Angels

Trust me. They exist.

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Never be impressed by money, titles, professions, possessions or how many followers. Be impressed by kindness, integrity, humility and generosity.

Meet Dorian.

Just another street dog.

Yet one which has touched my heart. Because … we share a guardian angel. Ermioni Giannakou.
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Everyone has their own story to tell, their own reasons to maybe help out a good cause, and this one is mine.

Little Dorian, from the very same streets I used to loiter, rescued by my very own saviour, will now follow in my own three legged footsteps … once his leg has been amputated. And maybe, just maybe, with the love and care of Ermioni, he could well get his very own ‘golden basket’ ticket. A forever home. Like me.

Sitting here, in my humble abode, sharing a tripe stick with my bestie, Mr Moussaka, we read Dorian’s story. I looked at Mama, Mama looked at her bank account. The news was grim. 40 quid and two days until pay day. But who needs 40 quid so the decision was made to give half of it to Dorian. Good luck my friend.

If there is a meaning to life it is certainly not to see how important we can become, but to see how much difference we can make to the lives of others. A bit like Dorian’s guardian angel. A rather remarkable young lady.

And yup, the chap in the last photo is me. A final hug with my first love. My very own guardian angel. Forever in my heart. Thank you.

Share the love for Dorian and those who will follow.

10570428_1495172777366921_3566254134521004392_n Editor’s comment: Spare some change Governor? Link for like minded souls right here. Ta muchly. Said the cat from the dark side.

Miracles do happen …

… because of angels x

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Mr Moussaka Monthly #09/18

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If you are old, like Mama, you will remember a song that goes … me aaaaaaand Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones, we got a thiiiiing going on. Well, that’s me and my bro, me and Mr O, we got a thing going on.

I love him. He is my rock. Where he goes, I go. When he has a bit of a sit down because he is tired what with just having the three legs, I sit down too. Be it the park, the pavement, or even the pet shop, I’ll be there, right by his side. And when Mr O, the partially-abled Enigma spots a deer and miraculously runs like a Deerhound over the ups and downs of the Sussex Downs, well I go with him. Despite the concerned calls of the parents. Hey ho. It’s my job.

Went a bit wrong though. On a recent trip to the forest (we proper love the forest) one of those deer folk happened to cross the path in front of us. Mr O was gone like a bullet from a rusty gun. We both ran like the wind through the dense undergrowth oblivious to parental control. Fun, oh yeah baby. I spent the first year of my life in a dog’s home, a very good one, but when you get your ‘golden bed ticket’ life is suddenly terrific. So we proper went for it. The thing is, deer’s are sprightly chaps and can run a little bit faster than a three legged dog doing a poor impression of a Deerhound, and me, well I’m not leaving my Mr O, we have a thing going on after all.

We were a bit lost, Mr O was a tad exhausted, I was a bit scared. I could hear the parents frantically calling somewhere faraway, it was a bit of a ‘to me, to you’ moment, but being the good little boy of the duo I returned to the old folk … I knew sausages would be involved after all. But Mr O was still out there, lost. The parents were cool, calm and collected and reassured me that everything was going to be alright. Phhff. I am a dog, I knew what they were feeling and it was none of the above.

We like to play a game called ‘find Papa’ he hides and I have to find him, tis much fun. This time Papa said ‘find Mr O’ and so I led Papa back through the undergrowth and went right back to the exact position where I had left Mr O having a lay down. But he was no longer there. I had my own little panic which induced one of my Tourette’s moments and I did a bit of ticking, yipyap sort of thing. And then I manned up and used my sort of spaniel snout to track my bestie down. It was a bit of a trek but I only went and did it. Mr O had made his way to a path and was heading in the wrong direction deeper into no man’s land, but I found him. I was, according to Mama and Papa, (and between you and me, Mr O too) a hero! To be honest I was a little bit relieved, and just a little bit proud.

Mama said she wondered what the deer chap had said on his own return to his family … ‘you’ll never guess what, a three legged Greek ex-street Anatolian Shepherd dog doing an impression of a Deerhound only tried to hunt me down’ … and my how they laughed. Rude.

The next day Mama said we were only up for a semi-adventure so instead we went to a park, one which we had never visited before which makes Mr O happy. For a people fearing weirdo he loves a new experience. This particular park Mama had not visited for many years, the reason being the last time she went there she came across a wee small child alone on the swings, and well, it didn’t end well. Mama knew the family, she was a bit scared of them, a bit sort of hard core don’t mess with us kind of chaps. There were 4 young boys in this family, Lee, Liam, Leeson and Leroy. Leroy, being the youngest, was once upon a time all alone, about age 3, playing on the swings when he fell off and started to cry. Mama had rushed to his rescue and picked the wee chap up and asked if he was ok to which he replied, at age 3, f*** off. So 20 years later, and with some trepidation, Mama decided she would take us there as a new experience, just because. And all was good in the hood. New place = new smells, new squirrels and to top it off the best invention in the world, rabbit poo. T’was good. Really good. Until the end, when we approached the residential area. And yup, the front door, to the very house that young hard core Leroy resided in all those years ago, opened. Mama popped us on leads and mentioned something about hurrying home for our tea when out came Leroy. Literally. As gay as a gay thing on a gay day, Leroy was looking mighty proud. And good for him. Mama cussed herself as she admitted she had assumed he would by now be residing elsewhere at her majesty’s pleasure, but no, the boy was as kind as a kind thing, with the most remarkable skin and coiffured hair. A jolly decent young man who instead of telling Mama to f*** off said ‘nice dog ma’am’.

Humility, honesty and just being yourself is what makes this barking rock that we all live on keep on rocking. There may be good times, bad times, and some really sad times, but as my brother has taught me, you just have to make the most of it.

I ain’t heavy and he’s my brother.

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10570428_1495172777366921_3566254134521004392_n Editor’s comment: A measly sausage. I would have given you a one foot long Aldi pig in a blanket if you had left the belligerent beggar behind.

Ouzo CEO’s comment: Mr Moussaka, my deer friend, thank you for saving me. Cat … do one.

 

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The most remarkable thing

A block of very expensive apartments are being built at the end of our road. Every morning, as we go out for our walk, Mr Moussaka likes to take a moment to stop and survey the progress. For a chap who doesn’t like sudden loud noises he is very interested in building work.

This morning, as we were passing by, a young electrician pulled up in his van and got out.  As he did so he started to speak to me and The Moose. The Moose, obviously, trotted over and said hello. Me, well, strange man, strange van, same old story. Papa explained I had a fear of strangers, especially men, so it was best to ignore me. I had other ideas.

I took a few steps closer to him, wagged my tail a bit and sat down next to him. The young man continued to make a fuss of The Moose. And so I took a big bold step … I nudged his hand with my head, and the man stroked me, I froze, then … I relaxed. And then I carried on with my day.

 

Me

DSC_0039 (2) Mama and Papa’s comment: Hallelujah

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Drum roll …

Ladies and gentlemen, friends, followers and fellow oddballs, those that I have met and those that I have growled at only from afar, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the one and only Mr Moussaka …

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Finally, it is my turn.

A little about myself, I am a small chap with a big heart. Personality wise I am Speedy Gonzales meets Eddie Izard. Looks wise I am a bit of a dead cute teeny ginger spaniely type mutt made last thing on a Friday night when someone asked ‘what shall we do with the leftovers?’, ta da … ME. A comedy trouser hairy legged / eared mutt bag with a couple of extra toes, double jointed legs and a girls tail. Oh, and I have Tourette’s. History is history and maybe we will cover that at some other time, but right now let me tell you life is pretty pukka my friends.

Let’s go

Mr Moussaka Monthly #08/18

August in England. Holiday time. Yep I have been on a holiday. Me and my three legged big brother, Mr O, have been on an epic adventure. Who would have thought that two reprobate homeless canine refugees would end up holidaying in Hampshire in a converted horsebox aka Betty the Bedford. Barking some may say but there we were.

Betty was amazing, secluded, peaceful, disabled access for Mr O and oh, so many smells. Deer poo, badger poo and my favourite, bird poo. Yet Betty was surrounded by upgraded bird poo, uh hu, bird of prey bird poo, Betty the Bedford, a truly remarkable fine dining experience.

Speaking of which, in true holiday style we ate out a lot and here is my own personal trip advisor recommendations on the hostelries which we albeit too briefly frequented:

  1.  The Seven Stars. Top notch menu. We had a choice of chicken or burger. Mr O went for the burger whilst I was keen on the chicken. Trouble was the burger was on the floor and the chicken was ‘rare’ and pecking the said burger.
  2. The Thomas Lord. Classy joint, you could tell by the locals, a long-legged beaut of a Weimaraner which Mr O took a fancy too. I was a little put out to be frank.
  3. The Stag Inn. BEST PUB EVER IN THE WORLD. Even though I have only been to three.
    (Footnote to point 3. Long story short … Thank you Mrs Landlady Auntie Jane, Mama says best advice ever, and I say sorry for Mr O’s behaviour, it’s just his thing.)

Talking of Mr O, my bestest friend in the whole wide world, that enigma grumpy grown up puppy, a little secret between you and me, Mr O is a fraud.

The rules of Betty the Bedford, dogs must be kept on leads the whole time. Ummm, we were for about 10 minutes, but we are good boys and listen to Mama and Papa. We chilled out on the decking and only wandered about with the parents. Until twilight. Me, now I am a good boy (apart from sleeping on the futon, it said in the details it was a pull out bed for a small extra guest … I am small), oh and indulging in my second fetish (number one is eating bird poo and the other is licking feet). Now Mama and Papa slept in a bunk and when they got up in the night I would happily jump off the futon for the smaller guest and start licking their feet as they climbed down the ladder … turns out this is not appreciated at 3am on a trip to the bathroom. Who knew. Back to my brother, Mr O. On not one, but two twilight moments Mr O spotted something of interest. Occasion number one, a deer friend. A little history, Papa built a ramp so Mr O could easily hop in and out of the patio doors at home. Turns out Mr O can hot 3 foot it down a flight of rickety wooden steps and run like the wind, for some distance, in pursuit of the aforementioned deer friend. Occasion number two, Mr O took up hare coursing. Turns out he can leap from the decking and run like a greyhound out the traps after a hare across a newly furrowed field whilst forgetting the magic command of WAIT being shouted very loudly by both Mama and Papa as they hurried to find shoes to put on as Mr O disappeared yet again into the sunset. Now we are home Mr O is thankfully back to his old self, a bit of sniffing and a sit down every 100 yards, he only has 3 legs after all. But before we returned we did of course have a little summer romance with a pair of very pretty Labradors!

I am now 200 words over my limit, but life is exciting. If you got to this point then I just want to let you know I am a happy boy and holidays are marvellous. Thank you dog rescuers’ everywhere.

10570428_1495172777366921_3566254134521004392_n Editor’s comment: My sweetie dish needs refilling.

cropped-christiano.jpg CEO’s comment: Tonight I am in the dog house because of ‘an incident’ and Mr Moussaka was the hero of the day, more of that another time.

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Easy like Sunday morning …

Once upon a time in a land far away, (November 2017, West Sussex) one man and his three legged dog went out for an early morning stroll. On route down an alleyway they came across a fence which had blown down in the autumn gales and was now blocking the path. The man and his three legged dog knocked on the door of the fence owner to offer assistance and the owner of the property, and fence, turned out to be a recently bereaved lovely older lady who was a tad distraught. Hence, the man returned and fixed the fence.

Eight months later, the lovely older lady was distraught once more as an unpleasant odour had manifested and neighbours, visitors and even casual passers by had started to complain. Not sure what to do, and worrying she may have a serious problem lurking somewhere in her properties drains she waited patiently each morning at her front gate for someone she knew she could ask for help … that kindly man with his three legged dog.

This morning, after a bit of a lazy Sunday morning lay-in, me and Papa trotted sprightly(ish) down the alleyway, followed by a dishevelled and still too early morning Mama sporting a toothpaste dribble stained t-shirt and accompanied by a little Cypriot chap, aka Mr Moussaka, when the lovely older lady rushed over to greet us and tentatively asked advice regarding the repugnant stench that hung in the air. ‘Was it drains?’ ‘Was it collapsed sewers?’ ‘What on earth could it be?’ She asked in despair.

Me, The Mousse, Papa and even bed head Mama knew exactly what it was, the smell of that scythe wielding chap … Death. Papa reassured the lovely older lady and said the problem was not drains but something a little more sinister. He took a quick look whilst me and The Mousse sat patiently with Mama, all trying hard not to breathe in, and promised to return to ‘sort it out’.

Disposable gloves and overalls, a shovel plus various other paraphernalia, Papa returned and removed the ‘item’ and all was once again well in world. The ‘smell’ had gone and the lovely older lady is happy once more.

However, we now have a heinously rancid dead fox currently rotting in our dustbin. God bless the large chap’s fly blown soul.

Oh, and today that Mr Moussaka also did a good deed when he went a visiting again to the old folk who overlook our little house. He was a very good boy and didn’t mind when everyone called him ‘Ruby’ and said what a pretty girl he was, and when an argument erupted over who was going to stoke her first little Ruby Rudy just patiently shared the love. As Mama and The Mousse were leaving an older gentleman said ‘what a lovely little dog, where on Earth did you get her?’ Mama said from a charity and 103 year old Mabel, who everyone assumed was dozing in the corner, loudly stated ‘it’s amazing what you can find in a charity shop’.

And tonight we have returned from our adventures in the forest tracking those pesky pheasants. Sunday’s are exhausting.

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10570428_1495172777366921_3566254134521004392_n Editor’s comment: Sunday morning lay-ins are not acceptable and when Mama finally woke up from a disturbed sleep involving dreams of being nipped by a large crab it was in fact me nibbling her ankle. Because … breakfast.

RM Sub-editor’s comment: Do I really look like a girl?

Ouzo CEO’s comment: RIP Mr Fox

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Random blog. By Mama Edwards

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52 years on this planet and tonight I am sitting on the floor cuddling a 3 legged Greek street dog (because he can’t jump on the sofa) whilst rubbing the tummy of a little Cypriot chap who has gone off his tea (because he has a penchant for snuffling a bit of fox poo) and with the help of a little belly rub is passing the most disgusting second hand fox wind … whilst the French no eared cat tries not to inhale and stares at me in the most menacing fashion.

Despite the madness, badness and sadness in this world, this weird congregation of refugees makes me content.

10570428_1495172777366921_3566254134521004392_n Editor’s comment: Send help.

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Papa Edwards

When you’ve been married so long that when you hear her say ‘I love you’ you know she is talking to the dog.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, Czechoslovakia to be precise, I sat on a bench and watched a man and his dog walk through a park. I thought to myself how much I missed having a dog. I decided to discuss the possibility of a new canine companion with my wife on my return home.

Little did I know that in another land, far away, my wife was thinking the very same thing. On my return to England I told Mama Edwards of my thoughts, that we should indeed consider rescuing some poor chap who needed a forever home, a chap I could take out for early morning runs across the glorious South Downs, a chap who could come out to work with me, hang out in my van, be my buddy.

And so we brought home a three legged grumpy dog that hated men, van’s, and had no intention of ever going for an early morning run. Because … Mama Edwards decided that was the dog for us.

Ouzo Edwards, aka Ouzo the Greek, more affectionately known as Mr O.

This aloof enigma, the ‘anti’ epitome of the dog that lurked in my mind, the early morning running partner; the workmate and travel companion; the happy chap who loves everyone; the dog that instantly obeys your every command … I can wait for you to come to me because it is difficult for you to get up; I can sit quietly with you in the woods as you get your breath back; I can adapt a van to make you more comfortable; I can protect you from strangers that you are unsure of. And I can also be persuaded to accommodate a little brother, because you chose him. Because … I love you old boy. My boy.

And the moral of the story that started a long time ago in a land far away, be careful what you wish for because something far better may be out there waiting for you.

10570428_1495172777366921_3566254134521004392_n Editor’s comment: Who the hell gave you permission to blow me out of the water?

RM Sub-editor’s comment: Excuse me. I am still waiting for my turn.

Ouzo CEO’s comment: Good things come to those that wait. Trust me.

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