“WHAT`S THAT, BOY? TIMMY`S FALLEN DOWN THE WELL?”...
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM…
Happy New Year
MAD AS A BOX OF FROGS
EMAIL ME .
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"
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Yesterday I went out and immediately realised that a dog was missing. I searched about and eventually discovered a screeching Marcus in a nearby field, firmly attached to a barbed-wire fence by his tail. He was loud and indignant.
There is a method for dealing with this sort of thing. I trudged back and fetched the Really Big boltcutters and removed the whole section of fence his tail was wrapped around. Then I carried Marcus and fence back home and began the long job of disentangling his tail - impossible when the dog was trapped and struggling. He wasn`t hurt, but the tail is in a sad state of tangle and missing bits. I will work on it when he feels less shocked....but I fear that only hair extensions will fit the bill.
Truly and son are leading a blessedly uneentful life. She is becoming - whisper it - just a little bored. Just a little trapped. She wants me to sit with her. She gives me long soulful Swedish looks that say -
"He is soo boring ! He has no conversation (just like his father). It is just feed him and clean the other end all day."
Well Truly, millions of mothers all over the world have a lot of sympathy for your feelings from time to time. Just wait till he gets on his feet - a whole new ball game.
Meanwhile young Sven has become hugely fat on an uncontested milk supply, and has only just decided to open his eyes. I am favoured with those blank unfocused puppy stares that only last a few moments before he curls up and goes back to sleep, leaving me wondering if anything so fat will ever get to its feet....
Just you wait.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Only in Edinburgh! The intrepid eco-warriors will be kitted out in special jackets with insignia (let your mind run riot. ) They will prowl in their state-of the-art vehicle with rotating cameras and sensors at different levels - possibly the one on the very high pole is to detect urban giraffes showing wilful intent to defecate. Then the moment Fido (or a giraffe) Adopts The Position, the sirens will wail, the lights will flash and the vehicle will scream into action...
"There`s a badass smell
In the neighbourhood,
Who ya gonna call? -
Out pour the Men In Brown (possibly in it over the ankles if dealing with the giraffe) and neutralise the perp.
Now clearly this is not a job of which you are going to boast to the other guys....Well not where I live, anyway although it is recognised that Edinburgh is A Bit Different. Over here you`d sooner admit to spending your days lacemaking, or painting rosy lips on garden gnomes ( I once met someone who had done the latter, and when it got out he never lived down the shame and had to move south.)
In Glasgow any appearence of these high-tech Toley Terrors would soon attract a vast retinue of eager none too supportive young spectators, offering lots of helpful suggestions, and possibly even some material...er, evidence (probably thrown).
But there - this is obviously the face of the future. Men in Brown making the streets safe for civilisation.
Gonny hide yer giraffe, son?
Monday, February 11, 2008
She didn`t provoke any feelings of confidence either when, the night before the Big Event she decided to forcibly evict the other two girls from the bed. Allegra said she would be disputing that, and placing her teeth at Truly`s disposal....and I found myself grasping two little tigers by the tails (literally), while Solitaire, fearing correctly that she would be next, took refuge on my head wailing loudly that she was just a little baby and harmless. In fact she is quite a large girl, and what with balancing her and keeping the other two apart, I looked the next day as if I had gone several rounds with Edward Scissorhands.
However, that was the last real problem, and a day later little red Truly was the surprised mother of an equally red son, who is being mothered with Swedish efficiency. Red Sven (working title) is rapidly becoming too fat to move about much and too full to care.