Spidey's moved out!

I joked for ages about how Spidey 'had another woman', but as he recently turned four it made me think: we should make this official. So, I'll only see him occasionally from now on, as he is really VERY happy with Cathy, and she is very happy with him...

over a YEAR ago?!?!?

Yikes: it's a year and three weeks since I last posted to this blog, which is pretty rubbish to be honest. But now I've linked to it on facebook so I'd better update...

Ok, I still have three dogs, they still drive me mad, I still love them. I would consider downgrading to two though, in which case, I'm sorry Spidey but I reckon you'd have to be the evictee. A) you get on so well with other people and B) you're actually the most difficult when it comes to persistent annoying behaviour. I mean, it's fairly rare, but when you really want to play with the ball that you KNOW is in my bag then you will whine and whine and whine and whine and whine and whine and WHINE and whine until you either get your way or I lose my temper so badly I actually hit you. Which isn't a good look.

I now also have a third cat, I suppose she could just about still be called a kitten. I don't know why the cats never get a look in on this blog but believe me they are as loved and as important to me as the dogs. I guess they just aren't that annoying. They don't NEED as much as the dogs. The cats can bugger off and do whatever they want, the dogs have to be taken everywhere and god forbid they ever just 'do what they want': scavenge for chicken bones, roll in fox poo, kill squirrels, impregnate bitches on heat? No, sorry dogs, you just bloody can't. Now shut up and behave and if you're good I'll take you out (again) later.

three muttsketeers

Ah the little loves are desperate for a walk on the Heath, I haven't brought them in a few days...and it shows. Apparently the thing a dog needs most of all in its life is exercise, that is number one. After that, discipline, after that, affection. Don't remember where I read that but it strikes me as true. They certainly are a lot more relaxed after a good long walk on Hampstead Heath...

Unfortunately, I've been busy, and on Saturday night got stupidly drunk and ended up aching so badly I could barely walk the next two days...alcohol, it's bad for you...in excessive amounts! Anyway, so yesterday they barely got taken out, three times only to the green, the local park and the dog exercise area at Cantelowes, and I KNOW they're desperately in need of a good run... but it just isn't always as simple, and the way they went nuts when the postman arrived made me so bloody cross! I did exactly what you're NOT meant to do, which was shout at them and hit them...oh, don't call the RSPCA, I only used the envelope, very light, that had just been delivered...but still, very bad to do, and very much an index of how I'm feeling generally: stressed, anxious, upset, tense, nervous....I have to drive all the way to Scotland, to my young nephew's funeral, on Thursday, and I'm far from being ready for it...and should be busy getting sorted and packed, as we're then going on to Ireland by ferry, but somehow the motivation seems to be lacking, even though I know I have to get this list of things done...

My poor lovely doggies, I wish my daughter would help more! But she's a selfish near-teen who moans and makes it harder work to get her to do anything than it is to do it myself...very frustrating...

Just to remind myself how lovely they are, here's a photo of Spidey as a puppy...

dog-sitter(s) needed!

I have to organise a week's-worth of dog-sitting duty, but who, and how? What blandishments can I offer? Have NO money...

I wish my dogs were capable of this...

dogs are equivalent to canaries in my mental mine-shaft

I'd decided a pint of Guinness was in order for St Paddy's day, and a friend and myself went to the Lion and Unicorn on gaisford street, with the dogs. It was only 6.30 but the place was fairly full, people in plush velvet 'pint' hats, little kids wearing green, golden Irish harps festooning the place. And very nice Irish stew on offer too, which was great, my dinner sorted out thank you. But there weren't any free spaces to sit in the main bit and it was too busy to stand, especially with three dogs on leads, so we sat where the dj was spinning his Irish tunes (the Waterboys, Kevin Rowland, the Pogues) and it was JUST TOO LOUD!!!!! The friend has a quiet speaking voice at the best of times, and this habit of starting conversations half-way through, as if you can divine what she's talking about through retroactive telepathy. I'm not omniscient though, so I always have to ask her what the hell she's talking about. Anyway, what with having to get her to repeat herself over and over again, when to be honest I really didn't want to talk, I'd rather just eat my stew, and the table being horribly wobbly and spilling her lager everywhere, which irritated me, and the dogs looking at me hungrily, I just felt more and more stressed out by the entire experience. Then there was this strange business of the man playing pool staring at us, not that I noticed, and my friend mouthing things to him and then saying my name as if that explained everything, and I was confused by this and asked if she knew him, and she said no she didn't but he'd been staring at us...and I said 'the last thing you should do is talk to someone who's staring at you! Look away!! Don't encourage them!'. 'Really, is that what you do?' 'Yes!'
I'm laughing about it now, and it was fine anyway, he didn't hassle us and he stopped staring, but it does make me wonder about people and how they get into strange situations out of politeness... 'Oh, mustn't be rude, mustn't upset people...' And then you end up being sucked into their craziness...

I was still eating my delicious Irish stew (home made and served with brown soda bread and butter) which my friend had declined (I think she didn't realise it was free) when Lucky, staring at me from the other side of the table, where she was sitting on the bench next to my friend, barked at me three times: short sharp little barks, 'give me some, give me some, give me some', and I, annoyed, gave her an answering three short sharp strikes across her nose. 'Shut up!!!!!!!!' My poor friend, sitting in the middle, was telling me 'No, don't, stop that', and told me off for reaching across her and practically hitting her too, and I apologised and said I knew she was right, but I was stressed out by the noise and that the poor dogs quite often get poor treatment from me when I'm in that kind of state, and I felt bad; but a part of me was thinking that it was her I was annoyed with, for having us sit down where it was so noisy, and for talking about things as if I knew all the background and history and plot and characters, and for not having any Irish stew, and for choosing a wobbly table, and and and and...

Really, I have got to avoid stressful situations. I much prefer when my dogs are happy and content and well-behaved, and I am too...

the terrible three

Ah, they're sitting quietly at my feet as I type this in the Pineapple. Quiet in here tonight, tuesday. I'm supposed to be doing something else entirely, working on the final draft of the LETS newsletter, but any distraction will do, especially for an old procrastinator like me.

Did I mention about Toffee getting kicked by a horse? It happened on Hampstead Heath of all places! Two velvet-jacketed riders with their black hard hats strolling across the lovely sunny meadow. Two days later there was the thickest snow, and poor Toffee hardly managed to enjoy it he was in so much pain...I couldn't blame the horses or their riders, the dogs had chased after them barking their heads off and wouldn't come back when I called, they kept diving nose and yappy mouths first at the horses feet...not a big surprise then one of them getting hurt...but poor poor Toffee! He gave an awful cry of pain and doubled up into a foetal position almost, back arched, then he shivered like anything and I carried him...but I thought he wasn't seriously injured fortunately, and he's absolutely right as rain again now. Thank god. The thought of him, or any of them, being badly hurt, or killed, doesn't bear thinking about.