness in Graiguenmanagh for half a century. To say it was magnificent would be an understatement.

I raised my glass to the three founts of local knowledge who were now deep in conversation. “Sure, wasn’t there Monumental Mick?” said one. “You’re thinking of Mason Ned,” said another. They were straight-faced but with a twinkle in the eye that suggested they might have been teasing me. “You could try O’Shea’s round the corner,” said the first speaker. “They’ve got a coal yard out the back.”

Realising that I would never know for sure which pub it had been and that historical accuracy really didn’t matter, I decided to assume that I was in the right place, and let the matter drop.

As the conversation across the room turned towards Brexit and what fecking eejits the British were for giving up a good thing, my mind went back to that halcyon week we’d spent in a world that (apart from the Guinness and rat bait) has largely disappeared. I slowly finished my drink, put down my glass, and left.

Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be.

Captain Midnight here, reporting from the mobile kennel (or the campervan as Himself calls it) on a farm somewhere in Ireland. He did tell me the name of where we are but it slipped my mind after the riverbank debacle. You probably noticed that I’m still a bit wet, especially round the ears. Does anyone know why they take so long to dry? Beats me.

Why am I wet?

That was the riverbank thing.

Himself said that he was bored sitting down and writing all day.

“Let’s go for a walk then,” I gestured.

“Ooh yes,” he said, jumping up on his hindlegs, all excited.

So I clipped him to the lead to stop him getting lost and took him down the path to the river for a stroll. I decided to let him off once we were clear of the farm and he couldn’t chase the livestock. Naturally, I went ahead to check for danger and interesting smells and came across the river. It looked rather inviting so I got into the water: a stylish leap followed by a bit of doggy paddle.

Getting in wasn’t the problem, it was getting out again.

Somehow the bank was further up than it had been down. I didn’t want to use my Superdog powers of levitation in broad daylight so I woofed until Himself clambered down the bank and hoicked me out by the collar. He made a fuss of me; asked if I was alright; gave me a cuddle; suggested that I didn’t do it again; then walked on ahead as if he was the one in charge. All rather embarrassing.

Himself is only a pup and you’re probably thinking that I shouldn’t have let him off the lead. But how else is he going to learn?

Captain Midnight here with good news.

Meet Hedda. She’s the good news. Himself is smiling a lot more since she turned up. I say turned up, but it was all my doing really.

I know it’s my job to keep an eye on him, but a few weeks ago I got to thinking that it would be nice to share the load. So, I took him down the hill in Lyme Regis to visit old friends, and when I spotted Herself, sitting in their garden, bathed in sunlight, I pounced.

Himself was drinking tea, completely oblivious. Duh!

I tugged at the lead to get his attention and looked pointedly in her direction. He still didn’t get it, so I woofed and dragged him across the lawn to say hello. You’d think he’d know what to say, being a writer and all, wouldn’t you? But no. He hemmed and hawed, mumbled, went red, and sat down.

Hopeless.

She seemed friendly enough but he clearly need help. Summoning my super-dog powers, I jumped onto his lap and looked winsome. It’s one of my most appealing looks, well-nigh irresistable.

“Nice dog,” she said. “Yours?”

“His name is Ted,” said Himself.

“Suits him,” she said. “My name’s Hedda.”

“Mine’s Geoff,” he said. “Hello Hedda.”

The ice was broken and my work was done. They haven’t stopped talking since. He tells me they’ve been out to dinner, and to the circus (I wasn’t invited to either, which is a bit rich). But I did go to visit Hedda at home and, last weekend, she came to stay with us in Lyme. She gave me chicken and we all paddled in the sea, which I enjoyed very much.

Himself told me they want to see a lot more of each other. I said that three is better than two and that she is very welcome to join our pack. “Absolutely,” he said blithely, as if it had been his idea in the first place.

Of course dear reader, we know what it really was.

A triumph for Captain Midnight.

Babe magnet.