How to cross a cricket pitch with two malamutes who are insisting on sharking across it, on their sides, enjoying the frosty grass crunch beneath them? That’s right, pretend they are nothing to do with me and ignore. Flaw in that plan? Leads………bugger. Coffee
Anyone who knows me knows that recently my mental health has been taking the piss; my head has been all over the place, confusing and worrying me. As usual I’ve taken the much used self help remedy of complete hibernation from society. This has never worked before, but in my addled state, I convinced myself that this time it just might. Yeah….?
None of this has anything to do with my strange tale this morning, however.
It was six o’clock, still dark, warmer than it has been, and windy – leaves red, gold and russet buffeting the glass of the conservatory, the sudden clatter of acorns discarded and thrown from the oaks above.
The light was on while I wiggled into wellies, collected up collars and donned fluorescents, when, suddenly, the sound of leaves against glass grew in intensity. Turning, I saw it – battering at the windows, a tiny ball of yellow and blue feathers, beady eyes, and open beak. Again and again the blue tit flung itself at the unforgiving surface. I just stood, open mouthed, heart pounding, until, after a few minutes, away it flew.
Recovering, trying to work out why, then it was back! Flinging itself at the glass, frantic little body, so easily broken, fell sideways into the mint surrounding the door, immediately up and beating its wings again, feathers bending on contact, barbs splayed. Then it went, and this time for good (unless it returned while I was walking).
Seriously freaked! Has anyone had this? Is it a common occurrence?
The Differences Between Malamutes and Sibes
EARS Mals – Small, neat and completely deaf – unless it’s cheese being opened on a different continent. Enough space between them for a party hat, but apparently not a brain. Sibes – two.
BODY Mals – Solid, bulky, heavy enough to flatten a a gymnastic pyramid of giant elephants, or take out a rampant herd of Sherman tanks. Sibes – yes.
LEGS Mals – Legs like a short weight lifter with paws that can flatten world class boxers. Sibes – four stick thin, thoroughbred legs.
TAIL Mals – Waving like a plumy, feathery directional sign drawing attention to the butthole. Sibes – waggy.
ATTITUDE Mals – Adorable shithead. Sibes – lovely; can I swap please?
Okay, so my dogs have minimal, when-they-feel-like-it-and-if-they-can-be-arsed recall. I’ve tried everything from begging, pleading, bribing, ignoring, but nothing worked…….. until today! A few weeks ago, Gertie the Pink’s mumbling owner used a sneaky trick which brought Gertie, and the demons, to attention immediately. This morning, I tried the same trick – they came running straight to me from the far corners of the field (a safe, secure, off-lead doggy haven I treat them to – TBH it’s a treat for me too, watching them run). It was amazing! The trick? Well, my big, butch, mean and ferocious beasts love ickle squeaky squeaky toys; however, as they destroy them with one bite, I don’t buy them very often! So the purchase of a packet of loose Kong squeakers was money well spent – perfect! Except on arriving back with me, they really really wanted a squeaky toy to love and hug and call George. Now I feel guilty ………must resist……must resis……..must res…….oh bugger 😉
In the next few days, the contract that has kept me so busy, ends. It hasn’t been a particularly big or complicated one, it’s just kept me mentally drained for no real reason. Hopefully this will give me a bit more energy to start the next philosophy module; level 3 is just as full of mind fuckery as level 2, but with less guidance, help, free gin and cake – hey ho, closing my eyes and jumping!
Note to Self: When panicking that your dog has worms, remember that they had trachea for tea yesterday
As a follow on from my trachea post – another note to self *Don’t panic that your dog is bleeding internally if he ate the wax outer coating from several Baby Bels a few hours ago
What do swans dream about? Do they dream? We dream, dogs and cats appear to dream, so why not swans? We run through our days, our lives, real or imagined, dogs wriggle and yip as they chase rabbits through sparkly scent trails, cats see rainbow coloured, concentric circles of mice chasing tails, but swans? What do swans dream? Extra clean feathers, all placed in smooth perfection, the delicacy of rich, vibrant river weed, an uninterrupted waterway carrying them, serenely, around the globe? Or shagging? Probably the latter, the filthy bastards 😉
Was it so wrong that after over 20 mins stuck in a non moving traffic jam, that when the 80’s classic ‘Let’s Hear It For The Boy’ started playing, I almost got out to bonnet dance? The only things that stopped me were the undeniable facts that once I had taken several hours to clamber, like a landed walrus, onto the bonnet of my car, said bonnet may well cave in and land me in the engine. Fortunately the traffic started moving – phew that was close!
In order to write, I have to lose myself in rhythm of the words, the syncopation of sounds and shapes, images and colours, and in order to do that, I use Mindfulness. Based on Buddhist principles, it is the psychological idea of focusing on, and experiencing, the present moment, of feeling that connection. It’s fab for depression, and anxiety and improves mental wellbeing generally – I love it. It sorts me out for the day, grounds me, and just gives me a healthier perspective. However, this morning, for a brief instant, the birdsong quietened, the glowing sunrise faded, and all I could feel was a comforting hug-like constriction from top to toe. I couldn’t move my arms, but this didn’t seem to matter, couldn’t turn or bend, but felt safe and protected. What was happening? Where was I? And then it dawned on me – the tight constriction, the inability to move, the muffled sounds, and diminished light……..I was inside a loo roll inner!!! WTAF? Why had my mind put me there? What is wrong with my head that instead of losing myself in the beauty of birdsong, the burning glow of a sunrise, or the smell of the earth as she warms, I am inside a cardboard loo roll? No words – ironic, eh? 😉
Descartes – Dualism, Hume – Bundle Theory, Fork (Kant), Original Contract, Locke – Tacit Consent, Continuity of Memory, Clark and Chalmers – Extended Mind. Political Obligation, Parfit and Taylor, Functionalism, Reid’s objection to Locke, Extra Cranial objection to Extended Mind Theory, Qualia objection to Functionalism, Arnauld’s Objection to Dualism, Hobbes objection to Hume’s Original Contract, Nagel’s Bat, Nozick’s Freeriding Theory, Crane’s Extended Mind Objection, Rawls Desert Base. AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGG!
Tractors were out all day yesterday decimating the hedgerows, the snickity snick whirling blades indiscriminantely savaging and tearing through anything in their path, bramble through to oak tree, so I fully expected Hamish to trip, tread on something vaguely lumpy, get caught and generally cause harm to his lil ole self. But no, he trotted along fairly sensibly, taking his lead from stoical, solid Slutbitch. The farm gates, metal and clanging, had a new shiney padlock and chain holding them fast. Okay, stile it is then – nice and solid, not too tall, or awkward, and a large, unmeshed, gap for the beasts to jump through. No problems. They waited patiently as I clambered up and over, then ummm…..not sure what happened, it’s all a bit of a blur – but they were through, although Hamish had two muddy pawprints on the top of his head, and Pagan had a tuft of fur in her mouth – I am assuming no rabbits were harmed but sometimes it’s better not to know. Coffee, study and sleepy dawgs today…..well, that’s my plan, they may have other ideas 😉
The dreaded stile is gradually becoming less of an unruly scramble, for the dogs at any rate; for me, it’s still an achingly awkward manoeuvre to clamber onto the cross step, gripping the completely unergonomically designed lead handles in one hand, repeating the word ‘wait’ over and over again (whilst hoping they do), swing a leg over (not something I’ve done for a long, long time), and jump/fall off the stile, untangle the leads and calmly allow the beasts through. Deep breath, check for rabbits, assume some semblance of control and off we go. I’m hoping it will get easier with practice lol. However, we survived that obstacle, the buns that romped across the track, causing the hounds to run in as large a circle as their leads and my arms would allow, and remained upright, despite the trip risk of the tractor tracks. Today, I shall mostly be doing fuck all – my brain is exhausted, so it’s a day for coffee, cake, gin and beastie wuffling lol
Note to Self: Stiles can, apparently, bite/maim/trick/confuse/befuddled/seriously damage (answer – all of them). Pagan ‘Ooh it’s a stile, over I scramble. Nothing can stand in the way of Super Slutbitch!’
Hamish ‘Aaarrrgggg WTF? You want me to what? Seriously? But I could break my delicate ickle pins! I could fall and break my neck! I could dieeeeeeee! Nope, you can’t make me! Pulllllllllllling won’t work! Biscuits, you say? Pah, I have leaf mulch on this side! Yes, I realise that Goody-Two-Paws has done it and survived, but still nope! What’s that you say? There’s a gap in the hedge that I can squeeze through instead of over? Nope, not doing that either, now! I’m just gonna lie here…..right here…..see, quite comfortable, thank you, and you can’t make me move for anything. Nope, I’m not budging for any money. Mmmmm so comfy, just lying here, not moving. No siree, I will stay here all da…………Sorry? We’re going a different route home that doesn’t involve stiles? Hurry up, can’t lie here all day, things to do, people to see, toys to chew. 😉
This is my favourite part of the day – hands clasped round a mug of steaming hot, freshly ground coffee, dogs snoring quietly in various rooms, housework done, and the whole day ahead for study and discoveries. Peaceful. Shall I read a trashy, chic lit novel, a deep thinking philosophy tome (at the moment it’s metametaphysics – WTAF?), play Bubblewitch, or…….or……another coffee first, there’s plenty of time 😀
You know those mornings when you’ve been out early with the beasts, and are driving back past the local shoppe? You think to yourself “I won’t stop for snackettes as I have a cupboard full at home/trying to be good”? And then you get home and think “Bugger, I want [insert snacks that are never in cupboard when desired – well, obviously not insert, although would if they were there to insert], and I want it now. Why, in god’s name didn’t I stop? I had my wallet with me too, so no excuse there. And there was space right outside to park with dogs. Bugger!”. That!
For our second trip to the Field of Dreams, the recently dank mornings took a break, and it dawned clear and fresh. This Elysian pasture, where the beasts can run until their heart’s content, and I can relax, safe in the knowledge that, essentially, they are trapped, is an amazing secret find! I could feel Hecate laughing with me as the dogs bounded through the dew-soaked grass, the rabbits in their heads – their uncatchable, unstoppable prey, the Greek paradox of Laelaps and the Teumessian Fox (Canis Major and Canis Minor). However, as I was driving away from said paradise, a flat bed truck drove down the track, I panicked about the easiest way to let him pass, he kindly reversed, I got myself in a tizz, and, swearing at my stupid self, drove past without even giving a thank you smile. How rude, all he would have seen was a grumpy, fat cow, mouthing ‘fucking fuckweasel’ to herself, about herself. Twathead!
But now, with happy, sleepy hounds, it’s time for the finale of GoT, study, and coffee (fucking fuckweasel) 😉
With clouds gathering, and that strange pre storm yellow light turning the gracefully tall and straight poplars an eerie gold against the heavy grey sky, we sallied forth. The demons bounded eagerly after scent trails, their maze of glowing coloured lines criss crossing each other (yes, I still hold with that theory, until proved otherwise). Scrambling through the hedge onto the smooth grass of the cricket ground, the ears pricked, and the singing started – Gertie the Pink, her pinky white coat visible for miles around, was heading at full Jack Russell speed straight for us, with Grunting Short-Wearing owner behind. She leapt on Pagan, danced over Hamish and generally caused joyous yappy mayhem! Apparently, she is on tablets to stop her being so aggressive with other dogs – is this the new thing? Tablets? Opens up huge questions of breeding, training, short cuts etc *dons tin hat* She has never shown any aggression to my pair, and Grunting is relaxed around them too – coincidence? Who knows – I haven’t seen her with other dogs, so have no valid opinion (I know……you’re as surprised as I am…….lol). Oh while we’re on the subject of opinion……traditional spay vs laparoscopic spay – opinions please……..
Well, the bunnies (you remember them?) were out in force this morning; unfortunately, however, now the golden flax has been harvested, leaving bushy rows of feathery debris waiting to be gleaned (technical term, that – I checked), there is nowhere for the buns to hide. And when you have a ten stone malamute on his hind legs bouncing up and down in excitement, then it can only be a bad thing! I braced myself for the inevitable arms-out-of-sockets moment, heels dug into the soft clay soil. Neither of us noticed that whilst I was hanging on to the pogo hound, he had pogoed his way into a fallen branch. Well, we all know what that can do to a very small brained Hamish – he squealed, he panicked, he hid behind my legs, rabbit forgotten (I’m sure it was sniggering behind its furry mittened paws by now). Poor ickle Hamish – is he really butchbitch’s brother?
Study day today – coffee brewed, Jaffa Cakes (are they?) in the cupboard (dotal eclipse lol), and, after the group song, dogs snoring contentedly. Hmmmmm…..first though, maybe a little GoT!!! 😉
It is a tad misty and mellow fruitfulnessy out there this morning, but still so blooming warm; the demons and I melted as we trudged – the muggy, cloying, airless atmosphere sapping any energy. The jacks sat silently on the telephone wires, the finches and tits (seriously, stop sniggering) sulked, and even the robins refused to converse. In the last couple of days, the hedgerow dog roses have developed fluffy, red tinged galls – a sure sign that autumn is closing in on us. The old horsemen used these, dried, to treat colic – see, I’m still a fountain of Google knowledge lol.
We’ve just finished a joyfully exuberant group howl, involving several tennis balls, spilt coffee and me crawling round on the floor – people may say I take the pack mentality a step too far, I say “don’t knock it ‘til you’ve seen the world from a different perspective”, and “bugger, might need a hand getting up”.
Slutbitch is back on form, Hamish is still falling down rabbit holes, and I am writing again! Put your donations in the hat, and please pass the gin! Xxx
Nearly 2 months smoke free, and over £800 saved – well, not saved exactly, just not sent up in smoke! How’s everyone else doing? xxx Beasties (or breasties – for those who always seek the basest level lol) are doing well; Pagan is back to her version of normal, with a sexy little scar that she shows off at every opportunity – the filthy slut, and Hamish is, well, hamishy. I have a busy couple of weeks, work and study wise, then I will be back to writing regularly about the usual crap. xxx
Happy, wuffly, zoomy sixth birthday to all the Cocktail Litter! Especially my two bundles of …..erm……joy. This time six years ago we were all eagerly awaiting news, and keeping everything crossed for Pussy, pups and Lorraine. I was especially impatient as I had waited many, many many months for the little minx to come into season. Once the litter had arrived and were making Lorraine and Pussy’s lives busy (and messy), Lorraine started with the bullying – ‘Oh go on, two pups are no more hassle than one’, ‘Ready made team’, ‘It’s harder to fit one into a team later’, and so on! Thank you so much for making me give in – and thank you for my amazing Kegloonies xxx
Well, we are getting back to normal slowly – it’s been a bumpy couple of weeks. And while you may think that Pagan has had it worse (operation to remove gastrointestinal blockage – diagnosed initially as pancreatitis (even though we were all saying blockage) aaarrrggg), it has been hard for ickle Hamish too. The other morning, he got attacked by a tree branch when he tried to jump over it, sheep scared him by starring intently through the hedge, and a small rabbit caused terror by leaping out of the flax crop right in front of him. Pagan is now back in charge and her stitches come out on Saturday woohoo!
I am sorry for my writery absence recently – it’s all been a bit weird inside my head. Probably the lack of smoking (yup, still sans nicotine) is sending my rather haywire thoughts rather more haywire than normal. I have also had a few large contracts to work on – which is brilliant, but doesn’t aid the allocation of head space; neither does the extra time I’ve been cramming full of studying. My elderly and decrepit parents are taking up more and more time and worry for both my long suffering sister and I; this is increasingly stressful, causing cigarettes to appear incredibly tempting. All of this and more has caused my recent lack of scribing. The demons are doing their best to keep me sane – and as usual, failing. Although with Pagan asleep on my feet, and Hamish snoring happily behind me, I can’t help but smile and feel a warm fuzziness (although that could be malamute fluff in my coffee TBH). Save my seat, pour me a triple gin, I’ll be back before you know it xxx
I must not watch programmes about people and puppies!!! Relaxing with ’10 Puppies and Us’ from the other night. Holy fucking crap – these twats are so bloody stupid. One family with young kids gets a gorgeous little cocker spaniel pup, allow the kids to pull it around, dress it up, lie on it and generally give it no peace whatsoever. Puppy starts getting anxious and stressed, and begins nipping, but yet still the parents don’t stop the children dragging the poor pup around! Another family have a sweet little retriever bitch and don’t even appear able to encourage it to walk on the lead, seeming to assume the pup is a mind reader and should know what heel means instinctively. Seriously what is wrong with people? AAAARRRRGGGG! Have we, as a species, become so isolated, ignorant and arrogant that we bully the natural world (including puppies) to fit into our world, instead of being able to look into theirs and work together? Rhetorical question – I know!
Wet patches of clover are much more slippery than wet grass – just saying
What is it with yellow and black bastard insects? Seriously, I get the message, now fuck off!
Last night, whilst on the phone, I noticed an OMFGHornet, full of yellow and black angriness, just sitting, malevolently starring, on the ceiling! Cue backing slowly out of the room, taking the pups with me, grabbing the flyspray and heading back in, with flappy magazine for defense! After surviving that encounter, this morning in the conservatory, sitting on the door handle was a huge yellow and black beetley thing. Armed with aforementioned flappy magazine, I flipped him onto the floor, opened the door and tried to ‘encourage’ him outside! Cajoling, pushing, pulling, none of it was working – he was determined to stay. Turning away for a sec, I looked back only to see Pagan patooey him out of the door, covered in dog slob! Job done!
OMG just discovered Pinterest!!! Yes, I know, but I could spend so many happy hours here – from bullet journaling, crafty DIY projects, paintings and sculptures, to my comforting quill-filled zone of writery stuff!
There’s a bike behind the bus shelter, abandoned for the last month or so; rust claims its gear sprockets, and the rubber pedals are perishing slowly. Green and purple, with flashes of once bright silver, now dulled with sooty mildew and bird droppings, the ‘Celcius’ in a graffiti script along the down tube is becoming harder to decipher. Vibrant eager bindweed weaves between the rust speckled spokes, and the grass stems grow tall, obscuring the sad deflated tyres. Where is the boy? Life moves on………