Dog coats required in Berlin

I've been feeling a bit neglected recently. Hardly any walks.

'It's too cold Barney' - they keep telling me, yet THEY still keep going out.

Yesterday when they came back home they said 'ooh you wouldn't want to go out there, it's raining, and it's fucking cold'.

Okay, so rain is a good excuse - I don't like the rain, but the cold, man I don't care.

So today they said 'Hey Barn, it's not raining today, lets all go out!'

Wooo Hooo.

So they put me in my winter coat and we went out. Yep it's cold!!, and apparently it was warmer today than it was earlier in the week - maybe they are right sometimes. But I have my jacket so I'm good to go!

Why do dogs lick?

Okay, so we all have little Obsessive Compulsive habits right? Mine just happens to be that I like licking stuff.

That ain't so bad is it?

Well my parents think its a bad thing and it is a constant source of tension between us. I can't tell you how many times a day I get shouted at 'BARNEY, DON'T LICK!'

Truth is I can't stop. I habitually lick the bed spread and the pillows.

I keep hearing Mama and Papa saying 'I wonder if he is salt or sugar deficient?'

Yea I have my problems, but those two have their own fucking stupid habits and I don't say anything about that do I! Lay off me man.

So this morning, as usual I had a bit of a licking attack. Papa picks me up and says 'Right Barney, we are going to sort this out. I've devised an experiment to see what is going on.'

So he puts me down in front of a plate, with lines of different food stuffs:

• Hazelnut spread, 
• Peanut butter
• Sugar 
• Salt 
• Honey

I have only ever heard of hazelnut spread and peanut butter, no idea what the other shit is.

And he smugly says to Mama - 'Okay, so we will watch him and see what he goes for and that will determine what he needs'.

I get put in front of this stupid plate, like I am a scientific experiment and Papa says to me in such a condescending way, 'Good boy, go for it champ!'

Fuck you and your champ bullshit. But I went to lick at the plate anyway. It's what I do.

I immediately went for the shit I knew about. Hazelnut spread first...I love that!

Then I paused. Papa says 'Is that it Barney? there's more for you there'

I know dickhead, no need to rush.

After my pause I went for the peanut butter, yum. Another pause.

Papa turns to Mama, 'Looks like he's stopped'

No I hadn't geez, just give me a break Mr speedy.

I then went for the shit called sugar. WHOA! really strong sweet taste, but I still licked it all up. I liked the small amount there but wouldn't want much more.

Then Papa looks at Mama and says 'I think he's going for the salt next' now we'll see if that is what he's after'.

I try the salt. HOLY FUCK what is this shit? This is disgusting and my tongue shrivelled up in my mouth like a turtle going back in its shell. Fuck that, I wasn't going to try any more of that.

And the last sticky shit? The honey? I didn't touch it. Papa dipped his finger in it and I had a quick lick of it. Not impressed, but then again I couldn't taste a fucking thing after the salt fiasco.

Papa looked at me. He looked at Mama.

I thought, What's your conclusion Genius?

He stood there, rubbed his head and exclaimed - 'These test results are inconclusive. He likes the sweet spread and the salty spread, the sugar, but not the salt and the honey. It doesn't make sense'.

'Maybe he's just got a psychological disorder'.

Duh, I could have told him that.

We all gave up. I went to sleep and everyone went back to what they were doing.

Just let me lick dude - it's just something I do. Deal with it.

The oven repair man

A few weeks ago Mama and Papa were having a baking night. Papa likes to make the most of turning the oven on (saving energy he says) so they made pizza, bagels and a cake. It was only after they had prepared everything that they realised something was wrong with the oven...it wouldn't heat up over 150 degrees.

'The bottom element is fucked' Papa said. I didn't think he was an electrician, but he knows the technical terms. 

In this oven the bottom element is concealed so it's not easily accessible. Papa said he didn't think he should do the job himself as it means pulling the oven out. He said last time he tried to fix an oven he electrocuted himself.

'Well am I getting my pizza and cake tonight?' I asked.

'We will try Barney, but it's gonna take a while because we are on half power'.

And it did take a while, like hours to cook all this shit, but finally they got everything cooked, though everything was well done on the top and underdone on the bottom.

Since then we've had no baked goods. :(

'When are you gonna get this fixed, I want some fucking pizza this week' I said.

'It's not our stuff Barney, so we need to log it in with the owner'.

And log it in they did, and the owner is very quick, and she logged it with the 'Hausverwaltung' (property managers) and they logged it with a repair company. The repair company got back to us within the day and arranged a time to come the next week - between 8 and 10 am.

So the day came and we all got up at 7:30am. This killed us getting up that early. We are used to poor service and wondered if the guy would come at 9:58am, if at all. But, he came at around 8:30am. Wunderbar!

The guy was all smiles and Guten Morgen. Mama offered the guy a coffee and when he said yes, Papa had to make it. Papa was in the man's way because the coffee machine is next to the oven. The guy got on with the job.

Papa asked if he could help Mr Repairman, and he pretty much said, 'You can help by getting out of the way'.

He had to pull the oven out, tested the element and said 'Ja, es ist kaput'. 

He put a new element in, and refitted the oven, and then made sure everything worked. He told us that 'Es funktioniert gut!' We all cheered and hailed a new era of baking!

He showed us the old element - it had 'exploded' he said, due to age (about 8 years he reckoned) and then he made gestures as if turning the knobs of the oven to full and said 'und viel sehr heiß Pizzas!'. Okay, enough of the jokes repair man.

With the oven back in place, Mr repair man got Papa to sign the work slip, which included the cost...145 Euros!! Fuck! who's gonna pay for that. Papa had a heart attack, but said the landlady is probably paying for the work. Phew.

So now we have a working oven again...woo hoo! 'When are we having pizza?' I asked.

'Let's just have breakfast first and worry about pizza later' Papa said.

I guess 8:30am is a bit early for pizza, so I let them make me breakfast instead, eggs on toast.

Still no answer on when I'm getting pizza though...