Frankly, a nostalgia moment.

Yes, we dogs are quite as capable as you humans of finding that deep wellspring of memories that bring us comfort and the joy of recognition. For me, this was much needed on yet another day when, even from here in Dog Heaven, the pall of gloom that has settled across the planet seemed to deepen and darken almost by the moment.

Anyway, keeping an eye on my former Master, as is my wont, I found him sitting alone on the terrace of his South of France villa, a rapt expression on his face as he again immersed himself in that heart-stopping view. It all came back to me. Filling the foreground were the asymmetrical white marble flagstones on which I use to love to lie in the warm Spring sunshine. Above them rose the low wall, draped in an entanglement of ivy that bounded the terrace edge, the whole punctuated by the deep green of the statuesque cypresses creating the frame of the view.

And what a view it was, I mean is. Below, through he ever-waving fronds of the towering pair of eucalyptus trees, sparkled the azure Mediterranean, empty as I zoomed in on the view today, but remembered for its summer days as a deep blue quilt, randomly splashed with the white sails and churning wakes of the many maritime craft.

This great sweep of water, the Bay of Cannes, ended in the pale green reflection of the hillsides opposite, dwarfed in turn by the surreal white wall of the still snow-clad Alps soaring heavenwards.

If a dog could shed tears of joy, inspired by the sheer beauty of nature’s magic, my eyes would be damp right now. As I watched, my Master drew a hand across his brow. Was he just shading his eyes from the sun’s rays, or had the nostalgia got to him too.

“Easy ends the day, eh, Robert?” he used to remark, strolling to the kitchen for a sundown gin and tonic.

Easy comes the night too, I thought as I pulled focus on the scene and saw the darkness making its daily approach from the East.

“Time for bed,” said Zebedee. Now, there’s nostalgia for you!

Not a shark. a crocodile!

My psychic powers, never in doubt since I began my posthumous communication with dear Janie Veron, have been both confirmed and questioned. Maybe I do "big picture" best and should leave the detail to others.

So I did indeed have this terrible presentment of looming tragedy in Australia. (See my earlier blog). But the chomping jaws I half-sensed were those of a Great White, not a goddam Crocodile.

You may have seen the news that police have found the remains of five-year-old Jeremy Doble in the stomach of a 14-foot male crocodile in Queensland. The monstrous beast was trapped in the flooded Daintree River near where the boy had vanished on February 8. The area, which I have scanned from here in Dog Heaven, is one of lush green rainforest, stretching right down to the brilliantly white sandy beaches of the coastline. Yet again that Australian paradox emerges: extraordinary natural beauty at every turn, and killer creatures lurking in its shadows to take their shocking toll on humanity.

Apparently, Jeremy had been playing with his seven-year-old brother Ryan and their dog behind the family property in a flooded mangrove swamp when he disappeared. I can't help wondering why the dog wasn't a bit more on the ball. I would have doine anything to protect my Master from whatever danger he might have confronted. Not that sharks and crocodiles tend to terrorise England's green and pleasant land in huge numbers! Silly thought. Better quit while I'm ahead.

Sheer laziness. Sorry. Back now!

For a dog, laziness is just a different deal. For you humans, it's about not doing the things you usually do, or should do or don't want to do. For a dog, there are never things we should do.
Being cheerfully dependent on our masters leaves us completely free to be as active or idle, as playful or passive or as charming or cheeky as the mood dictates.
So, sorry, I've been feeling languid, introspective and uncommunicative. Plus, recent events on my beloved Earth have been so damn saddening that I've wanted to avert my gaze. My heart goes out to the families who have lost loved ones in plane crashes, bush fires, rocket attacks and, any minute now, shark attacks off the coast of Australia. Yes, that's a prediction! What a beginning to the Year of the Ox.
But relief may be at hand. This caught my attention: a new movie, "Hotel for Dogs." Apparently, a pair of orphans, brother and sister, play homemakers for an ever-growing family of four-legged waifs and strays. What a completely laudable concept. Okay, okay, just a cute idea! Anyway, heart-warming it surely is. Go see it. Maybe it will give you a smile in these dark times.
Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day to all my readers.

Macey and Donna………such a drag!

Just a quickie tonight. I’m tempted to comment on the cloak of whiteness that has descended across the no more green and pleasant land. But that’s just a bit obvious and panders too much to the British obsession with all things climatalogical.

So, just for amusement, here’s a couple of startling photos I espied of famous women looking so like Drag Queens that even Lily Savage would be upstaged. Yes, I remember her all too well from her days as a dubious stand up comedian, albeit one endlessly tempted by a more prone posture than “stand up” naturally suggests.

So here are Macey Gray and Donna Versace, both of whom really should know better, showing off their all too appropriate giant hair, excess lippy, mascara overload and manic drag queen posing!

I’m lost for even one more word on the subject!

Kung Hei Fat Choi. No, I’m not just psychic; multilingual too.

As I scan the planet looking for a something interesting to take my mind of the defeat of dear Andy Murray, it’s been impossible to avoid the vibe sweeping the East. When 1, 3000,000 inhabitants of mainland China reconvene in their family units to celebrate their New Year, it’s a big deal. To appreciate the full scale of the event, we need to add in the many millions more Taiwanese and the ethnically Chinese residents of Singapore, Malaysia and Vietnam and Thailand, not to forget the further millions of immigrant Chinese raising their glasses and yelling “Gom bui” in the many Chinatowns all around the world. It's a time for reflection and not a little apprehension, as seen on the faces of these worshippers at the Wong Tai Sin temple in Hong Kong.

As a dog with an ingrained European viewpoint, I’ve been struck by the need to get my head around China. Any nation that can achieve the seamless impressiveness of the Beijing Olympics, whilst buying up all the cheap assets that the so-called developed world currently can’t afford, is clearly a force to reckon with.

As the Empire of America implodes, however much President Obama proves able to slow the process, the Empire of China will surely rise to occupy the yawning vacuum of power and economic clout. If it happens without a huge armed conflict, this will surely be the first time in history that the baton of global dominance passes unstained by the blood of many nations.

Which is why I choose to wish all ethnically Chinese persons Happiness and Prosperity as they enters the Year of the Ox. I never did like rats, anyway!

He is white. He is from Scotland. He owns a dog. Does it get better than that?

Forgive the outburst of patriotism. And the apparently endless theme of colour. I can’t help it. In the midst of Obamamania, legitimate though it is, I feel obliged to draw your attention to this surprising product of Scotland, a tennis player of rare talent and an athlete of remarkable ability, one Andy Murray.

Yes, our Andy, as we Scots can call him, unlike you English, much as you would like to, finds himself down under. The Aussie Open, the first Grand Slam of the year just got underway. Andy’s last few months have seen him finally emerge from the shadows of unkempt teenager hood into the bright sunlight of a Number 4 rank in the world and expectations of a first Slam sooner rather than later.

His recent record, eight matches played, eight matches won, and his list of victims, topped by Roger Federer, the world No2, and Rafael Nadal, the world No1, has fuelled expectations of greatness to come, preferably imminently.

The excitement has even got to his best mate at home, whom I caringly picture, even though he is not a Westie and, at a stroke, destroys the whiteness theme to which I have clung so fondly.

So “Good on you”, Andy, as they say on that far far away continent, blessed with some of the most seductive beaches in the world and a more venomous selection of land and sea creatures than anywhere else on the planet. Another of God’s jokes? I mean Australia, not Andy. Though if he fails to win Wimbledon one fine day in his career, that’s for sure how he will be remembered. Yes, it’s a cruel old world, even from this tranquil viewpoint in Dog Heaven.

Of hopes and dreams.

Here I go again. Even at the risk of boring the collective pants off my burgeoning readership, it’s going to be Obama one more time. Today is his Inauguration Day. It would be downright perverse to look anywhere else. I will even eschew references to the issue of doggies in the White House, and resist the temptation to dwell on the advice of smart Harry Truman, who said, “If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.”

Nowadays I pride myself on my self-discipline! Oh, and don’t you just love the word eschew, particularly the chew part? What I wouldn’t give for a chunk of bone to get my long unused teeth into!

Anyway, I have to tell you that, as I get into the flow of this, my remit becomes clear. There’s no point in my sharing with you all the daily minutiae that already overwhelm you from too many sources. I should use my otherworldly perspective to give you the big picture. Now, it’s not going to be consistently global. My Scottish heritage tends to draw me to Europe more than objectivity should allow. And my Westie sense of humour may occasionally lead me astray. But, when it does, I’ll do my best to avoid anything but the most amusing trivia. Okay with you? Hope so.

There’s that word again, hope. And really that is what today mainly represents. At the most poignant level, it’s the moment of truth for the dream born of Rosa Parkes’ brave stand, well, brave sit, I suppose, fifty-three years ago. The dream found a voice with Martin Luther King and now finds its incarnation with Barak Obama. Hopefully.

How symbolic that Martin Luther King Day should be the segue into Inauguration Day. How wonderful if Obama is indeed judged “not by the colour of his skin, but by the content of his character.” The world holds its breath and watches. We have all waited a long, long time for someone who might bring a compelling vision of unity to this sometimes inspirational, sometimes crass crucible of humanity we know as America. Above all, the world hopes.