There’s a blog I visit and read often. It’s a good blog because it’s written by a professional writer and because although the exterior of the thing always looks glossy and fabulous (nature, dogs, horses) and peaceful, the interior landscape of the writer sounds more or less interchangeable with your human experience, or mine, or anyone’s really. Different events and people, but same pain, angst and suffering.
So, here’s a blog that is not about my interior landscape. It is a post that would never appear on this other blog because these things just don’t seem to happen to everyone. Or maybe they do and have the sense to keep bloody quiet about it. This post is also designed for a certain member of the Wray Barton Wrecking Crew who has been having a torrid time lately, but has been the usual stalwart in the face it all. Perhaps it will make her smile. In which case it would all have been worth it.
The dog, have I mentioned the bloody dog on here? Oh yes. Often. He’s appeared in photos here looking winsome and he’s appeared looking snarly and people have commented on his looks and it’s all rather jolly having a dog to put on the blog on a slow day, or when he’s done something entertaining. The trouble is that lately the dog has been, literally, driving me mad. Or if not driving me mad, holding up a mirror to my madness.
We went out the other day, for a walk and thence to a pet superstore, only because I dared not return home without cat food (we had run out) and the cat was looking for my head on a stick by late lunchtime; she had not eaten since early breakfast and requires five meals a day minimum to maintain her usual surly and superior demeanour towards me. So I had to stop at this gargantuan warehouse of a pet shop because I didn’t have any cash on me and it’s the only place you can buy a cheap box of cat food with your card without the assistant hating you to your face.
As soon as I parked, which I did badly, hitting a kerb in the process, the dog started up whining because he knows that in that shop there is a pick and mix for mammals and birds which he likes to peruse. I took him in. We walked round and round the central island of pick and mix and he stuck his nose in various binnacles. Pink biscuits, yellow bones, multi-coloured bird seed and hay bars for rabbits – they have them all. It’s additive heaven. The dog enjoys it though and so did I until I realised that I had been conversing with him throughout…
I had started the chatting to him on the earlier walk and it didn’t really matter so much then because no-one was around but once I clocked myself in a busy pet emporium I had enough self-preservation left to realise what I might look like: a bit crazy. So then I told the dog, I really had to stop chatting out loud to him and could he just select his chosen pick and mix biscuits for me to put in a bag and then we could leave. Which, after some further deliberation and more accidentally verbalising what should have remained in my head from me, he did.
This will have to be continued. In my perfect life (not) I have to finish another thing I haven’t started yet and quickly tell the cat something, before I forget. Don’t worry though, I’ll get back to this story and it will so totally be worth the wait…
NO PICTURES OF ME IN A SHOP, WITH THE DOG, TALKING TO HIM, IN PUBLIC, BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING.
That’s the title that’s keeping my own ebook from the top spot in it’s free download category this weekend: Animal Care & Pets if you care to know.
I am not concerned, in fact I can’t help but smile. It’s certainly a title to reckon with. In fact, I nearly downloaded it myself before realising that of all the many disgusting habits my dog has, eating ‘poop’ is not one of them. I suppose if it was called ‘How to Stop Your Dog Occasionally Snacking On Cat & Horse Shit’ I might have hit download.
I feed this animal about 4 times a day – I can never get a covering on his ribs. He always seems in good form though *touch wood*
He’s the third dog I’ve had; I’d like another smaller one. A walk’s not the same without a dog.
I didn’t take this photo – it was taken on a Samsung S2 mobile phone. Not bad at all.
Down by the sea…
The dog decided, for reasons best known to himself, to charge up and down in excess of 25 miles per hour. He repeated the feat more than once, for me to capture his top speed antics, but this was the best I could do.
Is a bit out of whack, what with the snow and the school holidays. Galloping him on the ice-fields is a bit out, but he doesn’t seem to mind curtailed walks due to the Arctic temperatures.
Probably more irksome is the disruption to his morning nap. When the kids go to school (after he has had his morning porridge and kippers) he likes to pop back up to my bed and my pillow and have a lengthy sleep. Yesterday I disturbed him and he gave me this look.
Of course the sensible thing to do would be to close the door leaving him a choice of three other beds, his own bed or two sofas, but our doors are a bit hit and miss in the “staying closed or being opened again” department so I let him get on with his life of luxury largely undisturbed.
There is a good explanation for the dodgy doors but that’s another story titled “The pros and cons of reclaiming panel doors from skips”.