Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Few things are as disappointing as an empty bowl ...
We were in two minds about what to call this post, since it's about food: Two Fat Wippitts perhaps? Or The Hairy Wippitts? Neither description really suits us so we've settled for The Naked Wippitt instead - Archie does after all have a fairly hairless chest (the Madwoman says like a Chippendale, but we prefer Whippendale. It's classier) and both of us, being wippitts, have thin single coats.
The Madwoman has actually done some cooking today - proper cooking that is, for us, rather than for herself. We can smell it baking in the oven right now in fact, and it's making our mouths water. To help fill the time while we're waiting for it to cool, we thought we'd share the recipe with you.
1. Take 8 ozs of liver (don't ask what that is in metric, we have no idea as the Madwoman only understands imperial, and that poorly) and rinse it under the cold tap (think of the job it does and then you'll understand why).
2. Sling it in a food processor or liquidize it until it's a puree, than add 2 cloves of garlic, 2 eggs and 4 oz of self-raising flour and whizz it again until smoothish.
3. Pour the goo into a Swiss roll tin or similar which has been greased and the bottom lined with a piece of baking parchment. Spread it out so it's more or less even and then put it on the middle shelf of an oven pre-heated to Gas Mark 4 (180C) for 30 minutes. Take it out, flip it over so it's upside down in the tin, peel off the baking parchment and return it to the oven for another ten minutes. Remove from oven, take out of tin and cool on a wire rack.
When it's cool, cut into quarters, putting what you aren't going to eat within the next three days in the freezer. Cut up the remaining bit into little pieces and use as delectable training treats.
See how easy it is?
Do feel free to tell us about your own recipes. Actually, on second thoughts, don't bother. Just send us a sample!
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
You see how little privacy we get?
Considering just how much the Madwoman seems to hate it when we roll in deliciously smelly fox poo (and sometimes other sorts when they're available) we're a bit baffled by her obsession with the stuff that we produce.
Friday, 10 June 2011
Apart from the fact that we just don't like getting wet (you should see the Madwoman trying to persuade us to go out for a pee when it's raining - as she gently but firmly pushes our back ends out, the front is already coming back indoors again) a bath removes the wondrous and complex layers of smell which announce 'This is Archie!' (or Angel). She obviously doesn't appreciate the time and effort involved in restoring the smell. The equivalent for her would probably be like going round with her head in a bag, so no-one could see her face. Although some might say that would be an improvement.
Fortunately baths don't happen too often. Unfortunately one happened today. Archie found a deliciously aromatic pile of poo and managed to have a good wriggle around in it before the Madwoman spotted what he was up to and ran towards him waving her arms and screeching. We politely stood to one side to let her take a turn but she didn't seem inclined to, and rather meanly, wouldn't let Angel have a go either.
As soon as we got home she whooshed Archie up the stairs and into the bath where she proceeded to scrub him with Neem shampoo, effectively removing both his own doggy smell and every trace of the masterpiece he was carrying on his back.
For that's exactly what it was, and which the Madwoman, with her pathetically puny sense of smell also fails to appreciate. Smells for us are the equivalent of paintings to humans; just as you display them on your walls, we display them on our bodies where we can share them with others and continue to enjoy them ourselves.
Giving Archie a bath was more than an affront to his dignity, it was an artistic sacrilege. Would you take paint stripper to a Michelangelo or a Titian?
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
There's nothing we like more than enjoying a nap while snuggled up to the Madwoman while she catches up on her reading. At least while she is reading she is awake, so her snoring doesn't disturb our own slumber. But we do feel she could exercise a little more taste in her choice of reading matter; unfortunately she takes no notice of us. It doesn't help that most of our favourite books are lost works of wippitt literature, so aren't always easy to find. But keep your eyes open next time you find yourself in a secondhand bookshop - if you spot any of the following be sure to buy them, and we promise you won't regret it: