Friday 12 October 2012
Thursday 4 October 2012
Dog Blog
Well, well, well.
The dog was leaking blood from his penis. I collect a urine sample and submit it to the vet.
I pay £16 to have it tested.
The vet contacts me.
It's tested positive for blood in his urine.
When pushed for a more definitive diagnosis, the vet said "To be honest, it could be anything."
Bravo, vet. Bravo.
So, the vet gives me a prescription for some antibiotics, and the very instant, the very instant I committed to purchasing them, the dog stops bleeding from his penis.
It's like the dog is working with the vet.
It's good news though. Nobody likes their dog to be ill or bleeding. And nobody likes following their dog around with a bit of tissue paper all the time.
The dog was leaking blood from his penis. I collect a urine sample and submit it to the vet.
I pay £16 to have it tested.
The vet contacts me.
It's tested positive for blood in his urine.
When pushed for a more definitive diagnosis, the vet said "To be honest, it could be anything."
Bravo, vet. Bravo.
So, the vet gives me a prescription for some antibiotics, and the very instant, the very instant I committed to purchasing them, the dog stops bleeding from his penis.
It's like the dog is working with the vet.
It's good news though. Nobody likes their dog to be ill or bleeding. And nobody likes following their dog around with a bit of tissue paper all the time.
Tuesday 2 October 2012
Monday 1 October 2012
Dog Blog
Today, I was literally taking the piss.........................to the vets!
Got the sample. That was easier than I thought.
I waited for his first pee of the day, and quickly shoved a plastic cup under there. Quite skillful I might add. Reminiscent of acquiring a Sprite refill.
I then transferred it to the only small container that I had. An old glass spice jar. The kind with the screw on lid.
It worked fine. Ok, Billy might test positive for cinnamon, but it should be ok.
Dropped the sample off. Awaiting news.
Dog still leaking blood.
:(
Got the sample. That was easier than I thought.
I waited for his first pee of the day, and quickly shoved a plastic cup under there. Quite skillful I might add. Reminiscent of acquiring a Sprite refill.
I then transferred it to the only small container that I had. An old glass spice jar. The kind with the screw on lid.
It worked fine. Ok, Billy might test positive for cinnamon, but it should be ok.
Dropped the sample off. Awaiting news.
Dog still leaking blood.
:(
Sunday 30 September 2012
Fostering a Dog.......day something or other?
I guess I should change the heading to "Adopting a Dog", as I've somehow adopted the adorable little monster.
He has some "behavioural" issues and a few personality quirks that wouldn't be out of place with someone who wears a hockey mask and carry's a machete. But I love him.
He's family now. And like all families, there's always one member that can snap and turn violent at a moment's notice.
He's an incredibly sweet guy inside the house, but outside, I think he finds the whole world a bit scary and he doesn't have enough experience of things to understand that not every passing old lady with a walking stick is going to attack him.
After a stressful visit to the vet (the one that the dog rescue place made me use), the vet advised the charity to have him put to sleep, as he'd shown some aggression (the dog, not the vet).
So, after a bit of BS from the charity about how they were going to "Assess him", I decided that I would adopt him (again, the dog, not the vet). This then set into motion a whole lot of back and forth, which has sadly meant that I will NEVER..........EVER have anything to do with this particular dog rescue again. What a pain in the arse it was.
So, I have a dog. A dog with more health problems than all of the other dogs that I've ever owned. And they're dead.
He has some "behavioural" issues and a few personality quirks that wouldn't be out of place with someone who wears a hockey mask and carry's a machete. But I love him.
He's family now. And like all families, there's always one member that can snap and turn violent at a moment's notice.
He's an incredibly sweet guy inside the house, but outside, I think he finds the whole world a bit scary and he doesn't have enough experience of things to understand that not every passing old lady with a walking stick is going to attack him.
After a stressful visit to the vet (the one that the dog rescue place made me use), the vet advised the charity to have him put to sleep, as he'd shown some aggression (the dog, not the vet).
So, after a bit of BS from the charity about how they were going to "Assess him", I decided that I would adopt him (again, the dog, not the vet). This then set into motion a whole lot of back and forth, which has sadly meant that I will NEVER..........EVER have anything to do with this particular dog rescue again. What a pain in the arse it was.
So, I have a dog. A dog with more health problems than all of the other dogs that I've ever owned. And they're dead.
Sunday
Where shall I begin?
We went to Coughton Court today. And by court, I mean a large stately home, and not a magistrates court or something like that. This was spurred on by the fact that our National Trust membership runs out.............today. Yes, that's right. We were fully paid up members of the National Trust. It's amazing what a money off deal will get you to sign up to. Especially when about 12 months ago, you really wanted to have a wander around St Michael's Mount, and thought "Blimey! How much for both of us to get in? That's a bit steep isn't it? And if we do pay, how much of the Mount do we get to keep?"
Anyway, we were due to renew our membership. Mainly because there was a Direct Debit set up, and I don't like to tinker with things. Anyway, then the Badger cull came along. With the National Trust coming down on the side of the Badger killers. Well, if you're not with Brian May and the Badgers, then you're not getting my 80 quid. So I called up and cancelled it. They didn't ask why. I'm afraid that if they had, I would have squeaked out, in my most feeble of voices "......................because of the Badgers...."
So, we headed to Coughton Court to try to get our money's worth of membership out of this year.
It's a very nice place. Like a lot of stately homes, it's hard to imagine that some people lived so grandly, while other people waited on them hand and foot (and the rest of their body parts, probably).
Ooh! They have a spiral stone staircase that goes up a sort of tower bit, thingy. I love those! I'm not built for them though, obviously. 400 years ago, the average person was no taller than an Orange. So my size 13 feet and 5'10" of altitude are not really designed to cope with spirally stone steps.
I look like every step could be my last, as I nervously clutch, nay cling, to the handrail. And I was wearing new shoes. I've been clip-clopping all day. New shoes take a few days to get used to, don't they. You find yourself catching on things and clumping around because you're not used to the new tread depth or something like that.
I've been trying to walk on grass and carpet a lot. Concrete, stone, or wooden floors are right out. At several points today, my quietest walking sounded like someone had put tap shoes onto a Giraffe.
The main building is packed with paintings and objects de art. Although not a suit of armour anywhere. Very disappointing.
Loads of portraits of various family members from throughout the ages. Theirs, not mine, that would just be weird.
The detail in the old portraits is staggering. They must have taken ages to paint. And each one had to be accurate, as there were no cameras or photographs back then. Can you imagine getting your passport photo painted. It takes weeks. You then send it off. Wait some more weeks. Then finally it gets sent back to you, rejected, because the artist has painted a bit of a droopy fringe over your left eye.
Do you ever make noises when you trip or stumble? Like when you're walking and misjudge the tread depth on your new shoes and you scuff one foot on the ground, stumble forward and make a noise like "Wup"?
I do. What's "Wup"? I think it's meant to be whoops, but I've shortened it for some reason. Like it's not embarrassing enough to fuck up the ability to walk properly, I then, just in case some people didn't notice, make a cartoon-like noise.
Anyway, the building and its grounds are lovely.
In other news, my dog is bleeding from his penis. You heard me :(
We went to Coughton Court today. And by court, I mean a large stately home, and not a magistrates court or something like that. This was spurred on by the fact that our National Trust membership runs out.............today. Yes, that's right. We were fully paid up members of the National Trust. It's amazing what a money off deal will get you to sign up to. Especially when about 12 months ago, you really wanted to have a wander around St Michael's Mount, and thought "Blimey! How much for both of us to get in? That's a bit steep isn't it? And if we do pay, how much of the Mount do we get to keep?"
Anyway, we were due to renew our membership. Mainly because there was a Direct Debit set up, and I don't like to tinker with things. Anyway, then the Badger cull came along. With the National Trust coming down on the side of the Badger killers. Well, if you're not with Brian May and the Badgers, then you're not getting my 80 quid. So I called up and cancelled it. They didn't ask why. I'm afraid that if they had, I would have squeaked out, in my most feeble of voices "......................because of the Badgers...."
So, we headed to Coughton Court to try to get our money's worth of membership out of this year.
It's a very nice place. Like a lot of stately homes, it's hard to imagine that some people lived so grandly, while other people waited on them hand and foot (and the rest of their body parts, probably).
Ooh! They have a spiral stone staircase that goes up a sort of tower bit, thingy. I love those! I'm not built for them though, obviously. 400 years ago, the average person was no taller than an Orange. So my size 13 feet and 5'10" of altitude are not really designed to cope with spirally stone steps.
I look like every step could be my last, as I nervously clutch, nay cling, to the handrail. And I was wearing new shoes. I've been clip-clopping all day. New shoes take a few days to get used to, don't they. You find yourself catching on things and clumping around because you're not used to the new tread depth or something like that.
I've been trying to walk on grass and carpet a lot. Concrete, stone, or wooden floors are right out. At several points today, my quietest walking sounded like someone had put tap shoes onto a Giraffe.
The main building is packed with paintings and objects de art. Although not a suit of armour anywhere. Very disappointing.
Loads of portraits of various family members from throughout the ages. Theirs, not mine, that would just be weird.
The detail in the old portraits is staggering. They must have taken ages to paint. And each one had to be accurate, as there were no cameras or photographs back then. Can you imagine getting your passport photo painted. It takes weeks. You then send it off. Wait some more weeks. Then finally it gets sent back to you, rejected, because the artist has painted a bit of a droopy fringe over your left eye.
Do you ever make noises when you trip or stumble? Like when you're walking and misjudge the tread depth on your new shoes and you scuff one foot on the ground, stumble forward and make a noise like "Wup"?
I do. What's "Wup"? I think it's meant to be whoops, but I've shortened it for some reason. Like it's not embarrassing enough to fuck up the ability to walk properly, I then, just in case some people didn't notice, make a cartoon-like noise.
Anyway, the building and its grounds are lovely.
In other news, my dog is bleeding from his penis. You heard me :(
Monday 24 September 2012
Four Line Poetry
When Clare called round at Michael's
he was changing for their date.
What a horrid shock that was for her
HE'S A WEREWOLF!! ...oops......too late....
he was changing for their date.
What a horrid shock that was for her
HE'S A WEREWOLF!! ...oops......too late....
Monday 10 September 2012
Unfinished Poem
There's some mold in my sink
that's making a most terrible stink.
It most probably reached this condition
due to my ongoing and long-standing tradition
of not caring one jot.
Imagine on Tuesday my surprise
when from the mould, life did arise!
Squeaky-high voices at first,
I thought Schizophrenia! or worse-
but then I realised where it came from.
By Wednesday noon, an ambassador came out
and started to shout-
we want our independence
for us and all of our descendants.
So I said I'd think about it.
that's making a most terrible stink.
It most probably reached this condition
due to my ongoing and long-standing tradition
of not caring one jot.
Imagine on Tuesday my surprise
when from the mould, life did arise!
Squeaky-high voices at first,
I thought Schizophrenia! or worse-
but then I realised where it came from.
By Wednesday noon, an ambassador came out
and started to shout-
we want our independence
for us and all of our descendants.
So I said I'd think about it.
So in the mean time
by about Thursday teatime
the ambassador returned and placed in my hands
a list of their demands
I said "My god, you're so small."
He said "So what do you think?"
I said "I'm amazed you can get out of the sink-
What are you a millimetre tall?"
The ambassador seemed appalled.
I think I hurt his tiny feelings.
On Friday morning
suddenly without warning
the mould declared war
and by about a quarter to four
I had just about managed to stop laughing.
Saturday, half past five
I was now not so amused, but still alive
But the kitchen sink goo
had signed a unified treaty with some gunk from the loo
And things were starting to look hairy.
the ambassador returned and placed in my hands
a list of their demands
I said "My god, you're so small."
He said "So what do you think?"
I said "I'm amazed you can get out of the sink-
What are you a millimetre tall?"
The ambassador seemed appalled.
I think I hurt his tiny feelings.
On Friday morning
suddenly without warning
the mould declared war
and by about a quarter to four
I had just about managed to stop laughing.
Saturday, half past five
I was now not so amused, but still alive
But the kitchen sink goo
had signed a unified treaty with some gunk from the loo
And things were starting to look hairy.
I Love Her Still
I love her still.
Her voice,
her thoughts,
opinions,
actions,
all irritate me.
I prefer her silent,
not even moving.
I love her still.
Her voice,
her thoughts,
opinions,
actions,
all irritate me.
I prefer her silent,
not even moving.
I love her still.
Sometimes I Start a Poem and it Just Has to be Stopped
I remember like it was yesterday
Memories like these just don't go away
Not without years of therapy anyway
There's more fish in the sea, or so they say
But you were the one for me
There I was, strolling through the park
With no way of knowing you were about to claim my heart
When suddenly I heard a bark
I looked round and saw you tearing a dog apart
with your bear hands............because you are men-tal.
I admired you, full of grace
as you wiped some puppy from your face
.........
Memories like these just don't go away
Not without years of therapy anyway
There's more fish in the sea, or so they say
But you were the one for me
There I was, strolling through the park
With no way of knowing you were about to claim my heart
When suddenly I heard a bark
I looked round and saw you tearing a dog apart
with your bear hands............because you are men-tal.
I admired you, full of grace
as you wiped some puppy from your face
.........
Just No!
Just in case pictures don't do it for you, there is also a written notice (about 9 feet up in the air, I might add, and I will) stating what the local town council do not want in the park. It says a little something like no dogs, no fires, no violence, no camping, etc.
So.......
No dogs?
Just no to dogs?
I can take a cat in there?
How about a hamster?
Can I take a goat in there?
What about a housefly?
80 sheep?
A huge horde of stampeding wildebeest, roaming majestically around the see-saw?
A LION!
A lion and a bear?
While I'm on the subject of signs, you know those signs in car parks that say things like "Motorists! Protect Your Valuables!" or "Car Thieves Operate In This Area" or "Keep Your Valuables Out Of Sight", that sort of thing. Well have you ever seen a sign that says "Thieves! Don't steal!"? Or how about "Don't Break Into That Car!"?
There are signs that tell people not to drop litter. But have you ever seen a sign that says don't mug, rob or murder people?
And when have you ever seen a published list of laws that shouldn't be broken? Do you ever remember those lessons in school. The ones where we were taught not to harm others, steal or commit fraud? No? Me neither. There are hundreds of laws out there, yet there's never a typed list placed in front of you while growing up. Driving laws aside, you don't ever have to learn them. It's just assumed that you'll pick them up as you wander through life.
It appears that my knowledge of the law comes from watching episodes of Juliet Bravo and The Bill while growing up. Yet strangely, ignorance of the law is no defence in court. So why have "Do Not Drop Litter" signs? Just assume that people should know that they shouldn't drop litter anywhere, just like they shouldn't steal or harm others.
Signs for all or none at all.
I'm not even sure that this post is making sense anymore. I might not have thought this through. I'm half tempted to make a load of signs with various animals crossed off to add to the no dogs sign at the park.
I'll probably get arrested and deported to the new world or something, but there's no "Do not put up your own signs sign out there".
Tuesday 4 September 2012
Please Prove You're Not A Robot...
I promise you, If I were a robot, I'd be able to enter the numbers and letters correctly. hdk4hk4h3k3hh3g3d3g-sjs"%%%8hddb 23
Wednesday 29 August 2012
I'm Baaaaaaaaack
A few nights ago, I dreamt that I was in bed with Matt Lucas. Nothing sexual. We were just trying to make each other laugh. With us being naked and in bed, that was an easily accomplished task. Kudos to my subconscious casting agency for being able to conjure him up though.
Dreams are funny things. You flit between being Jason Bourne, the baddie, Jason Bourne again, the baddie, yourself watching Jason Bourne and the baddie fight, a sandwich in a Parisian cafe, Jason Bourne again, before finally getting ready for school, while thinking "But I'm 22, I shouldn't be in high school any more", and not once do you think "Wait! Wait! Wait! That's not right. Something's not making sense here. Your subconscious brain totally accepts it and it all seems fine and plausible.
If the brain can do that, then I have no doubt that if it malfunctions, it can convince you that Tutankhamen is telling you to go up a clock tower with a high-powered packet of Smash potato.
The adventures with adopt-a-dog continue. He's still living with us. I fear we've bonded. He still has his aggression issues.
Do you think there's a magazine called "Aggression?" People walking into their local newsagents and saying "Hi, I believe you've got some Aggression issues for my husband"
In the house, he's a lovely dog. Outside the house, he's like Mike Tyson. He's family now though. And you don't give up on family just because they want to bite passers-by now and then. Auntie Wilma not withstanding.
Saturday 14 April 2012
FIRESTORM!
Well, well, well.
Guess whose brother and family were caught up in a caravan blaze this week....
Yup! It turns out that my brother's caravan went up in flames and caused a minor explosion at a camp site.
That's the last time I mock the "FIRESTORM"!
They are all ok.
I checked.
Saturday 24 March 2012
Camper Van
Camper Vans often have dynamic or "adventurous" names or titles, but I saw one today that was called the "FireStorm".
Now I'm not big on the world of Camper Van manufacturing, but I'm not sure if that's the best name for a vehicle that you are meant to sleep in.
Just imagine settling down for the night, tucked into your sleeping bag, or maybe a duvet if you're lower-middle class, and blissfully dozing off inside your vehicle named the "FIRESTORM".
Dreaming about whether you connected the gas cylinder properly? Is there a working smoke alarm in the van? Will the smoke alarm give you enough time to be able to exit the "FIRESTORM"? And can you unlock the door successfully while your entire body is on fire.
Still, at least you didn't buy the "Gassed Alive", "KA-BOOM!" or "Brakes Sure To Fail" model.
Now I'm not big on the world of Camper Van manufacturing, but I'm not sure if that's the best name for a vehicle that you are meant to sleep in.
Just imagine settling down for the night, tucked into your sleeping bag, or maybe a duvet if you're lower-middle class, and blissfully dozing off inside your vehicle named the "FIRESTORM".
Dreaming about whether you connected the gas cylinder properly? Is there a working smoke alarm in the van? Will the smoke alarm give you enough time to be able to exit the "FIRESTORM"? And can you unlock the door successfully while your entire body is on fire.
Still, at least you didn't buy the "Gassed Alive", "KA-BOOM!" or "Brakes Sure To Fail" model.
Thursday 22 March 2012
I'm Rambling Again
I have a cold at the moment.
It's alright. I don't want sympathy or anything. I'm sure I'll be fine.
Why do people always say things like "There's something nasty going around.."
And why is there never anything nice going around? Why can't you catch a virus and the major side-effect is better eyesight, or more energy, or a greater capacity to taste wine and cheese?
And what's with "sinister plots". Why is it that whenever you hear of a plot being described in a movie or book, it's always sinister or nefarious? You never hear of a generous or kind plot.
"Two rogue FBI agents go undercover and discover a compassionate plot to rebuild an orphanage...."
Sunday 11 March 2012
Last Night's Dream: RADIATION FROM SPAAAAACE!
Dun-dun-duuunnn!
Or something like that. Think of a dramatic sound effect.
Last night I dreamt that a star or something had emitted a beam of radiation (or something), which resulted in the Earth being hit by said beam (of something), resulting in one half of the Earth being irradiated, or at the very least severely messed up.
In my dream, it left all animals dead, but for some reason, not plant life.
So the half of the planet that took the full brunt ( I don't think I've ever had to type "brunt" before) of the beam was killed instantly (-ish), leaving the remaining half and myself to try to struggle through in our now post-apocalyptic, and rather roomy new world.
I remember there being lots of news reports about various governments laying claim to several now uninhabited countries, as well as people trying to work out what to do with all of the dead bodies.
At one stage, I volunteered to help out with the clean up operation (which really doesn't sound like something I would do, so it could only have been a dream), and I just remember stacking bricks and collecting rags from streets and wherever I could find them. Just how this was supposed to rebuild a country, I have no idea.
House prices went down.
Or something like that. Think of a dramatic sound effect.
Last night I dreamt that a star or something had emitted a beam of radiation (or something), which resulted in the Earth being hit by said beam (of something), resulting in one half of the Earth being irradiated, or at the very least severely messed up.
In my dream, it left all animals dead, but for some reason, not plant life.
So the half of the planet that took the full brunt ( I don't think I've ever had to type "brunt" before) of the beam was killed instantly (-ish), leaving the remaining half and myself to try to struggle through in our now post-apocalyptic, and rather roomy new world.
I remember there being lots of news reports about various governments laying claim to several now uninhabited countries, as well as people trying to work out what to do with all of the dead bodies.
At one stage, I volunteered to help out with the clean up operation (which really doesn't sound like something I would do, so it could only have been a dream), and I just remember stacking bricks and collecting rags from streets and wherever I could find them. Just how this was supposed to rebuild a country, I have no idea.
House prices went down.
Saturday 18 February 2012
Last Night's Dream: Tockey
Last night I dreamt that I was playing Tennis/Hockey with a small group of others. Or "Tockey" as I now shall call it.
I have no idea whatsoever whether Tockey already exists or not, and to be honest, I'm too nervous to Google it, for fear that someone in a small town in Idaho has already done it. Google spoils all the fun. Think you've had an original idea? Think again! Google will tell you that not only has someone else already thought up your "great" idea, but they muffed it up along the way, meaning your great idea will now be thought of as rubbish.
Anyway. Tockey. It involves two teams, two goals, a Tennis, sorry Tockey ball, and each player has two rackets. It's awesome.
You need to wear eye protection though. Well, you do the way I play.
I have no idea whatsoever whether Tockey already exists or not, and to be honest, I'm too nervous to Google it, for fear that someone in a small town in Idaho has already done it. Google spoils all the fun. Think you've had an original idea? Think again! Google will tell you that not only has someone else already thought up your "great" idea, but they muffed it up along the way, meaning your great idea will now be thought of as rubbish.
Anyway. Tockey. It involves two teams, two goals, a Tennis, sorry Tockey ball, and each player has two rackets. It's awesome.
You need to wear eye protection though. Well, you do the way I play.
Saturday 11 February 2012
Today is a Saturday. Yes it is! Who's a good Saturday?
Do you see the coloured square? Touch it with your finger. Go on. Give it a poke. Rub it with your fingers. Done that?
Right, I've been feeling Blue recently too.
I don't think I can put my finger on it, but I've just been in a real state of melancholy these past few days. Hang on. I'm not entirely sure that I know exactly what "melancholy" means.
I'll be right back.
Ok. Yep. Google'd it. Yes, that's what I thought it meant and yes, that's what I've been feeling.
I expect to be down sometimes. It's just this deep feeling of loss or emptiness that I don't like. It makes all of the simple things more of a struggle and I find myself getting stressed out and snappy over little things.
And no, I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm just venting I guess. Like one of those deep sea things, surrounded by tiny Prawns.
Fostering a Dog: Day 13
Well, where to begin?
First off, we had an outing to the Vet. His Kennel Cough seemed to be clearing on its own, but he had developed some new symptoms that weren't exactly pleasant for him. Let's just say that it resulted in a couple of spots on the carpet that even Damien Hirst would struggle to get rid of. (It was vomit).
It's not fun when you are sick, and even worse when you can't tell anyone how you're feeling.
So we popped him in the car, which really wasn't even a fifth as traumatic as the last car journey was with him. He was actually quite calm about it. I think I was more tense.
The Vet gave him an injection for his vomiting and some re-hydration salts for his water. She also advised us to starve him for 24 hours to see if his tummy settled.
So 60 pounds later, we're leaving the Vet's. The dog is mildly bewildered. I'm mildly bewildered. The dog is slightly dazed about the injection he'd just received, while I was slightly dazed about the cash injection I'd just given the Vet.
Then yesterday, after his "diet", he seemed to perk up a bit. Full of energy and couldn't get enough food. Now he seems to have "crashed" and is very lethargic with little or no interest in eating or drinking.
I'm starting to worry that he's either Diabetic or Bipolar. Joking aside, I hope he can pull through whatever is going on. We'll keep an eye on him and if he needs another trip to the Vet, so be it. Being a rescue dog, we have no idea of his background or medical history. I really hope that he doesn't have some form of long-standing illness.
He's a really sweet guy and doesn't deserve to be put through all this.
First off, we had an outing to the Vet. His Kennel Cough seemed to be clearing on its own, but he had developed some new symptoms that weren't exactly pleasant for him. Let's just say that it resulted in a couple of spots on the carpet that even Damien Hirst would struggle to get rid of. (It was vomit).
It's not fun when you are sick, and even worse when you can't tell anyone how you're feeling.
So we popped him in the car, which really wasn't even a fifth as traumatic as the last car journey was with him. He was actually quite calm about it. I think I was more tense.
The Vet gave him an injection for his vomiting and some re-hydration salts for his water. She also advised us to starve him for 24 hours to see if his tummy settled.
So 60 pounds later, we're leaving the Vet's. The dog is mildly bewildered. I'm mildly bewildered. The dog is slightly dazed about the injection he'd just received, while I was slightly dazed about the cash injection I'd just given the Vet.
Then yesterday, after his "diet", he seemed to perk up a bit. Full of energy and couldn't get enough food. Now he seems to have "crashed" and is very lethargic with little or no interest in eating or drinking.
I'm starting to worry that he's either Diabetic or Bipolar. Joking aside, I hope he can pull through whatever is going on. We'll keep an eye on him and if he needs another trip to the Vet, so be it. Being a rescue dog, we have no idea of his background or medical history. I really hope that he doesn't have some form of long-standing illness.
He's a really sweet guy and doesn't deserve to be put through all this.
Monday 6 February 2012
Last Night's Dream
Peanuts.
I dreamt that I was inside a large office building that was slowly being invaded by peanuts. Think of it as my "standard" Zombie-scenario type dream, where I have to barricade myself inside either a room or building, in order to escape from some sort of threat from outside.
Well this time it was peanuts and not Zombies.
Huge waves of peanuts flooding in through broken windows or cracks in doors.
I eventually managed to make my way to the top floor of the building, but was prevented from escaping onto the roof by a complex locking mechanism on the skylight. Apparently it had three slots for what looked like medals or medallions. Yes, that's right. My dream was borrowing from PlayStation games.
I don't know if you've ever played any of the Resident Evil games, but many of the rooms are locked and can only be opened with medals, crystals or keys that can only be obtained after you have performed various tasks.
The lab in Resident Evil can only be entered by collecting a number of medals. Some of which can only be obtained through the smashing of statues, burning of paintings, and solving of cryptic puzzles.
How the hell did the lab staff ever manage to get to work on time?
"Sorry I'm late for my shift Tom. But the Moon medal was in the statue, and I think Kerry smashed it and got that. As you know, without all of the medals, you can't open the main door to the lab."
"That's alright Dave, it once took me a whole week to get back in here after I accidentally left my car keys in my office. Wait! If Kerry has the Moon medal, how did you manage to get in?"
"I ate my way through the steal door. It seemed quicker and I just couldn't be arsed with the whole back and forth any longer."
"Oh fair enough."
Anyway, I woke up juuuuuust as the peanuts had broken into the room and were beginning to swarm towards me.
I dreamt that I was inside a large office building that was slowly being invaded by peanuts. Think of it as my "standard" Zombie-scenario type dream, where I have to barricade myself inside either a room or building, in order to escape from some sort of threat from outside.
Well this time it was peanuts and not Zombies.
Huge waves of peanuts flooding in through broken windows or cracks in doors.
I eventually managed to make my way to the top floor of the building, but was prevented from escaping onto the roof by a complex locking mechanism on the skylight. Apparently it had three slots for what looked like medals or medallions. Yes, that's right. My dream was borrowing from PlayStation games.
I don't know if you've ever played any of the Resident Evil games, but many of the rooms are locked and can only be opened with medals, crystals or keys that can only be obtained after you have performed various tasks.
The lab in Resident Evil can only be entered by collecting a number of medals. Some of which can only be obtained through the smashing of statues, burning of paintings, and solving of cryptic puzzles.
How the hell did the lab staff ever manage to get to work on time?
"Sorry I'm late for my shift Tom. But the Moon medal was in the statue, and I think Kerry smashed it and got that. As you know, without all of the medals, you can't open the main door to the lab."
"That's alright Dave, it once took me a whole week to get back in here after I accidentally left my car keys in my office. Wait! If Kerry has the Moon medal, how did you manage to get in?"
"I ate my way through the steal door. It seemed quicker and I just couldn't be arsed with the whole back and forth any longer."
"Oh fair enough."
Anyway, I woke up juuuuuust as the peanuts had broken into the room and were beginning to swarm towards me.
Sunday 5 February 2012
"Overheard Poetry"
Don't get excited, it's not nearly as interesting as it sounds.
A few years ago, I had this zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaany idea to write down or record any words, sentences, or snippets of conversation that I heard from passers-by, in a predetermined length of time or over the length of a journey.
Not their whole conversation or anything like that (I'm not MENTAL), just a line or word that clearly stood out from the rest of the background noise.
It made perfect sense at the time.
Anyhoo, some were made in coffee shops, supermarket checkout queues, etc. I came across one the other day that had been scribbled down while walking home from town.
Each line or word was spoken by a different person, and was overheard as I walked past them. Written in the exact order that it was heard.
"Swinging your glow sticks 'round with gay abandon"
"You've done what?"
"It's not busy out there"
"We can do it tomorrow"
"Bye!"
"I'm alright thanks"
"Get away from me"
"I'm stuck! I'm stuck!"
"Who told you that?"
"Do you think my chair ballet will catch on?"
"Uh-huh, oh yeah, alright"
"Okay, you're gay"
"Because this was Julia's first night"
"English to Japanese"
"Oui"
"It's like....."
"Right now I'm stepping into a yard"
"She's really massive"
"You can't beat them"
"Left-handed, one-handed for a fiver"
"They're alive, it serves you sodding right"
"In heels, stilettos"
"All the way down to Hell"
Well! What a fun little project that was. It makes you wonder just what on Earth most of us are talking about while we're wandering around.
Or is that just me?
(I'm not crazy.......)
A few years ago, I had this zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaany idea to write down or record any words, sentences, or snippets of conversation that I heard from passers-by, in a predetermined length of time or over the length of a journey.
Not their whole conversation or anything like that (I'm not MENTAL), just a line or word that clearly stood out from the rest of the background noise.
It made perfect sense at the time.
Anyhoo, some were made in coffee shops, supermarket checkout queues, etc. I came across one the other day that had been scribbled down while walking home from town.
Each line or word was spoken by a different person, and was overheard as I walked past them. Written in the exact order that it was heard.
"Swinging your glow sticks 'round with gay abandon"
"You've done what?"
"It's not busy out there"
"We can do it tomorrow"
"Bye!"
"I'm alright thanks"
"Get away from me"
"I'm stuck! I'm stuck!"
"Who told you that?"
"Do you think my chair ballet will catch on?"
"Uh-huh, oh yeah, alright"
"Okay, you're gay"
"Because this was Julia's first night"
"English to Japanese"
"Oui"
"It's like....."
"Right now I'm stepping into a yard"
"She's really massive"
"You can't beat them"
"Left-handed, one-handed for a fiver"
"They're alive, it serves you sodding right"
"In heels, stilettos"
"All the way down to Hell"
Well! What a fun little project that was. It makes you wonder just what on Earth most of us are talking about while we're wandering around.
Or is that just me?
(I'm not crazy.......)
Fostering a Dog: Day 7
Foster dog has Kennel Cough. We think.
We've spoken to a vet, and they seem to think he'll be fine with a course of antibiotics. While we're waiting on the arrival of those, the vet suggested some over-the-counter children's cough medicine.
I felt a right wally in the Chemist when the assistant asked how old my child was. I wasn't sure whether she was looking for an answer in human or dog years.
After much discussion, mostly involving her distancing herself from any legal repercussions resulting from her selling me drugs for a dog, I managed to purchase him some cough syrup for a "chesty cough".
The "Ally McBeal" of the pharmaceutical industry even threw in a syringe with the syrup (in case we have to launch it down his throat). That was kind of her. She also pointed out that if the dog didn't like it, then we could use it the next time we have a cough. I never would have thought of that.
He's doing ok. Really tired most of the time, and the coughing can't be fun for him.
We've spoken to a vet, and they seem to think he'll be fine with a course of antibiotics. While we're waiting on the arrival of those, the vet suggested some over-the-counter children's cough medicine.
I felt a right wally in the Chemist when the assistant asked how old my child was. I wasn't sure whether she was looking for an answer in human or dog years.
After much discussion, mostly involving her distancing herself from any legal repercussions resulting from her selling me drugs for a dog, I managed to purchase him some cough syrup for a "chesty cough".
The "Ally McBeal" of the pharmaceutical industry even threw in a syringe with the syrup (in case we have to launch it down his throat). That was kind of her. She also pointed out that if the dog didn't like it, then we could use it the next time we have a cough. I never would have thought of that.
He's doing ok. Really tired most of the time, and the coughing can't be fun for him.
Saturday 4 February 2012
Fostering a Dog: Day ???
I've lost all track of time. If it wasn't for my occasional glancing at clocks, I would have no confirmation that the passage of time was being recorded at all. Except perhaps by others, making me and the continual tick tock of the Universe solely reliant on the continual efforts of the watch-wearing, clock-watching people of the Earth.
Sorry, what was I saying?
There's a theory that goes something along the line of: Once everything in the Universe has either faded into nothing, and all matter has decayed, there will be no way to measure time or the direction of time's arrow. The Universe and time could "reset" and everything starts from the beginning again.
Of course, this makes the Universe sound like a gigantic electric oven or VCR (remember those?). Maybe the earliest moments of the Big Bang appear as a gigantic flashing 00:00.
Wednesday 1 February 2012
Fostering a Dog: Day 3
I've never been so tired.
It's like he's trying to break us. I keep telling myself that his bad behaviour is not his fault, but we all know that it's hardly mine.
It's like he's trying to break us. I keep telling myself that his bad behaviour is not his fault, but we all know that it's hardly mine.
Monday 30 January 2012
Fostering a Dog: Day 1
It's like the movie Turner and Hootch, only not as funny because the bad things aren't happening to Tom Hanks.
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