In snooping round Facebook photos worry I am alone on the ageing front. Or does everyone else post old pictures? Or use software? I see my young fave nieces on there. Being young they get away murder. Jealous? Ha!
When we were young He-who-must-be-adored and I agreed. I would give birth to dustbin lids more beautiful than ourselves. Even in our young and beautiful days. Those days before the growth of extra chins and bellies. Before gravity took its toll. Before the ability to shake off pillow creases from our faces was lost. In return, He agreed to do the duty of bin night. And re-fueling the car. Today, with the poor excuse of a ridiculously long shift saving London, He broke the rules. I am owed.
Yesterday the little-un thought she was owed. But even I, with my low resistance to her pestering, draw the line at ice-cream on breakfast pancakes. I was kind about it and offered to dial child-line for her.
Is this cruel? During the dog’s usual post-supper sniffing round the kitchen she became still. And focussed. She stalked the fridge. I thought of mices. Then her tail wagged. She tried and tried before realising her tongue wasn't quite long enough to retrieve that which was under the fridge. I laughed as she tried different positions. And there’s only so much paw digging to be done on a hard floor. She switched between digging and stretching her tongue. And back again (whoah there Mrs is this an adults only blog now?) He-who-must-be-adored retrieved the discarded nectar and gave it to her. Killjoy.
To my book group last night. Was it my poor choice of book that led to such little bookish discussion? Or is the book just another excuse to sit about with other wimin smoothly sipping the bubbly stuff? A problem? Moi?
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Lessons Learnt
1. Pale pink is the wrong colour choice for winter boots worn in post-snow slushy dog walk.
2. A damp dog will shake itself after a walk in the rainy post-snow dirty slushy mess.
3. Said damp dog doesn’t know the hallway is painted white (whose stupid idea was that anyway?).
4. A damp dog doesn’t know that it is not good form to shake black rainy post-snow dirty slushy sloshy water from her body all over the kitchen cupboards and freshly washed kitchen floor.
5. A floor mop should be rinsed at least a thousand times after it has tried to mop up washing machine overspill containing summer breeze washing powder.
6. If you fail to rinse said mop at least a thousand times when you try to clear up after damp dog you get a sudsy mess.
7. A hard floor washed with hint of summer breeze is a near death trap.
8. The dog does not move out of her bed when the mop is out.
9. Supersis is right to diss the dogs daily.
10. The uplifting mental health benefits of walking the dog in piss poor weather are a short lived thang.
2. A damp dog will shake itself after a walk in the rainy post-snow dirty slushy mess.
3. Said damp dog doesn’t know the hallway is painted white (whose stupid idea was that anyway?).
4. A damp dog doesn’t know that it is not good form to shake black rainy post-snow dirty slushy sloshy water from her body all over the kitchen cupboards and freshly washed kitchen floor.
5. A floor mop should be rinsed at least a thousand times after it has tried to mop up washing machine overspill containing summer breeze washing powder.
6. If you fail to rinse said mop at least a thousand times when you try to clear up after damp dog you get a sudsy mess.
7. A hard floor washed with hint of summer breeze is a near death trap.
8. The dog does not move out of her bed when the mop is out.
9. Supersis is right to diss the dogs daily.
10. The uplifting mental health benefits of walking the dog in piss poor weather are a short lived thang.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Puppy love
After 12 years of the constant whencanwegetadog mantra, we surrendered. We did research. Puppies are cute. But untrained. You wouldn’t let an unsupervised nappyless toddler crawl about the place. Would you?
Serendipity stepped in. A new puppy came to live with Supersis. So they had a dog too many. We had none.
For the record, I didn’t ‘steal’ a dog from Supersis, We came to a more formalised version of the existing arrangements of dog sharing. They still have visitation rights especially when we have gallivanting to do. In exchange we’ll look after ALL their animals when they are off and about. I think it’s not quite a fair exchange as they have goats, chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits, dogs, a psychotic cat and hawk (not so sure about the hawk). But the dog lives with us so I'm living with it.
Now Supersis has a half wild puppy and we have Princess Josephine, a trained six year old pretty blond thing. Am quite surprised how quickly the doggy love has grown, in a totally healthy way. Obviously. Although am worried at the number of doggy conversations I’m currently having. Especially as Bestmumchum told me I was boring her with all the doggy talk.
The dustbin lids are happy. They don’t see any frustration in newly washed floors instantly covered in muddy footprints and blond hair. Since Mr Supersis explained the power of the doggy treat behind the thumb trick she’s behaving ever better for me. She’s pretty good at sticking to my side. Except for when we get to decision corner. We have the daily battle of the lead as she tries to pull me towards the doggy heaven park and I attempt to pull her towards the hell of the school gates and the noisy hub-bub of 600 lids and carers at the end of a day. Today was worse for the fact that the lids have been treated like caged animals with matching behaviour – that’s the power of ‘elf n safety’ in the snowy aftermath. Am only slightly jealous of how many friends and fans she has at the gates – people I’ve been nodding to for years now happily do doggy chat with me.
The dog continues to behave princess-like. In the morning I open the door: she sticks her head out and if it’s cold or wet she will not go out, no matter how long since her last visit. Sometimes she won’t eat her doggy food, although this is easily resolved with a little something human in her bowl. As if doggy food alone is beneath her.
I find myself worrying whether that’s normal for a dog. God a whole new field of neurosis for me. Now I’m afraid! I’ve done a whole blog on the dog. Am I in danger of turning into one of those dodgy doggy types? Yes, she is a kind-a baby replacement. Yes, I am always prepared with a placky bag. Yes, I do talk to her. But I think there’s hope. I know she can’t talk back to me and I’m not yet wearing a waxy jacket with sensible shoes covered in dog hair and spittle. And, as yet, the dog and I bear no resemblance. Although they do say blondes have more fun….
Serendipity stepped in. A new puppy came to live with Supersis. So they had a dog too many. We had none.
For the record, I didn’t ‘steal’ a dog from Supersis, We came to a more formalised version of the existing arrangements of dog sharing. They still have visitation rights especially when we have gallivanting to do. In exchange we’ll look after ALL their animals when they are off and about. I think it’s not quite a fair exchange as they have goats, chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits, dogs, a psychotic cat and hawk (not so sure about the hawk). But the dog lives with us so I'm living with it.
Now Supersis has a half wild puppy and we have Princess Josephine, a trained six year old pretty blond thing. Am quite surprised how quickly the doggy love has grown, in a totally healthy way. Obviously. Although am worried at the number of doggy conversations I’m currently having. Especially as Bestmumchum told me I was boring her with all the doggy talk.
The dustbin lids are happy. They don’t see any frustration in newly washed floors instantly covered in muddy footprints and blond hair. Since Mr Supersis explained the power of the doggy treat behind the thumb trick she’s behaving ever better for me. She’s pretty good at sticking to my side. Except for when we get to decision corner. We have the daily battle of the lead as she tries to pull me towards the doggy heaven park and I attempt to pull her towards the hell of the school gates and the noisy hub-bub of 600 lids and carers at the end of a day. Today was worse for the fact that the lids have been treated like caged animals with matching behaviour – that’s the power of ‘elf n safety’ in the snowy aftermath. Am only slightly jealous of how many friends and fans she has at the gates – people I’ve been nodding to for years now happily do doggy chat with me.
The dog continues to behave princess-like. In the morning I open the door: she sticks her head out and if it’s cold or wet she will not go out, no matter how long since her last visit. Sometimes she won’t eat her doggy food, although this is easily resolved with a little something human in her bowl. As if doggy food alone is beneath her.
I find myself worrying whether that’s normal for a dog. God a whole new field of neurosis for me. Now I’m afraid! I’ve done a whole blog on the dog. Am I in danger of turning into one of those dodgy doggy types? Yes, she is a kind-a baby replacement. Yes, I am always prepared with a placky bag. Yes, I do talk to her. But I think there’s hope. I know she can’t talk back to me and I’m not yet wearing a waxy jacket with sensible shoes covered in dog hair and spittle. And, as yet, the dog and I bear no resemblance. Although they do say blondes have more fun….
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)