Hello. I’m Bosworth. I’m a Norfolk terrier and I shall be sharing some of the things I do and the places I visit in my campervan with my two humans. I like walks, play time, meeting other dogs, keeping a look out for cats and squirrels, and watching wildlife programmes on TV.
I did mention a while back that I’d say something about cats. Cats! Funny word that, but one I somehow knew even before I’d seen one, because it’s kind of embedded in my genes. Well, in the genes of all dogs really I suppose.
The human who feeds me started telling me things I didn’t really understand, like “Kitty is coming to stay. Kitty’s a beautiful cat. She’s your cat and you have to be nice to her.”
What I heard was: “BurblebabbleCATburblebabbleburbleKITTYburblybabblyCAT” all said in a very noice tone of voice mind, but the important words really stood out and got me all excited. When the cat arrived with their daughter (who they try to kid me is my Big Sister, but she’s not) they made a big fuss of them both. They wouldn’t let me near Kitty, even though I kept yelping with excitement. They shut me in while they unloaded all the cat stuff and put this interesting creature in an upstairs room where it was quiet, so she could settle down. Never mind me, I was so excited I thought I’d go pop.
The smell of Kitty was new and intriguing. Even though I’d had this cat smell offered to me on a hanky or something before she arrived, to get used to the smell, it was NOTHING like the real thing! And the energy and vibe of having a real live cat in the house drove me crazy with excitement. I like to think I’ve calmed down a bit now I’m nearly 2 years old, but I was very young, it was all new stuff and boy did I go for it.
I just had to find that cat. Where was the dratted Kitty? I set off in search of her, galloping up the stairs, nose to the ground, and found her scent was strongest in the spare room. I sniffed and looked. I couldn’t see her anywhere, but I knew she was there.
One of my humans came to find me and took me back downstairs, but they sounded concerned because there was no sign of Kitty. I found out later that she’d been on the windowsill, hiding behind the curtain. When things had calmed down, I slipped upstairs again to look for her. I just KNEW she was in that room, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. One of the humans came in and sort of tried not to laugh. Apparently Kitty was sitting on a chair watching me inspecting the floor area with my nose to find her. I was looking down, not up. I swear that cat was laughing too.
We did meet face to face and although I was friendly, barking and wagging, Kitty spat at me, which wasn’t very nice at all. After Kitty had gone back to her home with their daughter, I sneaked upstairs whenever I could to check that she really had gone; the smell was still there, I wasn’t sure that she’d really left, and the thought of seeing more of her was enticing. I searched all the bedrooms, pulling the duvets off the beds and I dragged the spare mattress out from under a bed to make sure she wasn’t there.
I don’t know why they weren’t very pleased with me for doing this, and they kept all the doors closed where Kitty might have been hiding. Maybe they were cross because I chewed some of the duvet covers and sheets.
Here is the owner’s view of the chewed sheets and other misdemeanors!
Earlier this year, my humans took me on holiday in my campervan and we went to somewhere called North Devon. I loved all the walks they took me on. We went along lots of paths by the side of the sea. That wet blue stuff looked very inviting but it was a long way down below, and we were very high up walking on things called cliffs and headlands.
The smells there were very interesting. The water smelled nice, so did the grass and the heather, but the little brown lumps of stuff lying around on the ground smelled quite delicious. I wanted to taste them, but my humans kept saying “Drop!” if I got any in my mouth, just when it was starting to get interesting. They called it sheep poo and clearly didn’t like me trying to taste it. Didn’t they realise that was because I wanted to understand what it was and where it came from? And what are “sheep” anyway? I had no idea. And still being quite young, I had to taste and test everything new so I’d know about it.
We climbed up a very big hill which they called Mortehoe Point. It was covered in pointy rocks and when we got to the top, the sea was all around us. It was windy too, but I was rather pleased as I’d never climbed such a big hill before. I scrambled up to the top with my humans, then had a rest while they did something called “drinking in the view”. I couldn’t see any drink, but they’d brought my water with them and gave me some, so perhaps that’s what they meant.
Then we climbed all the way down again and started to return to my campervan by walking back along the path by the sea. It was then that I noticed some other animals.
I thought they must be white dogs, but they weren’t really quite like dogs. And there was that delicious smell again – the same smell as the lumps of brown stuff they’d told me to drop. I was very curious and had a good look at these creatures. I came to the conclusion they must be called sheep as the humans were saying things like, “Bosworth, they’re sheep….leave them….” .
So sheep they had to be. I didn’t want to chase them, nor did I try to; I just wanted to watch them. They were young and curious too, and they had a good look at me as well.
Look what I found! I saw this was lying about on the floor, took a peep at it and got a big surprise.
It’s a picture of me in my motorvan, along with some writing. I can’t understand it all but I think it tells the story of my very first trip in my home of wheels and my first experience of camping – you know, the story I wrote about with the picture of me in my playpen thing on the very first campsite I ever went to. The one near the beach. It says something about my visit to the beach too.
Life’s full of surprises, and this was a good one!
“Meet the new Motorhomer” appeared in MMM magazine in August 2018.
We went on holiday in my campervan earlier this year to somewhere called North Devon. My humans did all the arranging and driving and packed my food, treats, toys and bed, so all I had to do was behave myself and settle down between the two front seats of the ‘van for the journey (hitched up to my restraint of course).
We stopped off at a couple of places on the way before we actually reached North Devon, and I’d heard them say something like, “We could go there on the way and have him measured for it, it’s somewhere near the campsite” (that’s a magical word for me – I know it means we’re going somewhere new and interesting).
Their satnav thingy didn’t work properly and they kept saying things like, “It’s right out in the sticks here.” I like sticks. You can chase them and chew them and sometimes, if I find one I like, I carry it back home. So I thought we were going to a place that had lots of sticks for me to play with. But no. We ended up in a sort of farmyard with a big shed building where there were people making things with funny-looking machines.
They all made a fuss of me then I was taken into a big room with lots of shelves and one of the nice people got something from a shelf, took it out of the bag it was in and put it on my body! I was a bit startled. It was like having human clothes on and I wasn’t sure what to make of it, although it felt kind of cosy and safe once it was on. I even saw that dog I sometimes see who looks a bit like me. He was wearing it too when I looked at the thing they call mirror. I must say, the colour looked quite fetching against his coat.
After that, we got in the ‘van and went to the campsite, where it was wonderful. Woods! Mown pathways through them! Lots of long grass! Smells! Places to explore and a big lake, where they had to keep me on my lead as there are things called beavers who live there. Seemed to me that the beavers chopped down bits of trees as there were plenty of sticks lying around on the ground. Maybe this was the place they meant that was in the sticks?
Great as it was there, it did rain a lot one day. That was the day they got my my new outfit out of the bag and put it on me. It was to stop me getting soaked, muddy and dirty in the rain, and it worked. When we came inside the van, it was the outfit that was wet and muddy, not me. So it’s not too bad at all really.
I do wonder what I really look like in it though, and if my bum perhaps looks a bit big in it?
Editorial note for dog owners: Bosworth’s suit came from the home of Equafleece in Devon. He’s wearing the lightweight summer one; the heavier fleece winter one we also bought awaits the first cold snap in our part of the UK.
Soon after I’d arrived at my new home and settled in, my humans introduced me to another home. This new home is now pretty much what I consider to be mine, not theirs; it’s a home on wheels, also known as a campervan…a motorvan….a motorhome. There are lots of different names but you get the drift – it’s a comfortable mobile fun palace which transports me to new, different, exciting places. I love it!
At first though, I didn’t love it.
I shivered and shook when I went inside because it was all so different. It wasn’t a car. I’d been in a car lots of times when I was still with my mum and sisters in the place where I was born. And I travelled in a car with my humans to my new home, and that was lovely because I curled up on a soft blanket on the lap of the human who feeds me. We sat together on the back seat while the other human who does “School” with me drove the car (I’ll tell you about “School” later).
Back to the campervan – they took me into it to show me round, and gave me treats (of course). I had a good sniff round and worked out which cupboard had my food and treats in, and then I had to have a harness on, which was fixed to a sort of seat belt thingy on the floor to make me safe when the home on wheels was moving.
I noticed they’d folded and packed my crate, which I slept in at home, and when we’d had a drive to somewhere they called “campsite”, they unfolded it and put it inside a big sort of cage thing with no roof, then put me inside it too. I had no idea what was going on, or where we were, but my food and toys and blanket were all there, outside the home on wheels and in a good place where I could watch everything that was going on around me. It was all rather interesting.
I must have snoozed off at some point, because next thing I knew, we were all going for a walk to a place they called “beach”. To get there, we walked along a green leafy lane, then the ground under my paws changed. It became yellow and gritty and there was a new funny smell of water. Best thing of all was that there were other dogs having walks on this beach and I threw myself into saying hello and playing with them.
I thought “If this is camping, bring it on!”
Here I am soon after my arrival at my new home with my humans. Of course, it was all a bit new and confusing at first because my mum was no longer around, and nor were my sisters who I’d spent a lot of time romping and playing with. Blimey, the world outside seemed a bit big sometimes, but it was – and still is – always exciting.
Needless to say, I loved romping and playing with my humans, and playing with the objects, called “toys”, they gave me. What I had to do though was learn a few new things, like what “Be busy” meant. They would let me out into the garden and say “Be busy”. I had absolutely no idea what that meant, but when I had a pee on the floor inside the house, they said this “Be busy” thing and put me out into the garden straight away.
I eventually worked it out. It meant don’t pee on the floor inside the house and pee in the garden. First big lesson; all part of learning the ropes.
Thought: isn’t this human laguage strange? What have ropes got to do with peeing….?!
Well, not any old name, obviously. My name. It’s my blog and my name, and I suppose it’s a bit unusual. I like it, but to be honest I might have chosen something different for myself, but I was young, and my humans had come to collect me and take me home with them.
I’d already met them once, when they’d visited, sat on the floor and played with me and my two sisters. I climbed up on to the leg of the human who now feeds me, looked at her and said “Hello”. I know she doesn’t talk dog, but it was the nearest I could manage. It came out like a sort of friendly, throaty noise, a bit like a noisy cat purr (more on cats later). After I’d said my hello they seemed to decide pretty quickly that they wanted to me live with them. My mum, who was also there, quietly nodded her approval of my good manners after she’d eyed up my humans-to-be, and decided they were ok.
Back to my name. I was born in Leicestershire, in a place called Husband’s Bosworth (try saying that when you’ve a few too many drinks!), and after we’d set off in the car for my new home, they talked about names. Oh the list – do you want to know what they’d come up with?
Bracken – Magnus – Jasper – Rufus – Kasper….there were more but that’s enough to give you an idea. Then they thought of Bosworth – from the place I hailed from – and that seemed to hit the spot. They decided it could be shortened to Bozzy or Boz (one of them quoted “Sketches by Boz”, Boz being the pen name of Charles Dickens. I don’t know who he is btw).
Of course, they call me by all three names, each having its uses in specific sitations, and the tone of voice used. “Bozzzzworth” with a drawn out emphasis on the first syllable is friendly, playful, with a sing-song tone and an if-I-come running- I-might-get-a-nice-reward sound. If it’s said sharply and in a firm kind of voice I know I might be in trouble, especially if it’s “Bosworth – come here”!
Tone of voice is all important, so even though I don’t understand all human words (I’m working on my vocabulary) I can always get the gist. And there are certain words which I respond to immediately Like “Cat”. But more of that later, as promised.
Well here I am, with my own blog. I’ve been sending lots of telepathic messages to my wonderful human (the one who feeds me) as I sit near her feet when she’s writing her own blog, and whoopeee!! the message got through.
“I think I’ll let Bozzy have his own blog” she said. She calls me Bozzy, Boz and host of other silly affectionate names in between. It’s all a bit embarrassing so I won’t bore you with them. The other human, he wot does “School” with me, also calls me these names as do the children who live nearby (aka known as my Fan Club). And of course, the grandchildren do too. They love me to bits. Feeling’s mutual by the way.
I’ll be sharing some of things I get up and places I go to, especially in my motorvan…or campervan…or motorhome…whatever you call them. You know, these homes on wheels which whizz off to exciting new places, either for the day, or for a few days, or for a whopping long time. Bliss. And it’s all part of this, my life, which is a pretty good one.