entirely to be expected

dear readers, this week blog-fodder has been falling out of the sky upon us! it seems we only have to set foot outside the door and something interesting happens to us!

yesterday, young dave and i were taking herself and my boy for their daily exercise by the river. this may sound a fairly straightforward matter, and indeed for most households it would be. but my boy is still very resistant to leaving the house. the peeps have come up with a system whereby my boy is not allowed to watch tv or go on his computer until he has completed certain tasks. these are: getting out of bed, having a shower, having breakfast, taking his meds and going for a drive and a walk. the drive and walk can be combined or separate but they have to both be done. my boy was not thrilled by the introduction of this system.

"its unethical!" he roared, "i am going to go on my computer whenever i want!" herself disabused him of this idea very quickly by explaining he would find crucial components removed from the innards of his computer if he dared to go against her on this.

yesterday there was much stomping around and muttering, followed by stamping upstairs and banging doors. unfortunately, my boy forgot to take his trainers with him when he stomped upstairs. as soon as the trainers were unattended young dave decided to try a little podiatry. by the time the peeps had come back downstairs the trainers had no lining.

"i can't wear those!" yelled my boy.

"find some other shoes then!" replied herself at only a slightly lower volume.

the other shoes no longer fitted as my boy's long pale paws have grown considerably recently.

"that's it. i'm not going!"

"that's fine," said herself, "but no computer or tv."

my boy saw resistance was useless and started putting the mangled trainers on, muttering about the laces being covered in spit.

after a journey to the river in the car, punctuated by my boy muttering about how unfair his life was we finally arrived. by this time i would have been pleased never to hear another word on the subject. young dave and i romped off. it was not long before we met 3 collies, together with their owner. their owner was a rather posh lady, not given to small talk. she may even have been a beefburger person, now i come to think of it. she cut straight to the chase without as much as a greeting.

"are your dogs entire?"

well, i don't know about you, dear readers, but i think if a person is going to start asking questions about a chap's wedding tackle they should at least find out his name first. herself explained that i had said goodbye to my bits some while ago and that young dave had recently followed suit.

"that's a shame!" said the posh lady. i could only agree with her. i used to while away many a happy hour playing the canine equivalent of pocket billiards. but it seems her question was not purely making conversation.

"where i keep my horse, the woman has five rough-coated lady lurchers and she is looking for a husband for them." my eyes were on stalks! five lady lurchers wanting a husband! young dave and i could have applied for a job-share! the posh lady was clearly a dog-pimp! i felt the loss of my wedding tackle more keenly than i had for a long time, and fleetingly considered whether the five lady lurchers might accept an application from a slightly less entire but none the less fully operational sort of chap. or pair of chaps.

herself was explaining about my bit of trouble with my prostate and why my bits had to go (she has no sense of decorum). then she went on to explain the problems dave was having with his wedding tackle and the humping and other activities. at this point the lady took her leave, rather suddenly i thought. herself and my boy carried on along the river, discussing this unusual conversation and the lady's swift exit. it dawned on herself that the lady would have had no inkling from what herself had said that 'dave' was my hairy sidekick. when the conversation was re-run from the point of view of 'dave' possibly referring to my boy rather than to young dave it did have a very different ring to it. ho hum...

gullible

readers, today was something in the realms of blog-fodder. it all started fairly calmly (apart from a visit to the city of fear by the peeps) but went very much downhill later on. the peeps decided to take young dave and i for a walk to our local park. it is very pleasant and gives young dave the chance to run around in huge circles with a beer can in his mouth while i gaze at the allotments next door and dream of the days when herself and i have our own allotment and can sit and smoke our pipes there. or maybe i will smoke my pipe while she does the weeding...

as we approached the park we spotted a seagull. i am old enough to know that seagulls should be given a wide berth, but young dave, no doubt remembering the tang of dead seagull, found the creature most interesting. he was persuaded to pass it by and we went into the park. there were several of our canine friends there already, including a little jack russell called poppy who is a friend of young dave.

fun and games ensued, until poppy's owner pulled out a bit of rope and started to play with me at tug of war. i am very good at tug of war and was winning with very little trouble when poppy waded in and sank her teeth into my neck. it seems that she is rather possessive about her bit of rope. i let go and tried to look the other way, given she is half my size. but she carried on at my neck so in the end i had to let her know that there is only so much a chap can take. anyway, poppy's owner and herself waded in and pulled her off me. but not before poppy had sunk her teeth into herself's hand, luckily not breaking the skin, but still hurting a bit by all accounts.

the seagull was still there as we were about to leave so herself scooped it up in her coat and started round to the neighbour who rescues creatures. the seagull looked at her for a while as they walked round to the neighbours' house. then it sunk its beak hard into her hand. not very grateful really. luckily the opposite hand to the one bitten by poppy.

the neighbour gave the address of a lady over the back who rescues birds and a cat carrier to put the seagull in. herself headed round there, but on arrival found the lady over the back who rescues birds had not been around for a while. she was given the name of someone else who might know what to do by the person next door to the lady's house. as herself walked home she came across himself with me and young dave. young dave had left his mark in the form of a little pile of loveliness in the park and himself had run out of poobags, so herself gave him a poobag and her coat to carry in return for us dogs and the seagull. himself went back to the park to do the honours. herself neglected to mention that the seagull had been wrapped in the coat.

we arrived home and herself, having no hands free to get at her keys, banged on the door. my boy, having checked through the spyhole that it was not armed police, opened the door.

"what's that?" he squeaked, pointing at the seagull.

"its a seagull," said herself, pitching young dave and me into the living room and going through to the garden with the seagull, "can you get me my laptop, a phone and a bowl of water with salt in, please?"

it is a testament to my boy's ability to cope in a crisis that he duly fetched all these items without any more questions. herself set to googling the number of the seagull rescue place with one hand while soaking the pecked hand in the bowl. after a brief conversation with the seagull rescue man she had ascertained that the seagull could well be suffering from botulism, brought on by the rather unsavoury diet that seagulls like. one symptom is very green poo. as herself was speaking to the man her thoughts turned to himself in her coat.

to cut a long story short, the seagull had to be delivered to a veterinary hospital in a nearby town, where it would be given fish and checked over. as the peeps drove there herself reminded himself of a conversation they had with sally, the renal counsellor, only that afternoon. herself had been talking about the time when my lady friend phoebe had bitten two of her limbs when a third was out of action due to surgery. she had been saying that it must be statistically very unlikely that a person would have three limbs out of action at the same time from three different incidents.

"it must be statistically very unlikely to be bitten on two hands by two animals from different species within the space of half and hour," mused herself.

"not for you it isn't," said himself, "that is the last time i pop round to the park with you for a quick walk."

"well, we couldn't leave the poor seagull lying there, could we?"

dear readers, i leave that question hanging in the air...

blue

here is a strange blue drink. herself took this photo last saturday at mr and mrs kinky's house. it was mr kinky's birthday and they had a cocktail party to celebrate. himself was poorly with his throat so herself and my boy went along for a little while. herself tried one cocktail but decided to play safe and swapped to fizzy wine afterwards. by all accounts it was a posh event; there were things called canapes which are little nibbles and then there were oysters! of course young dave and i were not invited so the nearest we got to the oysters was sniffing the shells that herself brought home to make a dingly thing for the garden.

my boy has been making progress in conquering his fear. on monday we are going to claudia's house again and he is coming with us. hopefully himself will be well enough to come along too. he has been poorly all last week with the throat thing. yesterday, he developed a roaring fever. my boy had to phone herself to come home from work and after taking one look at himself she was on the phone to the hospital. it seems that the symptoms of superkidny being rejected are very similar to those of flu so the hospital told herself to bring himself in to be checked over. mrs next door very kindly gave them a lift which avoids the whole car-getting-wheelclamped scenario.

himself was given a proper once-over by the doctors. photos were taken of the inside of his lungs (my readers will be pleased to know they are still there) and blood tests were taken. his amble belly was prodded and poked and he had to do a weird test which involved walking up and down a corridor and blowing into a machine.

the peeps were relieved to find that superkidny is fine and pumping away as good as ever and that the high fever and elevated white cell count are to do with fighting the infection. himself is feeling much better today and is a lot less hot-headed, which can only be a good thing.

i am hopeful that we can now have a trouble-free easter. i need my beauty sleep at my age...

more pillz

dear readers, here is a cartoon sent to us by a friend. herself has taken the liberty of changing the name of the chap on the podium but hopefully the artist won't mind. herself needed cheering up a bit yesterday so the chuckle that this brought was greatly appreciated. it has, yet again, been a bit of a week.

the week started with bad dog karma. as is usual on a monday we went along to collect princess kinky to take her for a walk. young dave tends to get very excited at the prospect of a walk with the spotty dog and herself finds it a bit of a struggle getting princess kinky into the car without young dave leaping out. but she has developed a cunning plan. she shuts young dave's lead in the rear passenger door before opening the boot, thus allowing a dignified entrance for our lady friend, while young dave wangs around inside the car. once the boot is safely shut the lead can be released to allow proper greetings from the younger member of our pack.

anyway, off we went to a large wood on top of a hill where we have great fun larking around. no sooner had we been let off the lead than princess kinky ran into a neighbouring field. herself, mindful that we are in the lambing season, ran ahead to a gap in the fence and called the spotty lady back. but she was nowhere to be seen. herself called and called. we ran up and down the fence looking for her. we spent the next hour roaming round the wood and surrounding area with herself whistling and calling, and asking every dog and its owner if they had seen a spotty dog. but no one had seen her. she had disappeared into thin air.

herself phoned young pj, one of princess kinky's boys, who was at home. he in turn phoned mr kinky at work. mr kinky is a lawyer, just like herself, only more successful. after half an hour or so he arrived at the car park in his suit. herself and mr kinky combed the area again, calling and whistling. mr kinky cut a fine sight in the middle of the field in his suit. were it not for the seriousness of the situation herself would have whipped out her camera and taken a snap. but princess kinky was nowhere to be seen. by now half of the county had herself's phone number added to their mobile phone in case they saw a spotty dog.

to cut a very long story short, after all the folks had combed the area from lunchtime until dark, and then mr and mrs kinky had driven round after that, princess kinky appeared on her own doorstep at 10pm, slightly wet and tired but otherwise unscathed. there was a whole lot of jubilation in both households. it seems she had walked home, probably having swum across the river. for a dog of what would politely be called more looks than sense, princess kinky had managed to find her way home over about 3 miles that she had never travelled on foot. needless to say she is going to be staying on the lead from now on when herself takes her out.

in the middle of all this we had a visit from the lovely claudia. she has come to the conclusion that quite a lot of my boy's fear was actually herself's fear, which had floated around the house to such a degree that it was hard to avoid, eventually finding a route into my boy's head via his ear, i think. herself and my boy both agreed that this was a very likely explanation and so herself is going to visit claudia next week to have her head vacuumed out. i am going to be allowed to go along which i am very much looking forward to. i don't suffer from fear myself but it is hard seeing my peeps in such a state. and there might be biscuits.

on tuesday, herself was tucking into a fried egg when someone knocked at the door. my boy answered and let mrs next door in. she had come to sort out cutting my boy's hair. just as she walked in i was overcome by queasiness and i am embarassed to say the old tum emptied its contents all over my bed, leaving a large frothy pool. herself just managed to swallow the mouthful of egg she was munching. mrs next door is used to this sort of thing with young ruby so didn't bat an eyelid. herself cleaned things up and put the cover of our bed in the washing machine.

so wednesday found us with no cover on our bed as it was hanging on the line. young dave saw this as the ideal opportunity to explore the makings of the bed. our bed is in fact a futon which is a sort of mattress. it is filled with fluffy stuff. young dave spent most of wednesday pulling the fluffy stuff out and spreading it round the living room. at lunchtime my boy phoned herself.

"dave's chewed up their bed," he said. "its probably mendable but i don't think i can do it."

mindful of my boy's approach to mending things and the fact there was no-one at home to extricated him if he got covered in superglue, herself told him to leave it just as it was and she would sort it out when she got home.

the peeps and my boy were late getting back due to a visit to the doctor to get the results of my boy's blood tests. when they walked in they were met by a sea of fluff. just at this moment mr snake-charmer came round to teach my boy smiths. with him was the young snake-charmer, who proceeded to lie on the floor. young dave leaped on top of her to give her a cuddle. my boy has a new model gun which he was very keen to show mr snake-charmer so he drew the blinds in case armed police burst in. i just wish i had been able to take a photograph to show my readers the scene: a darkened room, covered in fluff, with my boy wielding a large machine gun, and the young snake-charmer on the floor doing a passable impression of someone who had been shot and was being given the kiss of life by young dave. our house is never boring.

and the results of my boy's blood tests? well it seems he has something called underactive fire-oid. this means that some bit that should pump some sort of chemical into his blood is not doing it properly. so he has to take some pills to try and sort it out. this fire-oid thing must be the only bit of my boy's body that is underactive. anyway, we shall see how the new pills work. he will soon be rattling...