“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"
Sunday, February 08, 2015
They were soon filled, and I reached into a pocket and pulled out the big string
She looked at it lying there, like the discarded skin of some exotic animal.
“What is it?. What does it do?”
I explained, reasonably, that it was a string bag.
“You mean things go inside it? How does it work? Where do things go?”
I kept a straight face as I pointed out the opening, and the handles, which pretty well exhausted this branch of string theory. She continued to be loudly amazed at the amount it held.
I lugged home the sagging bag, also amazed that
a) at my time of life I had gone back to using string bags, which up to now had been a vague childhood memory
b) I should have to explain this strange technology to a teenager. Or indeed anyone.
Sunday, February 01, 2015
Nevertheless, in the morning they all rush out for a very necessary moment….except for Dancer.
|Freya and her brother Dancer, the shovel trained dog|
He heads straight for the heating stove. It is fuelled by coal, and in front of it lies a little shovel. Dancer positions himself, and makes a neat deposit in the shovel - which, of course, I immediately dispose of in the stove. Then he goes out.
He must think there is a fuel shortage. Possibly he has somehow missed the 4 tons of coal under the blue tarp behind the garage? However, I think his offering although kindly meant, is not really going to make a lot of difference. Even if Freya and Melanie joined in, it would not significantly reduce my heating bills.
At the moment the only one likely to go to a new home is Freya. However, if Dancer does go, I can see myself having a hard time explaining that he is “shovel trained”!