Hi Steve
I've no idea. All my information is hearsay but from what I can make out, this is what happened.
Last winter we were taking a well deserved break in Devon and walking through some woods when suddenly my dogs were distracted by a rather dishevelled mutt bursting out of the undergrowth. Now, one of my dogs is quite a character and is capable of picking up fleas, ticks, you name it, without any assistance from Mother Nature. In fact, little Remy has even been known to have slugs and snails attach themselves to his fur. We sometimes say that when we take him out for a walk, we're not just exercising a dog but a whole menagerie!
Anyway, we were quite taken aback when Remy didn't attack this strange dog on sight (as is his wont). Instead, they went sort of "head-to head" and then both simultaneously shook themselves all over. I stared at my other half. This was so strange! "I wonder what happened there?", I asked him, then heard a reply, "It was an exchange of information in return for food." HWMBO's lips never moved! We looked around but we couldn't see who had said it. The only living creatures there were me, HWMBO, our 3 dogs (including Remy's menagerie) and this strange mutt.
The mutt sat there, lips savouring the traces of some bug he had recently devoured. We heard the voice again,
"It's not much of a meal, three slugs and a lizard, but Remy drives a hard bargain. He knows how hungry I am and squeezed every bit of information out of me he could about the locality. I even had to tell him about that foxy little chihuahua female that's coming into season."
We couldn't believe it. It seemed as if the dog was actually talking to us!
"Sure," said the mutt, "It takes a bit of getting used to at first, doesn't it?"
All I could do was stutter, "You wouldn't happen to have a name? Not 'Gaspode' by any chance?"
"Oh no," groaned the mutt, "Don't tell me you've read those 'Discworld' novels too? There I was, getting along quite nicely following coppers around and throwing my voice when it suited me. I did really well when they had to visit the butchers. I'd just tag along and wait for a lull in the conversation, then say something like "My dog'd really like a bit of liver." Of course, the copper wasn't going to admit he'd just said that but the butcher wasn't going to deny the copper. So I'd get a nice bit of liver. Sometimes I even manged to wangle a whole pork pie."
"Ah," sighed Gaspode, "Those were the days. Then along comes this Pratchett geezer and now everyone seems to have heard of Gaspode the Wonder Dog.
"Well, that finished my little scams. The last time I tried to pull a stunt in a butcher's shop I ended up scarpering for fear that I'd end up in a zoo or, even worse, on a reality television programme. I was on my uppers, scouring the country for a morsel here and there, raiding waste bins and trying to keep one step ahead of the dog wardens.
"Then, one fine summer's afternoon I found myself outside a Cornish workshop and caught the unmistakable scent of a freshly baked Cornish Pasty wafting on the breeze. I hadn't eaten for hours so I decided to investigate. Poking my head around around the open workshop door I saw a lady bent over a piece of oak, desperately trying to whittle a copy of the pasty.
"Surprised, I couldn't help but ask 'What on earth are you up to?' The woodworker didn't look up but carried on working.
'Well,' she said (for it was indeed a she), 'If I don't finish the carving quickly, the pasty'll be too cold to eat.'
'Does it have to be hot if you're going to carve a model, then?' asks I.
'Oh yes,' says she, 'And it's got to be properly seasoned too or I just lose my inspiration.'
'What's the best seasoning?'
The woodworker looked up at last and saw me.
'Well, Gaspode,' she said, 'You need a lot more pepper than most people think...'
"We then had a wonderful conversation into the late afternoon about the merits of the Cornish Pasty . By then of course, the pasty was cold so I got a free meal from my new friend who introduced herself as 'Jester'.
'That's as strange name', I said, 'Didn't your mum and dad like you?'
'It's not as bad as being called Gas-pod', she replied.
Of course, I explained that was all down to the effects of the pasty and my digestive system was usually much more sociable.
"I stayed with Jester for quite a while, encouraging her to spend more time on internet woodworking forums whilst I spent more time with her pasties. In the end, I picked up a chisel in my mouth and started hacking at a timber off-cut. Jester saw this and asked me what I was trying to do. I replied, 'Grrr ngr raar i i hir ing ne or'. She looked at me in bewilderment, so I dropped the chisel and translated it for her: 'I'm trying to talk whilst holding a chisel in me gob.'
'No,' she said, 'What I meant was, I wanted to know what you were trying to make.'
'Well,' says I, 'I've been thinking about my future and decided that I need a trade.'
'Oh, if you want to be a woodworker,' says Jester, 'You've come to the right place. I could show you all the traditional ways of woodwork if you want.'
'That's very kind of you,' says I, 'But I was thinking of trying to get some professional qualifications. In fact, I was trying to make an Apothecaries Chest just now because I thought it would be useful for me in the future. I want to be a pharmacist.'
Jester rolled her eyes. 'You can't be a pharmacist,' she said, 'You're a dog!'
'Of course I can be a pharmacist', I replied indignantly, 'Since we joined the EU it's unlawful to discriminate against people just because they happen to be dogs. Anyway, I already know something about medicines.'
"What do you know about medicines?', she scoffed.
"That's when I made my dreadful mistake. I bragged that I once overheard Greta Fowl as she checked the ingredients for Dried Frog Pills against her recipe manuscript and I could remember everything.
"Well, Jester was off to the shops straight away. Before long her kitchen was submerged in a sickly green mist as she stirred the ingredients into her cauldron in the small hours of the morning whilst the rest of the household slumbered on. Shortly before dawn, she emerged with a handful of chalky pills.
"It was shortly afterwards that matters came to a head. I heard Jester muttering darkly about how she would prove once and for all that our pills were more efficacious than anything Greta could manufacture.
"One morning I turned up at the workshop as usual and was astonished to detect the scent of two Cornish Pasties instead of the usual one. One of the pasties smelled as if it had curry powder in it! I was shocked, but worse was to follow. Cautiously, I peered into the workshop and saw two Jesters struggling with each other for domination of a wood lathe! Then one reached for a Lie-Nielson No 7 just before the other could grab a Black & Decker Power Plane. It was the most desperate fight I'd seen since someone told Cohen the Barbarian that they didn't really fancy a game of darts.
"That was enough. Clearly, either Jester had made up my recipe wrongly or I had copied it incorrectly from Greta. Whatever, I knew that in these situations most human beings don't give a hoot about a proper investigation when they can simply kick a dog instead. I scarpered."
"That was quite a while ago," said Gaspode, "Probably a year or so." Since then I've been scavenging around and just trying to eke out a living. You wouldn't happen to know if Remy's got a spare slice of pork pie hanging around, would you?"
Of course, I only have the assurance of a talking dog that this story is true. At least it's woodwork related.
Yours
Gill