Yesterday, I knew what was coming and fought my nerves to keep the appointment; feeling cold and sick in my stomach, I braved the dentist’s waiting room. A double extraction, blood, shaky and nearly passing out on his ‘workbench’ later, I emerged – still alive. With the taste of iron in my mouth I drove home, sore and bruised.
Despite still feeling rubbish, we went for a lovely walk along the river, although I wish I’d taken my camera. Swans, in elegant pairs, were promenading along the water’s still surface, serenely watching us, then dipping gracefully curved necks under the surface. Barn owls, heading home after a nights hunting, flew silently and ghostlike through the fog, existing solely in their own reality, completely immune to the intrusion of two bouncy mallies and a weeble. Pagan, as usual, ruined the swan’s serenity by diving into the river, went completely under, and surfaced near them, causing them to swim off pretty quickly! So, she swam down the river until the bank was low enough for her to clamber out, looking like a furry potato with matchstick legs. Home, coffee and painkillers now
You may have woken at 6.30 this morning, with a feeling of anxious trepidation; you may have wondered, with a sleep addled mind, just why you woke. The morning song of the birds may have fallen instantly silent, the crows in the trees ruffling their midnight black feathers, and the finches halted in their search for seeds. The mouse in the attic may have stopped nibbling, sitting back on his haunches with twitching whiskers, while the cat, following his movements from below, has also stopped, paused with one velvet paw raised and a tail curved into a question mark. You may have wondered about rising; sleep calls you back to softness, but that anxiety remains, that vague, can’t-quite-grasp-it feeling that something is amiss, something is askew. Well, I can tell you what it was! It was ickle Hamishy Waimishy screaming the place down because he’d trodden on a thorn – a teeny tiny thorn that wasn’t even really stuck into his pad. He’s now sleeping off the shock and pain – as are we all!
Woohoo two contracts going on; one for my Irish magazine woman – PR for two gigs (one in a pub called Mick the Pie – I love him already), and one about changes in the construction industry – yeah right lol. Loving the variety! I actually got head hunted for the construction one – my reputation for spouting bullshit obviously proceeds me lol. But for now, coffee and the news reports, whilst doggies snore away peacefully.
Well, it looks like my worst nightmare is happening (maybe not worst, but ykwim); the local farmer is fencing his arable fields ready for grazing cattle on!!! Those of you who know me, know my feelings towards cows; for those that don’t, see my previous articles – ‘Bullocks, There’s a Cow in That Field’, ‘Killer Cows – Fact or …….? Fact!’, ‘Mummy, Why Is Clover Killing Daddy?’, and ‘Bovinephobia – My Beef with Cows, & No, I’m Not Milking It!’. Yes, cows scare me! I worked with horses, so I’m used to large, unpredictable, herd animals; it’s the fact that nothing seems to scare them – they come up, all sniffy, en masse, to say hello, but with horses, you can ‘shoosh’ them away if necessary. Cows don’t seem to respond to anything like that – they just crowd closer. I know some of you love the floofy bovines, just not me! It might be irrational, but going by my collection of news reports of killer cows (yes, I am that fanatical), it’s not! Hey ho, new walking grounds for us soon! http://www.sickchirpse.com/killer-cows/ – this just backs me up!
A drizzly start encouraged me to load up the beasts and go for a stroll by the river – if we were going to get rained on, it might as well be on a more exciting walk for them. The polite buns were out in force, hopping, nibbling the fresh, vivid green grass shoots, and running from the demons – normal bunny activities. Slutbitch found a heron to play with – he obligingly flew up river a few metres, she would dive in to get him, and off he would languorously flap, landing not far ahead, and in she would dive again. Foofhound, meanwhile, trotted along, sniffing and peeing on every grassy tussock (I do like that word – ‘tussock’ – I must use it more). Now, home with coffee, contented dogs and study to do. Feeling a tad languorous myself, tbh – tussock, tussock, tussock – there, that’s better!
Is it so wrong that with dramatic, operatic arms flung wide, and the cry ‘Sing, my Puppies of Power, Sing’, they launch joyfully into song? Is it also wrong that I put dramatic next to operatic in a sentence? Hmmmmm
Two demons – siblings, one boy, one girl. The girl – solid, determined, and stoical, the boy – huge, strong and powerful. Both were fantastic workers in harness, both are fantastic friends and my best pals. On hearing the sheep being herded nearby, with two well trained collies rounding them down off the hill, two different reactions. The girl – interested, keen and wanting to definitely join in the fun; the boy – wooohooooo what the fuck’s that? Sheep? They make that much noise? Who knew? Dog barking? Is that what it is? Never, ever heard that before! OMG, can I go inside now? This outside stuff is worrying! Think I’ll just sit as close to you as I can. Actually, can we go inside, please? I blame the breeder