Killer of dogs
I thought I had almost killed my dog today, from a dog that normally trots happily and energetically around stalking the local animal population. I had a dog that had those pleading eyes saying “shit I am knackered.” Yes something I thought was impossible to do, we walked the dog too far in the sun, and it all started by taking her to a car boot sale, our choice not hers by the way!
As a responsible dog owner, I like to take her with me when I go to places, I don’t leave her in the car, so when we decided that as a bit of a change we would do a car boot sale, we thought lets take the dog with us. Now our dog doesn’t really like to over extend herself in regards to exercising unless there is some form of carrot involved, carrots normally in the shape of a furry bunny rabbit, deer or squirrel. So I should of thought that 6 hours of exercise in the sun might be a bit too much for her, especially as during that 6 hours she had to avoid women indiscriminately running her over with their buggies, not just once but twice. The problem with car boot sales is that they are set out in rows and everyone tends to start and finish at the same point, so you tend to keep walking into the same people. The car boot sale became a bit like an assault course for the dog, like a dog ninja she had to be adept at avoiding being run over, and walked on, which meant her having to use her peripheral vision, as well as fast twitch muscles, it was a total dog workout! No wonder she was knackered!
But I can’t understand why people couldn’t see her, particularly women with children in buggies. Now my dog is cream, not brown like the colour of the field we were walking in, or camouflaged in any way, but cream, she doesn’t blend in with the back ground unless its been snowing. As an aside god only knows why they bred a hunting dog to be cream, but they did. Everyone normally see hers, I know this because although she does like to chase things, she tends to be seen, so doesn’t actually catch anything, even I can see her from miles away, and my mates call me Magoo, so you can work that one out for yourself.
But for some reason most of these buggy owning women have no dog radar on, and really poor eyesight, I known women’s eyes change shape when they are pregnant, but becoming blind to dogs, wasn’t one of the afflictions I had read about. So my dog was probably a bit stressed and knackered not only from wandering around with me, but also avoiding being buggy kill, and practising her ninja moves. We were there a while, about 3 hours, which is quite a long time for a dog that likes to sleep, then we walked her again later in the afternoon, and this is where we probably tipped her over her limit.
Now my dog sleeps 21 and a half hours a day, looks shattered if she doesn’t get that much, she really does get bags under her eyes, it has to be seen to be believed, and can look thoroughly fed up, so this was a shock to the system I imagine, which probably took her back to the first few days of my dog ownership.
After months of being in a rescue centre probably only being exercised once a week, I took her out running with me from day one, I never thought that like most people you would have to build the exercise up, it didn’t even cross my mind that a dog would be tired from being out running. Obviously I didn’t plan on keeping up with her, she’s a lurcher, which is very like a greyhound and I am unlikely to come first, I just planned a slow jog! But after about a mile of slow jogging, I realised that I had become her worst pet owning nightmare, and I could see that to her, the rescue centre was looking like a much better option, no matter how many pigs ears, and organic dinners I fed her. I was even starting to remind myself of Mrs Jones the PE teacher from secondary school when doing cross country running. I was telling her that she was fine, pick herself and get on with it, to not worry about the awful stitch in her side, the coughing due to not being able to breathe any more, and the thoughts of dying that she might be having. She was lucky mind you, I hadn’t made her run in her pants or knickers, which even in winter if you had forgotten your kit Mrs Jones having no real heart to speak of made us do. God I hated that women, although I did think I would be writing a note on behalf of my dog, to excuse her from coming running with me the next day, due to being too knackered from the first day of dog ownership! If she hadn’t been so knackered from that first run, I can imagine that she would of packed her lead, dog bed, and bowl and been sat at the front door waiting for me to take her back.
Anyway we made it home that day, mainly because I actually picked her up and carried her, under my arm like a machine gun, head sticking out in front, her looking up occasionally, tongue hanging out, eyes rolling around. She had stopped wagging her tail at this point I like to think that it wasn’t because she was unhappy with me, just that she didn’t have the energy left to show it! Anyway by carrying her home I didn’t need to do weights that day, so it was an all round workout for me, and I was relieved as I thought at one stage I was going to get the opportunity to use my resuscitation from my first aid course, which wouldn’t of been something I would of added to the CV!
After that she slept until the next day, and woke up starving hungry, just at the time that I was going out for a run, I decided that I needed to train her slowly but surely, and we did a mile together. She came back home under her own steam, looked happier than the day before, sniffed dinner, and slept until the next day.
Over the next 2 months, she built her mileage up, and started to get rather toned, she started to do more than the 5 miles I actually ran, I considered attaching a trackable GPS system to her just to see how many miles she was now running. But then the police would have evidence that she probably was the local chaser of household cats, and trampler of plants and gardens. I still think my dog does double the mileage that I do, and probably through other peoples back gardens!
With the last time I thought I had almost killed my dog due to over exercising her in mind, I started to get panicky about my dog, who now a few years older and after 5 hours of exercise in the sun was looking decidedly the worse for wear. She was staggering from side to side, yet no alcohol had been involved, my dogs body is as much of a temple as mine is, well that is when I am around, god only knows what the boyfriend feeds her when I am not looking. I have this awful feeling that when my boyfriend is having a tipple, he gives some to the dog, as well as the other food that breaks my heart. That dog is in cahoots with the boyfriend at times, and it is not healthy for either of them it really isn’t, I despair I really do, and I think they egg each other on. He makes double just to share it with her, and he knows that he shouldn’t which just encourages him all the more, shes happy, she doesn’t care, I know that left to their own devices it would be takeaway every night.
They aren’t after a balanced diet, if they were their interpretation would mean that they had a their beer balanced correctly on the tray with their takeaway, so they didn’t tip each other over!
The dog is fine now, she has as always slept it off, but it’s put us all off doing car boot sales for a while, and getting pregnant as the eyesight is currently bad enough!
The traumas of Internet shopping
I was bored, and tonight like a lot of people decided to go Internet shopping and spent an inordinate amount of time on the MOD auction site. Obviously I was deciding whether we could afford one of the Harriers that were for sale. A useful addition of course to any Surrey household, particularly if you wanted to start your own war, or for when the traffic on the way to work is awful. I would cut traveling time, at least in half, although landing it in an official parking space would potentially be an issue. But I work with men, and I know the wow factor would mean that even without an official parking space, I would have them purring all over it. This would shut them all up once and for all about the latest BMW they have bought on lease hire, especially when I tell them the 0-60, although even I have to admit that miles per gallon may be less impressive. I could offer to get a landing strip completed by those men who come around telling me they have ’spare tarmac’ for making me a new driveway. How the hell anyone has ’spare tarmac’ when to be honest the roads are in such a state beggars belief. They should tell the local council so that they can use it, as I think they are a far more worthy cause.
Anyway past the MOD site, and to my favourite place to go to shop, Amazon, I tell everyone how I don’t have time to read any more, but I do have time to shop, and fill the basket up, and then just leave it, with the shopping experience over, and out of my system. There is no point in buying the contents of the basket, as I really don’t have any time left to read them! But tonight I came away feeling bloody inadequate after my shopping experience, and it wasn’t to do with the fact that I may find it hard to get a landing strip made for the Harrier, this no longer bothered me as apparently I might be able to land it like a helicopter, so the need for the tarmacking guys might not be so pressing. But I should never of read the credentials of the author I was going to put in my basket, ‘Dr. Mike Flowers, former astronaut, aerospace medical research scientist, flight surgeon, and family doctor…’ never mind the fact he wrote a book, and therefore they forgot to add author. How the hell did he find time for all this? I hope this guy is nearly 90, I really do, as what else can you really add to all that? And in which order did he achieve them all in, I am now wondering. I think that family doctor would come first, then he would build on his experience, but maybe not? After being an astronaut isn’t everything else a bit sedate and a bit of a come down from those dizzying heights? And how often does he change jobs? From the above CV he looks like a serial job changer and as a recruiter when you see continual changes of job roles, you see either someone who is on the fast track, gets bored, and is just looking for the next best thing. Or they are someone who is crap and needs to move on quickly.
How do you find out you are crap at being an astronaut when you don’t get too many opportunities to become that good at it? Let’s face it how often do they send the same people up in space, it’s a bit like being a one hit wonder, although some do get to go more than once I think. But maybe he unlocked the docking bay too quickly and the others got sucked out, and that is why they kept him on the ground in the next mission as a research scientist. But if it was only him left, how would they know that he really messed up, he could blame it on the others, telling everyone that one of them didn’t shut the door properly when they boarded, or HAL did it, do they still have a HAL after it going a bit nuts in Space Odyssey?
And what is a flight surgeon, why would someone be getting surgery on a plane instead of in a hospital? Does this mean that he accrued air miles in his job, and would gain extra free flights? What a bummer if he was expected to work on them though! Maybe he did this job first and accrued so many air miles that it enabled him to fly to space and back, and that is how he became an astronaut, that is the sort of job I want to fall into! I have friends who have flown to space to space and back, but not with such good credentials I have to admit!
So I ask my boyfriend what he would have put on the dust cover of a book he was writing. “Goldsmith of course” he says, looking at me a bit perplexed, fair enough, it’s short, and accurate, and he doesn’t know what the other guy has done, so he doesn’t at this stage feel inadequate. I don’t let him know about the superman, wanting to keep his ego in tact, and start thinking about myself. What on the dust cover of a book would I have put? Weaver useful skill to have if I had been born in a previous century, artist, with no e on the end, and no piss before it, after that it really does start to go down hill, and I am very conscious that I am no match for the astronaut writer. Dog walker is a potential, I decide to add it, hell superman doesn’t have that as a credential, although sometimes it would be stretching the imagination to think that I actually walk my dog, I walk her for the first 5 minutes which are because she is attached to me via a lead, then I spend the next 40 minutes trying to save the local animal population, and trying to get her to return to me. Possibly not as skilled in the area of dog walking as I would like to think, and it’s maybe a bit too public, and easy for someone to challenge.
At this stage I am considering the fact that I am totally unphotogenic as well, so increasing the size of the obligatory dust cover author photo would not be something I would like to subject my public to, even if it is to spare them the lack of ability that I have to share with them. Hell it never harmed Jade Goodies career having no credentials! Is dog walking an important enough career to be adding? I do have more serious stuff though, HR, communications, maybe buying the Harrier would be a good idea, I can then add Harrier owner to the dust cover, people like bizarre collectors of things. I am though clutching at straws, as this guy has written a book about his traumatic experience of Statins and how they gave him amnesia, how the hell did he remember he had done all those jobs then I wonder? As I recruiter I would definitely be checking the accuracy of his 5 year work history. I don’t have a harrowing experience for my book, but probably other people consider after meeting me that they may of had one. I start to consider if after moving to the South of England and not being able to get gravy to go with my chips and a cheese pie would be enough as a traumatic experience to share with my public. That was over 13 years ago, and I am still scarred by the whole experience. Can you imagine standing in a chippy for a good 20 minutes, then asking for cheese pie, chips and gravy, my first time in a Southern chip shop to be told, “we don’t do cheese pies” by the chip meister behind the counter, “chips and gravy then please” I say, ” we don’t do gravy” she says, “well I hope you do fucking chips”. Yes I was stressed, and traumatised, no one tells you when you move regions, that your favourite foods will no longer be available. Like barmcakes, or oven bottoms for instance, you can’t ask for them at all in the South of England, the look on the face of the bread assistants tell you that they are only one step away from phoning the police. I realise that I have had a number of junk food related traumatic incidents, which fortunately for me haven’t caused me amnesia, but have caused me a level of heart disease and a fat arse, which is just as disturbing to be honest.
My boyfriend reassures me that Photoshop can work wonders nowadays, thank god for that, although I think I am giving the astronaut superman a run for his traumatic money.
Do dogs dream of electric sheep, and the stuff of nightmares.
Dog dreams and the stuff of nightmares. I know my dog dreams, sometimes I am glad she does, as this is often one of the few times that I see her tail wag. It starts to hit her bed, and her feet start to twitch, and everyone thinks that she is chasing after some animal in the woodland dream she is having. She then starts to bark at it, and her eyes flicker. Everyone tells me how sweet it is to watch this, but my dog is a trained killer, no squirrel, or rabbit is safe with her around, and she lulls my friends into a false sense of security. I know that in her dream we are all probably furry, and she is having an absolute bloody field day on her potential killing little furry things spree. None of us would be safe, I reckon this is what my dog is dreaming of, this changes things a little doesn’t it, not even I wear fake fur when my dog is around.
But just lately I have been giving her cheese before bed, and I am now wondering if instead of happy doggy killing spree dreams, I am giving her doggy nightmares. My mum always told me you would have nightmares if you had cheese before bed, probably another damn lie my mother told me so that I would not eat all the cheese! But a worry for me now all the same, as I don’t want to be the reason for my dog not getting her 22 hours a day!
What would a dog have nightmares about? In her case would it be going without sleep? Having to stay awake for hours in the day, because of my boyfriend is doing DIY or has music on all day? That music would give even me nightmares. Or would it be about the rabbit that chased her down the rabbit hole, trapped she is in need of Lassie to come and save her! Could it be she dreams of monster rabbits, although initially scary, I think that she would just see this as a bigger opportunity, and dinner for a week! In fact I think her and my boyfriend would both relish that opportunity, so maybe not the nightmare scenario for them after all.
Although for me that would become a nightmare, I have enough of a struggle to get them both to eat vegetables, a monster rabbit would be on the menu for a week for them both, and I can’t see them touching the vegetables at all then! Maybe if she did have nightmares it’s about me trying to give her vegetables in her dinner and her not being able to lick all the meat off them, and then consuming a piece of cabbage or broccoli accidentally! I think this is the stuff of nightmares for my boyfriend never mind the dog to be honest, vegetables are things that just clutter up the fridge, adding unnecessary colour to the plate, but for Gods sake, not to eat! Why would you want to eat vegetables, they are for Labrador’s and girls who are dieting, I despair of the two of them, and this is my nightmare that they never eat another vegetable ever again, the dog is probably running away from a killer carrot, with the boyfriend in tow.
What is it with men, and vegetables, why don’t they like to eat food that is good for them? Instead they go about consuming any old crap, that is easy to make, open, or be delivered. And I have a dog that is the same, she would order takeaway if she didn’t have the boyfriend to do it for her! I go to great lengths to make sure we have organic food in the house, which they undermine by not eating it and ordering takeaway. Both of them like to eat out, the dog consuming Scotch Eggs, which for some reason has been left on the bridge we walk over, by someone every Friday night. So Saturday morning I always have to try to avoid the Scotch Egg bits, they are scattered everywhere, what the hell that person does on their way home I do not know, even my imagination isn’t that good. Then there’s the left over KFC, chips, with coleslaw which we have to dodge on the steps, the dog leaves the coleslaw, I am thankful for small mercies to be honest. I know what my dog is eating in the morning is not so far from what my boyfriend has eaten that night before, I no longer try to think about it, otherwise it would give me nightmares, and stop me from sleeping, never mind the dog.
I am beginning to realise that giving cheese to the dog before going to bed is the least of my worries, no wonder I can’t sleep. I daren’t read the wrapper for what is in half the things they eat, nightmares, it’s a wonder the pair of them can sleep at all without having indigestion, some of the chemicals, and concoctions that they eat together make me wonder how it is that their bodies work at all. But unfortunately I do know they work, because eating takeaway together isn’t the only thing my boyfriend and dog share a passion for, the other thing is that they both like to fart in their sleep. You know it isn’t the dog having nightmares that I should be worried about, this is really a nightmare for me, everyone knows how bad dog farts are, and I have a double whammy! Beer and KFC make a digestive fermentation nightmare,one which the brewing companies could learn a lot from I think.
I need to take more control of their eating, or at least buy corks to be fitted, but then could this become even more of a nightmare! I can already imagine that in the middle of the night when I get up to go to the loo, I find that I am under fire, from all sides, note to self, to put the dog outside the bedroom. I have to take cover from the popping of corks, which in this case are not the celebration I would like on going to the loo at all. I take cover, but it’s not as if I can even get under the quilt, during this time they are both out for the count, and the chicken and beer is taking it’s revenge on me, a tea and takeaway totaller. As I wait for the danger to pass, I consider the possibility that the digestive issues from the way my boyfriend and dog eat on a regular basis are probably worse than any cheese I occasionally give her could conjure up.
Girls and their assassin dogs
How do scientists convince people to fund some of their research, today’s reported findings from the Centre for Disease Control, are all about caring for the elderly, and they have funded vital research into old people who fall over their dogs. So dogs are killing and maiming their elderly owners, that doesn’t surprise me, as I am beginning to wonder if I wasn’t pushed when I broke my foot just recently. Apparently people are tripping over their pets in a similar fashion, so Fluffy the loveable Labrador who sits at your feet, could have more in mind than you think!
Maybe it is all part of a government plot, firstly they remove the need for people to have dog licences, so making it far easier to get hold of a loveable companion. They then reduce the heating allowance, making people turn to their dogs for warming their feet in winter, then they put out lots of reports and encourage doctors to tell people how having a dog is healthy for you. When in fact this report says that it’s just not the case! Finally of course we have an increasing ageing population, could this be the governments way of reducing the pensions deficit, I wonder if I am onto something, is this elderly population control in action I begin to wonder?
I start to size up the risk that my dog might be to me, I know I am not elderly but with a broken foot, I am incapacitated, I don’t have a pension at work, so would long term become a burden to the state, I think my risk could be high. She is quite a long dog, who interestingly enough likes to stretch herself out over the edges of the bed, we dodge the dogs legs and head daily, but could this be part of her ploy? There has been some unusual activity in my dogs world just lately as well, from sleeping all day happily in the corner she has taken to moving her bed out into the middle of the living room. Before reading this report I saw this as endearing, that she was just trying to be closer to me whilst I am ill, but not any more. Could she be trying to trip me up when I am not looking? In fact just recently she has been lying in the bedroom door at night, only just leaving enough space for me to get by on crutches. I weigh my dogs actions up, innocent concerned dog wondering how owner is, or dog assassin employed by the government to reduce the pensions deficit, trying to cull our numbers out, striking at night when I am half blind and asleep, I am an easy hit.
I decide I will gaffa tape the dogs bed in the corner to prevent her from moving it, and it becomes clear to me that the actions of my dog are more sinister than I first imagined. Chew sticks are lying underneath her bed, she has been storing them, but also they are all half chewed with pointed ends. Is this my imagination or is my dog creating her own arsenal? I start to consider gaffa taping the dog as the bed seems the least of my worries!
I start to wonder what my dog really does when I am not around, is she in training, learning how to trip, and maim her owner effectively. You hear of these agents who are put into places for years living ordinary lives, and I wonder has she secretly infiltrated us as a sleeping lurcher agent, and she has done that role well, as she certainly has slept a lot. These agents wait years for their one moment, she goes to check her bowl, and I wonder if keeping my dog in super condition may have been my undoing. These agents are fearless, and she certainly is outside the house, defending me against other peoples pets relentlessly, but could this be part of her cover, that has lulled me into a false sense of security?
Anyway with the dog gaffa taped to her bed, nothing is going to happen for the moment, and I go back to reading the report, that was funded by the tax payer. Thank god for the tax payer, because if it wasn’t for them we wouldn’t have such useful reports being created.
Science Daily “A new report from the U.S. Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) shows that many Americans, particularly the elderly, are falling over their dogs and cats, and injuring themselves.” Strangely enough from this they end up hurting themselves, how much did this report cost, honestly even I could of told them about that aspect of falling, how many people come away from a fall without hurting themselves? I can’t help but read the rest of the report, then I come across something far more interesting ‘Psychiatric dog service’, you know not even I couldn’t make this up, is it for the dog, or the researchers who are spending their time analysing this information I wonder. What the hell, no wonder really, if you have dog agents who are infiltrating for years waiting for that one moment, living totally different lives, isn’t that classified as Schizophrenia in the world of psychiatry? Schizophrenic dogs, I wonder how mentally stable my dog actually is, could I get her to become a double agent for me, or just lead an ordinary lurcher life?
When the dog rescuer home told me she was trained, I just thought it meant in regards to house training and being on the lead. Little did I know this really meant that she had a potential to kill me with something as innocuous as her squeeky toy, bed, or blanket. Fortunately Dr. Cavalieri, the writer of the report, offered these tips for helping to safeguard family members from pet-related falls:
- Make sure pets – especially dogs – are obedience trained to walk calmly on a leash and to not jump on visitors.
- Discourage pets from lying next to beds at night or at the foot of chairs. * Don’t leave pet toys in the middle of the floor.
- If you have an older friend or relative with a dog, offer to go along on walks so that you can handle the leash.
There seems to be little about gaffa taping the dog, and her bed down, I wonder if I should write to him and tell him my thoughts, but as a government scientist he is probably in on the plot. Then I realise the dog has escaped, “oh shit” she is faster than me, not even gaffa tape couldn’t hold my dog assassin. Then I realise the boyfriend has set her free, I try to explain to him, how she is a trained killer, and he is risking our lives. I show him the report, and the chew stick arsenal, but he seems more concerned about the bald spots that the gaffa tape has done to the dog. “God knows how are we going to explain this to the vet?” he says.
No where to run, no where to hide.
When farting, a digestive issue becomes a statement. Why do men have to underline their farts with raised eyebrows, and a look around themselves? They want you to know it’s them, but don’t at the same time, and the boy in them is to blame.
But now the dog is in on it too, I woke up last night because of this low disconcerting noise that I can hear in the living room, just outside the bedroom door. I can’t work it out, so I get up, and discover it’s my dog snoring, she has dragged her bed to as close to the bedroom as she can without being in it. She is female and never snores of course, but she is making an absolute racket, then farts, which wakes her up. Dog farts are never good at the best of times, particularly bad if you are bent over them listening to them snore, thankfully it was the other end so I have time to escape. But almost to add to this my partner decides to join her, turning over in bed groaning, then farting, I realise quickly I am in rock and a hard place now, as they can both compete for the fart that melts holes in things prize.
I resignedly decide to go and get a cup of tea, no point in going back to bed at the moment, disturbing that fart from underneath the duvet is probably a fate worse than death, how we haven’t had to buy a new one yet I don’t know! What duvet is left if it hasn’t been melted by my super farting boyfriend. I leave them both to it, to have a quiet cup of tea and the boy decides that being in bed on his own isn’t right, as he has noticed that I am no longer there with him. “You are damn right I’m not” I start to say, ready to go on about the farting incident that is keeping me out of it, when he lets rip in my kitchen, in the space I had come to escape to. No longer sanctity, I am now trapped again in my galley kitchen, he has the door, he laughs, does the raised eyebrow, wide eye face as though it isn’t him, looks around and says “Deborah”, just like my mother would do.
No where to run, no where to hide, I hear it singing in my head, as he comes over to ‘love me’. I bury my nose in his chest in the hope that my sense of smell is no longer as keen as it once was, probably through having to smell the onslaught of farts for extended periods of time. No he stinks, what is it with farts with them lingering, like a fog, thick and unpleasant, the kitchen stinks, the dog has stunk the living room out, and the bedroom smells like someone has died in it. My only course of action is to stop breathing, this is how farting became an extreme sport, due to the length of time you had to hold your breath for, no wonder I have such large lungs! You train for these moments, but you can never really envision it, and it lasts for longer than you think it does. I hold my breath all the way back to the bedroom, but this time, the duvet has dissolved, no of course it hasn’t but it should of done!
I finally get back into bed, the faint smell of fart still lingers, what happened to funky bed I wondered, and remembered those times fondly when he was still trying to impress me with his prowess, and didn’t fart!
Going Camping
I really struggle with the concept of camping, when there are perfectly good B&B’s to go and sleep in after walking for the day. Now, I find that you can almost have that same experience of sleeping under the stars, but with all the comforts of home! Excellent!
Amazing what you learn from chat rooms really when you are off sick. Boredom sets in quickly, now if I was able bodied I would have a 101 things to do, but now I am incapacitated with my broken foot, I find that I am pretty quickly bored, and then I discovered a chat room. You really can wile away your hours talking about any old crap, with people who are apparently working> Do their employers know this is how they are spending their days I wonder? Anyway thank god they haven’t been found out as I decided today I would try and get my head around camping.
Now my partner is always trying to convince me that camping is great, and that it is something that would add to my life experience in a positive way. I beg to differ in my opinion on this, as it has a number of things that really I can’t say appeal to me. The fact that you are outside in the dark, on the floor with all the bugs, having to make food over a fire, which you end up smelling of, not being able to wash properly after a days walking, and well, sleeping on the floor is the main one. Although sleeping outside under the stars does have that romantic feel to it, but I have learnt to just sleep with the curtains open, which is near enough for me!
So I got talking to ‘Internet John, don’t tell anyone but I am skiving off work’ about how he loved to go camping. I made sure he knew I had a partner by saying how much he had in common with my other half, who loved to go out and camp in the middle of a wood, with nothing more than some bits and pieces to make a fire with. Simple camping, which for me has a total lack of appeal, but he told me he did camping with a difference. I didn’t know how to reply to this, I was a bit worried that he might be referring to something totally different to me, so I tentatively asked him what he meant by this. He said he would send me some photos of his last trip, and I started to get even more concerned over what might become more of a life experience around camping that I wanted to expose myself to. But he really was talking about his 5 star camping experience that he now had on his weekends.
This is no ordinary guy into camping, how the hell he got all of this into a ruck sack I just don’t know. What with the fridge to hold the beer, the TV, flat screen of course, heater for those cold nights, his games machine, and a full range of furniture to sit and sleep on, the tent in effect was the size of my one bedroom flat. Blimey now this camping appealed to me, as it was just like home from home. I like the thought of home from home, nesh, warm, comfortable, a M&S child at heart. It even came with it’s own microwave, for you to radiate your food to death if you needed to. None of this going out finding your food at the end of what could be a tiring day business, making up your own bed out of twigs, branches and leaves, no making a fire, then smelling like someone has BBQ’d you to death all evening.
This sounded good, now just to convince my other half that this might be how we bridge our interest gap in regards to the great outdoors. I decide to tell him that evening, I leave out the bit about John and the chat room, I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“I think I might have found a reason to like camping” I say to him, “really” I see him perk up. I go on to explain how camping can be far more enjoyable and a 5 star experience than he is currently offering me, he laughs at me like I am mad, and states “that isn’t what camping is about”. That is the end of the conversation, and my foray into camping with my partner, although me and my lurcher quite liked the 5 star idea, and think we might be having a week away together sometime soon, unlike me and the boyfriend!
Lurcher life
The life of Riley it should be called really, as I have been conditioned by her to work to keep her in the luxury she has become accustomed to, and she managed to do this quite quickly. From a dog rescued after appalling ill treatment who was just grateful to be fed without being burnt or beaten. She now shows her disdain for anything which stops her from sleeping, she doesn’t like the TV or music being on, and will stare at you until it has gone back off again, it gets in the way of her sleeping you see, and my dog really does like to sleep.
I have worked it out that she generally sleeps about 21.5 hours a day, and gets fractious if she doesn’t get this many hours. This leaves 2 hours for running and chasing the local animal population, and half an hour for eating, getting her back massaged, or being stroked by us, and generally just listening for my other half to fill her bowl up with some tit bits. We have come to believe that our dog will last until she is about 100, due to the lack of stress she puts her body under, we have a lot to learn from this dog.
For instance, today like any other day, we are making her food, whilst she sleeps. I don’t give her the food that she would like to have, which comes out of a packet and smells like something has died in it ironically enough, because I didn’t understand what a ‘derivative’ could be. I hadn’t seen one growing in a field, or running around with fur on it just lately, so I decided that it didn’t sound like something I wanted to contaminate my dog with. ‘Derivative’, does it sound natural to you? They don’t tell you the half of what they are putting in dog food, and quite frankly, it is stretching the truth to call it ‘food’. No wonder poor dogs are getting so sick, you would if you were fed ‘derivatives’ each day as well.
Although the dog would probably prefer this derived food stuff in pellets, I don’t, therefore she gets organic food, home made by us, with all of our juicing left overs, grains and the best meat which is free of what ever it is that organic meat is meant to be relatively free from. Not that you can believe them either to be honest, I don’t trust them, anything which has a price tag and a profit attached to it means that mostly they don’t have my best interests close to their hearts.
But to be honest my dog doesn’t really care, as long as she can eat something which she doesn’t have to go out and catch herself, although she does quite like the odd takeaway. The takeaway on her terms is one where she tends to become animated about food, when it is furry, runs, and is shaped as a rabbit, deer, cat or squirrel, off the starting blocks then like shit off a shovel, and has already decided which condiments she will be having with it probably. I have her muzzled, but as we have found out, she can muzzle something to death if necessary, no end to my lurcher’s murderous ways. The other problem with takeaway food is that some of them come with labels, next doors cat came with it’s own label unfortunately, Tigger at 110, Posey 0849 3038559, and sometimes there is even a photo of them missing on a lamp post.
When we are out, we have to be very aware that our sight orientated dog, is far quicker off the blocks than we are, catching things, hell this is her life, and she does it very well. From being the slowest laziest lurcher in the house, she really does shift, and she makes the most of her 2 hours of exercise. We do 5 miles she does 15, and terrorises the woodland animals in the process. She is and therefore we are, always on our guard for what she thinks are CO’s (chicken opportunities), DO’s, (deer opportunities) and SO’s (squirrel opportunities) by the little so and so, she is always doing the Cat Scan as well!
Anyway she doesn’t bother getting up for any of this until she knows we have our coats and shoes on, and we are walking out the back door, she doesn’t like to expend any more energy than is absolutely necessary does our dog. Only then does she saunter through to the kitchen, stretching each leg on the way, front, back, yawning, like a teenager, through sleepy eyes, then perks up, and looks around for what the weather is like.
Key is the weather for my dog, she doesn’t do the following types; wet weather, really windy, a bit cold, really cold, or generally anything that doesn’t have the sun shining. Magnetic feet and the speed element often out flank us, it’s amazing how she can concertina herself up to get out of this serious situation, making her way back to the safety of her bed, she would hold on all winter if necessary, in that time becoming the size of a Labrador, no more the wafer thin lurcher!
Eventually we do carry her out the back door, our dog is pretty much expressionless the majority of the time, until you are carrying her outside into weather she’s not so keen on. Then she actually does look like a pissed off dog, and one that is getting wet from the rain, long suffering sighs and a look of total resignation from her. Anyway on these days I know that the cat population are safe as they hate the weather as much as she does, but are far less likely to be out in it!
Plastic tubs
I found a Squidoo lens on Tupperware, someone has made it a religion, and created a homage to those plastic containers that become mis-shaped once you have washed them in warm water. This has never been a problem until just recently when I broke my foot, and I have had to use them to carry my food through from the kitchen to the living room. These ill fitting lids mean that I end up covered in my dinner on too many occasions, and I am now becoming more than a little bit fed up of them. Does nobody make a lid that fits a plastic container that doesn’t come off in your bag, or leak?
With all the technology that is out there nowadays is this such a hard thing to achieve? The Americans put a man on the moon, unless you believe the conspiracy theorists, we can forecast weather, although not very well at times I have to add, and create flat screen TV’s that hypnotise whole nations, yet creating a lid that doesn’t come off in a 2 minute journey to my living room seems beyond the realms of the skills of plastic container making companies. I have clothes that now bear the marks of this inability to design a functional item to work properly, there is very little just lately that I haven’t dropped all over me, and you wouldn’t believe the number of foods that stain!
But I am beginning to believe that this is all part of the plan of these companies, because how often do you just end up throwing away these useless containers and just buying another one in its place? Hell why make one that works forever when we are so prepared to go out an buy another one from them. I know I do, and mostly they are from Ikea, which I also do with their furniture, but that is another story, I rarely think about my plastic container costs but I bet they add up.
And what is it with them losing their lids as well? Not only do they often not fit the same container after the first wash, but also where the hell do the lids go after you have washed them? They are like socks, they seem to have a percentage of them that disappear, you have the bottoms but no tops to go with them. No matter how much you look, you know you washed it, put it to drain, after that, well I think they decide “what the hell, we won’t fit anyway, may as well sod off” and they do!
Hospital weight loss tragedy.
Where do hospitals buy their chairs from? They are the sort of chairs that have large wooden arms, a really tall back to them, and blue vinyl covering, you don’t see them anywhere but in hospitals and old peoples homes. You have to congratulate those marketing and sales people for the companies that make and sell these aesthetic abominations, as to be honest they are doing a sterling job, considering the point they are starting at. They were not that comfy and well you end up having a sticky backside from them, due to the hospital spending most of its income on heating the place. Not only that, but within 5 minutes of sitting in them, you are almost naturally leaning towards reading Woman’s Own, Woman’s Realm, and Chat, and you start to wonder when the basket weaving and bingo is going to start.
Whilst I waited for my numbers to be shouted, I began to realise that the time it might take to be seen may mean that my numbers might come up in a whole different way.
The magazines are months old, and have pictures and stories of people who have lived through awful tragedies, people who have lost masses of weight, families that are abusive and practising incest, my life seems boring in comparison. Thank god, and I wonder how the hell they find people like this, and to fill the pages each week! I wait for the bingo to start, after this first hour I am looking forward to it, I start to take on the mannerisms of those who sit in these chairs all day, and just stare into space.
Due to the heat I am starting to feel dehydrated, there is no water machine, and I begin to feel delirious, and to imagine the story of me in these magazines, of how I lost weight whilst waiting for my foot consultation. I disappear down the corridor looking for food, like Alice in Wonderland down the rabbit hole, and I end up talking to a chair. I hear my name called out, “Deborah Walker” from somewhere down the corridor. Thank god I think, and I get up to be told, “we just needed to check you were here”! “Where else would I be” I ask the chair, I continue staring into space.
Anyway they have a lot of these chairs, because they seem to have a lot of waiting rooms. Once you are in the clinic you are lulled into a false sense of security thinking that this is the place to be, not realising that like an onion, you have only just got into the outside layer. Those consultants are miles away, but on first arriving you have no idea of this. They confuse you whilst you are in your delirium, by spending a lot of time moving you from one waiting room and one sweaty chair pad to the next. I could of been put back in the same waiting room for all I knew, as they all have these blue vinyl chairs in them, placed next to each other in a row. Each time your name is called you get your hopes up thinking you are about to be seen, to find that some woman is chivvying you along to what is another bloody waiting area, that looks the same as the last.
I now understand far more how the hospitals have shortened their waiting lists, they just have more lists, but they are shorter, due to you moving people from one waiting area to another in pretty fast succession. I sit myself down into the next ‘waiting area’ watching consultants stand around chatting, and this supervisor walk backwards and forwards with files. What a job I think to myself, wandering backwards and forwards with files all day, now that doesn’t look stressful, in fact non of it looks stressful, I wonder how easy it is to get a job in the NHS, and hear my name called.
I get up, to find I am asked to move along to the next set of chairs, “come and sit here, just after the trolley” I am told by the chivvying woman, I sit back down. I am beginning to see how the hospital employs both file, and people movers, the chair bill alone in this place must be astronomical, never mind those employed to move us around the maze. I am beginning to see that the file mover is following us all around, she has just brought my files with her, she places them onto one of the many trolleys that are positioned by the many chairs, in the many waiting areas. They are the sort of trolleys that a woman would of walked around with years ago, selling tea and buns, I realise that I haven’t eaten for hours, and start to add it to the tragedy story for Chat that I am constructing in my head, “Massive weight loss incident in hospital whilst waiting for a foot consultation” I need to think about the title a bit more! “Have you taken a number” I am asked by the chivvying woman, I look around and see that in this particular waiting room I am meant to take a number from this contraption that looks like something you would use at a deli counter. I dream of food, breakfast was hours ago, as was arriving at the clinic to be seen. The 9.20am arrival which was stipulated was a damn lie, I realise they need that time to enable you to make it from waiting room to waiting room, manipulating their waiting list figures for some government target or other, the time now is 11am, and I am giving up being seen before lunchtime.
I start to look around and see another corridor ahead, I wonder if I am getting closer to the consultants, and don’t hold my breath. If I did I couldn’t imagine them seeing me any sooner to be honest, and I risked death rather than just malnourishment and a sweat rash on my backside. I feel beaten, then my number comes up, 53, hurray I shout, I thought it was in my head but the consultant smiles at me. Woop’s, but I am in and I have no intention of leaving until I know how well my foot is healing. He asks to see my foot, 5 minutes later, I am told it is healing OK and I can go, 5 minutes, I have waited nearly 2 hours for a 5 minute consultation, sat in 5 chairs, in 5 different waiting rooms, played bingo in my head, and been the star in a hospital weight loss tragedy. I could of told him my foot was healing, even I could tell that, in fact the chair told me that when I first arrived!
Love me love my dog
My dog is looking at me with loving dog eyes, they are saying can you feed and take me out. I smile at her, but I’m not stupid, I know full well that if like one of those old women you read in the newspaper, that died in her knickers, and she was left for days with me, she would have no hesitation in regards to eating me.
When I was given my dog, she had been badly treated to say the least, and they told me she would be an only dog, a bit like an only child, except you don’t get help from the government. You don’t realise this until someone else significant comes into your life, but yes she does like to be the only dog, in fact she would like to be the only other one in my life.
From the moment me and my boyfriend started seeing each other, my dog would sit staring at me like the matriarch showing her disgust. For a pretty expressionless lurcher she certainly can show her disgust as well. She has never liked this addition to hers and my relationship, and would show this by getting up getting up and sleeping in the kitchen when he would arrive at my flat. She would return occasionally to confirm if he was still with me, or maybe still alive so she could size him up in his pants instead, then stare accusingly at me. This would accompany a sigh, and then she would turn her back to return to the kitchen.
When we took her for a walk she would walk between us both, she didn’t like there being 3 in our relationship! My dog liked it to be just me and her, and her actions told me as much, particularly when he took her out for a walk on his own.
Now the first time he took her out on her own, I was quietly sat in my garden to suddenly find a leaping lurcher, hurdling the gate, and then coming to a stop beside me. I looked at her, and asked “so what did you do with the boyfriend?” she looked innocent, and lovingly at me, and I knew he was now probably in a state looking for an escaped dog, who he thought he had lost. Of course he wouldn’t be back for hours because he had lost my lovely lurcher, and wouldn’t dare to return. I laughed, telling her “what are you like” realising how much I meant to my dog, got the spare lead, and now went to look for the boyfriend. He was walking round the woodland in a frenzy, and asked “where did you find her”, “she came home” I replied, and he just looked thoroughly pissed off about it. “Don’t worry you are both OK” I said, it didn’t placate him, and he swore to never let her off the lead ever again if it was just him walking her. I didn’t see the relationship becoming a match made in heaven if she wasn’t allowed off the lead, but he said he would win her over.
The tug of war began for the trust of my lurcher, I am vegan so the titbits I gave her never really excited her, and she would just smell her bowl in that way which said “can I have bacon please”? Now strange as it may seem, I am not a vegan that has ever succumbed to the smell of bacon, so titbits tend to only be of the vegan variety, not much good for a hunting dog really. God knows how we ended up together, but maybe we were just waiting for the third addition to our relationship after all, as after the boyfriend decided to win her over the titbits got more interesting.
From a dog I could hardly move off her bed to eat dinner, she became one which now slept with her ear half cocked when my boyfriend was around. It was like she had discovered her titbit giving soul mate, when he got up, so did she, when he was eating, she stared at him, she knew he held all the cards suddenly. The titbits had become something to get out of bed for. A week later he wondered if he had he won over her little doggy heart, he decided to let her off the lead again to see.
“So where did you leave him this time”? I asked her as I looked at my wet dog standing whining on the porch. “I know you don’t like the rain, but to take him out and leave him in the woods in this weather is just cruel, best get my coat on then”. I again went out to look for my other half, who was probably wandering around in the pouring rain, if he wasn’t fed up last time, now he was sure to be. I took her with me, we could all get wet.
Her tail was up, she was happy, and trotted along with me, continually looking up, “OK, I understand you want to only walk with me, but you get longer walks with him” I felt all warm at this loyalty, then I saw the boyfriend, boy did he look pissed. “She doesn’t want to walk with me, all she does is make a run for it” I try to make a joke, “hey she’s like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, but she doesn’t need the motorbike, can you imagine how fast she would be with a motorbike, and goggles?”. It doesn’t go down well, so I take them both home, they are now both staring at each other, it’s a stand off, both jealous of each other.
The stand off lasts for months, only I can take her out, and she sleeps in the kitchen at weekends when he comes to stay, it doesn’t improve. Their relationship becomes one of manipulation, of which she is winning, she had now negotiated a weekly back massage, her legs were rubbed after the walks, bits of cheese with her supplements, and left overs from his plate. He tries to win her over, and she learns that the boyfriend could have his uses, she isn’t stupid, and neither is he, lets face it if he treats my dog well, I love him all the more. She knows that he is only doing these things because of me, and she uses it to her advantage, he once said my dog was not the most intelligent dog on the block, hey I’m not so sure!
