“WHAT`S THAT, BOY? TIMMY`S FALLEN DOWN THE WELL?”...
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM…
Happy New Year
MAD AS A BOX OF FROGS
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Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"
Saturday, August 25, 2007
I buy these things evvery year. Theysit and straggle unhapply in the gaarden centre, watered with tap water and poked by children, and I rescue them and give them a life in the sun, up to their armpits in stagnant rainwater. I can keep them going for two years - never a third. They flex their little traps and catch everything that flies. This time of year I can go out and think they have grown long black hair....no, they have been catching harvestmen and daddy long legs - they can`t manage to enclose the legs which stick out of the traps and wave.....
Yesterday I came out and saw one of them try to take off. The little pot was jumping up and down with all the traps flapping about. I went over.
The little plant had eaten a wasp.
Now wasps are not only big buggers - they are chewing insects, and can readily eat their way out. Usually.
But this one had been trapped with its head sticking out - no purchase for the jaws. However, it was determined to fly out of its predicament taking the plant with it if necessary. The tiny plant hung on like grim death as it buzzed and flapped.
Gravity is hard to beat.
Eventually the wasp stayed for dinner.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Tamara had been trying since evening, when she produced one dead puppy. By midnight I had to summon help, and by half past we were yet again on the winding road south with her panting heavily in a box on the back seat. (no, my vet doesn`t do call out - just huge bills...they do those really well.)
And now here we were, making cheerful conversation and trying to stay awake and willing Tamara to get on with it. But poor Tamara was making heavy weather of it, not eased by frequent encouraging inspections involving a rubber glove. At last the dreaded word "caesarian" was passed around, and at 2am Tamara was carried off.
I expected the worst and was amazed when the vet returned with two large fat protesting puppies. Tamara, woozy from the anaesthetic, stitched up and sore and exhausted, took one look at them and the tail began to wag. And once home in her snug bed, they were cuddled and washed and washed - I think she was trying to wash off the smell of the vet - and she was the happiest small person in the world.
You`re wondering what all this cost?
Don`t even go there.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Someone asked why I do it all - dogs and writing and the rest. Well...um...some of it is really habit and almost a way of lfe by now. I like what I do, and although I don`t know how long I`ll be able to go on, especially with the travelling, I have no plans to stop just yet. My cousin`s partner is judging Crufts in 2011, and I have been invited to judge a major championship show in 2010....well, we decided, we will have to live at least that long. So there you are - dog showing keeps you going ! But does it keep you young..............?
Please don`t answer that one.