Rebel poodles

Our smaller toy poodle is a bit of a rebel.

You might call her downright bolshie. Or perhaps not entirely bolshie. Simply a troublemaker. Not so much a full-blown red as inclined that way, which I suppose would make her orange. Appropriately, since that’s her colour.

I always say that we call her Toffee because she’s toffee-coloured. And, of course, her black companion Luci is Luci-coloured.

Luci in front, Toffee behind her
Innocence personified. But they can be mutinous. If not very effectively

Both Toffee and Luci are connoisseurs of the mouldy piece of bread or rotting bit of bone found lying around in a park. Good at sniffing them out. Enthusiastic in making a beeline for them.

That, though, is as far as the similarity goes.

Luci, when called, at least has the decency to look up from the tasty morsel she’s getting ready to enjoy. Keep calling and she’ll take a step or two towards you. Call ‘drop’ and she might even drop the mouldy bread or bone that she’s picked up. And, eventually, with obvious reluctance, she’ll trot – not run, mind, just the least speed more than a walk to give the impression of obedience – back towards you.

With Toffee, things are nothing like that. Sure, she’ll look up from her piece of rotting meat if called. But with her it’s not with any intention of heeding a call. No. With her it’s perfectly obvious what she’s doing. She’s judging the distance between us. If it’s far enough to give her the time, she’ll take a bite or two. Too close for that? She’ll pick up the whole piece ready to make a dash for it.

She’s quick on her pins too. More than once she’s made me look both slow and stupid around a park, as I chase after trying to get her drop a piece of evil-looking pasty, with her darting away every time I got anywhere near close enough to pop a lead on her.

With this track record, her behaviour the other day failed to surprise me, but certainly left me amused.

In the morning, the dogs get Kibble. Biscuits. They’re not that fond of them, far preferring the wet food – actual meat – they get in the evening. That’s hoovered up in seconds. The Kibble, well, sometimes it hangs around several hours, with them eating a mouthful or two now, another mouthful or two then.

But the other day Toffee tried a novel approach. She simply ate none of it. I realised that she’d graduated, from mere bolshie troublemaker to full-blown trade unionist. Not just any trade unionist, but a shop steward, a convenor even, organising and leading the workforce.

Of course, the workforce was pretty limited, consisting entirely of Luci. Who, I noticed, in any case had a surreptitious mouthful or two, on the QT, whenever Toffee wasn’t looking.

What made me really laugh, though, was the lousy choice of tactics. It may have been a strike but, for pity’s sake, it was a hunger strike. And it was they who were going to be hungry.

So I’m afraid I behaved like the callous employer responding with a lockout to his employees’ strike. I simply gave them nothing else to eat.

Boy, did the strike collapse fast. Dogs cope even less well than men with hunger. Faced with not being fed at all, our two quickly developed a new appetite for Kibble.

By the evening, their bowls were nearly empty. And I gave them a rather smaller portion of meat, mixing the remaining Kibble in with it. Lo and behold, both meat and Kibble were hoovered up in no time.

The rebellion was over. Order had been established once more. The seat of power was not shaken.

Orange she certainly is. But a red? Toffee certainly isn’t an effective one.

Countdown to War, Day 24. 21 July 1914: growth of trade unionism, and reappearance of a disturbing story

One hundred years ago today, on Tuesday 21 July 1914, Martin, a young member of the still relatively new National Union of Railwaymen, might have taken some encouragement from news in the Manchester Guardian. It even started with a well-deserved side-swipe at government departments.

With that hustling enterprise which distinguishes Government Departments the Chief Registrar of Friendly Societies has now issued his report on the position of trade unions in 1912. The public would take more interest in these documents if they dealt with last year instead of the year before. Nevertheless, this report contains matters of great interest to the social student. In the first place it reveals the immense growth of trade unionism in seven years, and its improved organisation.

“Improved organisation” meant that there were fewer trades unions: down from 742 to 683 over ten years. Despite the fall in number of organisations, the number of members had been steadily climbing:

1903   1,575,000 
1905   1,567,000
1910   2,017,000
1911   2,372,000
1912   2,507,000

The fall in the early years of the century had given way to a rapid rise.

Ten years ago the trade unions probably included about one-fifth of the adult male workers of the country. To-day they approach one-third.

Strikers in London: organisation was growing

What with the 40 or so Labour MPs, it felt as though the working man was beginning to feel his strength and raise his voice. About time.


Not such a good thing was the re-emergence of that damned business in Serbia in the aftermath of the shooting of the Austrian Grand Duke. Two students had been arrested in Hungary over a plot to shoot another important figure of the Empire, the “Ban of Croatia”. Apparently one of them had:

... repeatedly declared that attempts against eminent persons, such as the Archduke Francis Ferdinand... were necessary, as thereby anarchy would be created and intervention of the Servian Army for the union of Croatia and Servia would be facilitated.

That story was followed by one that set still more alarm bells ringing. A Berlin-based Reuter’s correspondent reported on “German Anxieties.”

There is reason to believe that an Austro-Hungarian Note, embodying the results of the investigation into the murder of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife at Sarayevo, will be communicated to the Powers ... within the next days and possibly to-morrow.

Apparently there was “marked uneasiness” on the stock exchange “as the date for the action which Austria-Hungary proposes to take in Belgrade draws nearer.”

Action? In Belgrade? The capital of Serbia itself? To take action in a foreign capital would surely involve an invasion, wouldn’t it? That was the first he’d heard of any such plans. He wasn’t surprised the stock exchange was concerned. He wasn’t that pleased about it himself. 

In political quarters in Berlin it is not denied that the Austro-Hungarian action, which is imminent, may add temporarily to the strain, but hope is expressed that the crisis which may possibly arise will be confined to Austria-Hungary and Servia, especially as the action to be taken from Vienna will be given a polite though positive form, and its justification, it is thought, must be recognised even in Belgrade.

What on earth was “polite but positive” action?

“They knock on the door before knocking it down and setting fire to your house,” said the Cynic.

And it was all very well to hope that whatever happened would be confined to Austria-Hungary and Serbia, but what if it wasn’t? If it spilled over, where would the spill stop?

“Right on your doorstep,” said the Cynic, “you mark my words.”

Meanwhile, another article spoke of the “Dual Alliance”. Raymond Poincaré, the President of France, was visiting the Tsar of Russia. Their warships had met up too, though that hadn’t been an entirely unmitigated a success: “at four o’clock this morning a thick mist enveloped the French and Russia naval forces, and the France, on board which was M. Poincaré, came into collision with a Russian dredger.”

Yes, well. Perhaps things weren’t running that smoothly inside the Dual Alliance.

Russian ship.
Dangerous. Particularly in mist. Even to allies