BSCAD

Hello friends, it’s BOB here: the happy-go-lucky labrador who lives with Tom and Kate. Today I am here to tell you about BSCAD. What is BSCAD, I hear you ask? Well, BSCAD is an acronym, which stands for the Bob scale of Scavenging, Chaos, Anarchy and Disaster, and to understand it you may need a bit of BOB backstory.

Now, although I am a delightful and obliging household companion, and despite the fact that I really do try to behave like A VERY GOOD BOY, sometimes my inherently anarchic, scavenging nature simply gets the better of me. When this happens, the results are often given a BSCAD ranking by Tom and Kate. BSCAD operates on a scale of 1-10, and its numerical assignations are frequently the matter of debate. For example, a few weeks ago, I joyfully hijacked a picnic that had been kindly organised for local churchgoers by Mairi, our next door neighbour. Encountering the picnickers sitting down to eat their lunch, I immediately leapt in a nearby river, shook myself all over them, and took advantage of the confusion to steal Ken’s lunch directly out of Ken’s lunchbox. My younger brother, BRAN, was deeply impressed – by my deployment of the river ruse, as well as the keen stealth and efficiency I displayed in pursuit of Ken’s ham sandwiches – but sadly Ken did not share his good opinion. Depending on your view of sandwiches as human property, and whether you regard my actions as mere theft or wanton destruction, this incident would probably be assigned a BSCAD ranking of 3 or 4.

BRAN in front, with orange collar, me – BOB – behind with blue collar. Kate wields interesting projectile.

Incidents like the picnic, then, rank fairly low down on the BSCAD scale, but you’ll get a sense of what a higher ranking might involve when I describe the incident which occurred a couple of years ago during Kate and Tom’s Very First Holiday after the long, weird, quiet times that are referred to as THE PANDEMIC. On this memorable occasion, I was so excited at seeing the lovely sea again, that I rolled in a dead seal, consumed a mountain of rotting fish (along with half the beach), joyfully regurgitated my delicious meal all over the holiday cottage, and then cut my feet open on something sharp when Tom insisted that I wash myself off in the sea. The so-called “holiday” was over in less than two hours, and Tom and Kate can laugh about it now, although they did not do so on the return drive. Because this incident involved the end of a holiday alongside an emergency visit to the vet, Kate still insists it ranks as a 10 on the BSCAD scale, But did the cottage burn to the ground? No. Was serious harm caused to anyone – human or canine? No – my feet healed up quickly and all was well. I said at the time, and I continue to say, that I, BOB, always do my best to be a VERY GOOD BOY. But despite my best efforts, I do admit that anarchy, chaos and near disaster have a tendency to happen when I’m around, particularly when I’m in scavenging mode.

High Trodigal. Highly recommended for humans and dogs alike.

I shall now tell you about last week’s incident, which Kate insists, much like Nigel Tuffnel’s amplifier, has exceeded the BSCAD scale and has been assigned a mighty score of 11. After an intense month packing knitwear and advent calendars, Tom and Kate had treated themselves to a short break in this wee haven, which reminds them of where they spent their honeymoon (designed by the same architect, in fact) and which also happens to be located in one of their favourite parts of the world (Kintyre). I also enjoy Kintyre, for many of the same reasons as Tom and Kate, not least because it is where the best beaches in all Scotland happen to be located.

In Kintyre, brother BRAN and I enjoy leaping and swimming . . .

. . . retrieving interesting projectiles, thrown by Tom and Kate . . .

. . . .and generally enjoying the glorious SEA, which rivals BANANAS as my favourite thing.

One day, I was leaping and swimming in the waves so vigorously that I managed to lose the fancy blue collar that has my name and phone number on it.

The loss went unobserved at first, but with careful investigation of the photographs that Kate had been taking that afternoon, Tom was able to identify the moment the collar disappeared to 15:11. . . .

. . . . when these two photographs were taken. We all searched around the beach for a while, among the tideline and the spindrift, but my blue collar was not found.

I wasn’t too sad about this. For without my blue collar I, BOB, could run NAKED, wild, and free!

Once returned to my natural, naked state, do you suppose I am more inclined to be GOOD BOY BOB? or freewheeling, scavenging ANARCHO-BOB? Do you imagine that, when I discover a delicious rotting aubergine on the beach, I will listen to Kate when she blows the whistle, or simply ignore her and quickly consume it?

The aubergine was certainly delicious, but how did it end up on a beach in West Kintyre?

The loss of my blue collar and my defiant consumption of the rotten aubergine probably only ranks as as a 1 or 2 on the BSCAD scale, but perhaps the appearance of naked anarcho-BOB should have given Tom and Kate forewarning of what was to happen the following day. . . .

Kate had gone to a meeting with some nice folk to discuss an exciting project to establish local wool processing, so Tom took BRAN and I to an interesting place we had never been before. In this place there were lots of trees, and I was very happy, as I really enjoy foraging and rootling in a wood. There’s a lot of food that can be scavenged in a wood, but this food mysteriously appears and disappears depending on that thing that humans refer to as SEASONS. BLACKBERRY season is one of my favourites, and I was rather sad this year when it seemed that it had been by superseded by ACORN season (which is frankly far less exciting), but imagine my joy when I discovered a bush laden with tasty, juicy, round black berries that looked very much like one of my favourite scavengable woodland fruits! I set to work immediately.

Tom, whose enjoyment of a wood in autumn involves being busy with his camera, was arrested in his activities by a kindly and knowledgeable gentleman who informed him that “your dog is eating deadly nightshade.”

Atropa belladonna, deadly nightshade.

A swift visit with Doctor Google informed Tom that the berries of this plant were indeed highly poisonous to dogs, and this discovery was followed by a speedy drive to a vets in a nearby town, where both I and brother BRAN were issued with emetics, the latter on the grounds that he had been with me in the location where I had discovered my woodland smorgasbord, and Tom could not be entirely sure whether or not he too had partaken of its delights. The emetics revealed that while goody-four-paws BRAN had not eaten a single nightshade berry, I, BOB, was well on the way to consuming a whole dog full. You’ll also be pleased to know that the aubergine made a second appearance, much to the vet’s consternation.

Yes, it is I, foolish, scavenging anarcho BOB

BRAN’s horror at experiencing entirely needless veterinary treatment was almost matched by Kate’s when she discovered the cost of the treatment, alongside the truly terrifying nature of the near-disaster, which had been averted by the kindly gentleman, Tom, and the local vet.

BRAN on the left. BOB on the right.

Because it involved the ingestion of a deadly poison, Kate has assigned the nightshade incident a BSCAD score of 11. In this instance I’m happy to agree with her.

The next day, Kate and Tom continued to walk on the beach in the thin, November sunlight. Brother BRAN and I returned to the beach, and played with Molly and Poppy, our new friends.

And happily, all was well.

oh, BOB.

I do my best. I really do try to be a VERY GOOD BOY.

Tom and Kate as seen in the beady eye of BOB!

But keep your eye out for ANARCHO BOB!

Kate adds: grateful thanks to the kindly gentleman and the equally kindly vet in Lochgilphead. This is our first (and hopefully our last) encounter with deadly nightshade in a wood in Scotland: and if you are the owner of a dog of a comparably scavenging nature to BOB, I urge you to look out for it!

Jura, from Kintyre

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