Samson

The birth of my daughter will forever be linked for my family with the early, and unexpected death of Samson.

Samson was my parent's rottweiler, and the uncle of my own Darth Lila. He was the most laid back dog in the world, although he was possibly also the most stubborn. Although he lived with my parent's, he was my dog just as much as theirs. I adored him. We all did.

He had been a little off colour that week. Zach and Lila were staying over, since we knew Little Lady would be arriving any time that week, and he didn't want to play with them. He preferred to sit away from them and watch.

On the Friday, he visited the vet. He had a small spot of blood in his eye and he was still out of sorts. The vet thought it was probably nothing to worry about and advised that he be kept quiet and not tear around with the other dogs.

We will never know exactly what happened that night. Sam appeared to have collapsed just as he got to his sleeping spot at the bottom of the stairs, and he died where he fell. My father came down to find his, and our, beloved pet dead where he usually greeted him.

The vet was contacted to collect his body. I was unable to leave the hospital to say goodbye to our first rottweiler, our pet of six and a half years, which is something I still can't come to terms with.

I got a phonecall from my sister shortly after I woke up, still radiant with the joy of finally having my long awaited daughter in my arms. I went from joy to despair with just two words. Samson died.

My parents house is so empty without its big stubborn occupant, and his "brother", Harry moons around with no-one to play with.

There is no need to split the toast crusts in half, or to split an apple core for them to share. There is no big black blob with a lolloping tongue and cocked ear stopping you getting in the house because he wants a fuss.

I'll always miss him, and I will always remember him.

The Front Garden

The dogs have destroyed the back garden. We knew it would happen - they love chasing each other and wrestling each other (lots of noise and bared teeth, much to the amusement of the neighbours), and the end result is soil and stones everywhere.

Not, of course, to mention the pollution of our once great vegetable beds.

We were resigned to this from the day that Darth Lila came home. Zach Attack! was just the icing on the dog poo cake. Not a cake I particularly wish to eat, as it happens. We knew our days of veg growing were numbered.

Until I pruned the roses.

Once upon a time, roses festooned our garage. At some uncertain point in time, they got the arse and buggered off. In their place were thistles. Thistles with a mission to overtake our village. To achieve that, they joined forces with the ivy already growing over the wall and roof and set about their aim.

It had got to the point that just walking down our path was a dice with danger. If the wind was blowing, you ran the risk of getting whacked in the face by a rogue offshoot of the power seeking thistles.

Once blinded, you then were free to trip over the paving stones that were slowly shifting position. Our conifer was jealous of the expansion plans of the thistles and was staging its own little rebellion by reaching for the stars and for the North Sea. The roots were forcing our path up and out, and many is the time that I have been labrador propelled down the path and ended up on my arse outside the garage because I got poked in the eye by a thistle and then tripped over the damn paving stone.

(I'd like to say that is how I broke my toe for the fifth time. But it would be a steaming pile of hotspur)

So after my latest mishap I decided to prune the thistles. I'd been putting it off for a while, partly through idleitis, partly through shit weather and partly because the Baron had hidden the good tools from me.

But the sun was shining and I was feeling like a little gardening.

I like pruning. It feeds the destructive little monster that resides within me that has little outlet in real life. Readers, I got my revenge on those thistles.

In fact, it would be fair to say that I decimated the buggers. They are gone. Not just the thistles that were taking over the garage, but the thistles that had staked a claim under the conifer, the thistles under the huge tree that I am allergic to but have no idea what it is, and the thistles that were slowly strangling the compost bin.

All gone.

The problem was that once that was all cleared, the garden, or overgrown helllhole as we affectionately call it, looked very lopsided. The trees looked out of place. It just wasn't right.

A vision of what could be floated before my eyes. An endless row of beans and peas taking the place of the ivy. Pots of carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, sweetcorn, courgettes and spinach where human feet could not currently tread. Hanging baskets of strawberries instead of thistles. Herbs instead of dead leaves.

And the monster inside called for more.

So I began a more extensive deforestation programme. The conifer tree was the first victim, and was surprisingly easy to deal with, given that it was over eight feet tall and I am just over five feet two.

One spade + one pair of shears + one determined Mouse = one ex tree

The second tree was a little more complicated. The above equation was not going to work. But that led to a new problem.

The rules of our house are simple. They have been refined throughout our nearly twelve years together (seven of which have been under a shared roof):

The Baron must turn his socks out the right way before putting them in the washing basket.
The Baron must empty his pockets before putting dirty clothes in the washing basket.
The Baron must put the seat down.
The Baron must be dropped off at the hospital if a cat needs emergency vet treatment.
Mouse cannot play the guitar if the Baron is in the house.
Mouse may not light candles unless there is a power cut or the cats are held hostage in a separate locked room.
Mouse must never ever ever use power tools without adult supervision.

Reinforcement was clearly needed in order for the house rules to be obeyed.

The Baron was very shocked to get out of bed and find most of the front garden neatly piled in one corner. He was even more shocked to be presented with a bacon sandwich, the electric saw and a request to remove an entire tree.

Bless him, he ate up and did as he was told.

One Baron armed with power tools + one Mouse in a supervisory role = another ex tree

I won't bore you with the details of actually clearing the remains of our newly discovered garden. It involved a fuck off huge bonfire, a disagreement with the neighbours visitors over the aforementioned bonfire, some fun with the hosepipe putting out the aforementioned bonfire, multiple trips to the recycling centre, a lost pair of gloves and a lot of sneezing.

The garden was a blank canvas. The vision was a step closer to reality. We would grow vegetables again, oh yes, we would.

The final step was the hardest.

Digging is bloody knackering. The Baron was very dedicated and really put his back into it. On the other hand, I would dig for fifteen minutes, bugger off and enjoy a cold beer and then come back for another fifteen minutes. Naturally the pace slowed as the alcohol consumption increased. I am a lush, after all, and I have just discovered a new lager from Barbados that slid down a treat.

Hey, it WAS a hot day.

But there was a corner that neither of us wanted to touch.

Just over two years ago, we placed my soul cat in a small hole in the front garden. We had planned to leave that corner alone and let him rest in peace. Something the little bastard never extended to me in life.

But the root ball of another plant had grown in to that spot and needed to be removed. With heavy hearts, we set to it.

For the record, two years is not enough time to fully decompose one small fluffy and evil cat.

Additionally, for the record, the Baron is petrified of remains of any sort. Which meant he dug with his eyes shut and ran away when he felt a crunch, leaving me to see that he had put the spade through my special cats skull, which still, after two years had the one tooth in it that was due to be cleaned before he was killed.

It's bad enough that I had to put him in that hole, but to have to remove bits of him again and put him in the bin (nowhere else safe to put him) was too much. I don't think there is alcohol enough in the world to make that better.

However, it had to be done and I am glad that it was me that did it. It was not a job I could have in all good conscience asked someone else to do. He was my cat.

But the work is all finished. The front garden is now awaiting the Great Planting Event of 2007, scheduled to take place in a few weeks when my seedlings are a little hardier.

As Bob would say. Job done. For now.

Main players

Since I have rehomed myself, I should reintroduce the cast of characters.

This is me. Mouse.

Not good enough? You mean I am supposed to show my face?

Fine. Is this better?


I am 29 now, and married to the Baron who is 30 (although acts more like he is 7):

We have no children, although it really isn't through lack of trying. We DO have a deranged 8 year old nephew, the Boy, who spends every other weekend with us (as well as every single Friday night) because according to him, we are more fun than Mum or Dad:

We live in a nice small village in the South of England. With us live the Monsters - six evil cats and two very deranged dogs.

There were three goldfish in the menagerie but they were relocated to the village pond.

I haven't seen them since, the little ingrates.

This is Frankie, the stupidest cat in the West. It is amazing he is still alive.

Smellie Ellie. Sweet, but certifiable.

This is Charlie. Don't be fooled by that sweet slumber. His other name is Agent Orange for a reason.

Eye eye! It's One Eyed Willy! She still likes to rub the empty socket on a willing nose. There just aren't all that many around.

This is Holly. Holly is a stroppy cat. See how she won't even look at me. She was sulking because I took a picture instead of stroked her.

This is Ozzie. He beat Charlie to the title of He Who Eats Enough To Power A Small Nuclear Power Station.

This is Darth Lila. Her nickname suits her. If she likes you, she pisses in your general direction. If she doesn't like you, she grumbles and pisses in your general direction.

This is Zach Attack! Note the resemblance to the above black cat? He has. He isn't sure whether he is a cat or a dog, but if it moves, he will hump it just to be sure.

Odds and sods

There is a full moon tonight, and as usual, the animals can sense it.

Ellie is walking around crying. She doesn't really seem to want anything but to hear the sound of her own voice. Zach snuck upstairs to see what was up and is now following her as she goes from room to room. He hasn't realised that I know he is up here.

I can't blame him. Lila's response to a full moon is predictable. She won't share her toys with Zach and she likes to try to eat his ears. She's downstairs alone watching America's Next Top Model, and barking at Miss J Alexander. I can't blame her - why the fuck does he call himself that?

The boy cats alternate between rampaging round my bedroom or sleeping. There is no middle ground for them. Holly and Willow watch disdainfully from my bed. They don't care what the moon is doing - it is welcome to do whatever it pleases as long as it doesn't disturb them.
And there is the first crash of the evening. Ellie has managed to get the ladder from the Boy's loftbed off.

I had my blood test yesterday. The Baron got a little stroppy because I wouldn't let him in the cubicle with me. I cope better alone, and I find that when he is trying to distract me, I am acutely aware that I am being distracted and will focus on why. Alone, I just watch the needle go in unfettered.

It was quite convenient since he had his follow up appointment with the surgeon who kindly de-appendicised him. He got the all clear and was told to bugger off and to not darken their doorway again. Well, they didn't say THAT, but they did say he didn't need to come back again.
Bloody good thing, really. I read today that Patientline, who provide the in hospital TV and phone service, are putting up their call charges by 160%. The greedy fuckers, already £80million in debt, spent £160million installing these new systems (that aren't that reliable) and want to recoup their investment. So they are targetting a vulnerable and captive audience in order to do so. What scum bags.

Anyway, I digress. I should get my results back on Tuesday and we can see if my thyroid malfunctions. My mother's does, and I fully expect mine to pack in service one of these days and retire to the Carribean. I wouldn't really blame it.

The Boy is currently on holiday with his Dad. I'm a bit lost without him, although the peace and quiet is nice. At least in theory. Zach is now crying along with Ellie. If it wasn't so damn annoying, it would be quite harmonious. The Boy...oh yes, he is in Cornwall. They went to the beach today, and the Boy's new (half) brother, aged ten weeks, got to put his feet in the sand for the first time. Apparently that gave him the giggles.

That will have to do for now. My cursor is dancing round the screen of its own accord and is frankly pissing me off. I'm off to drown my sorrows with a nice bottle of red.

Toodles.

Bad bad blogger

Not much has happened round here.

Charlie had his first bath after a nasty litter tray accident. He took it very well, and I didn't need too much in the way of medical attention afterwards.

Lila has a double ear infection and a new patch of wet ezcema. She tried to bite me this week when I tried to put cream on her sore bits, and given how much they are oozing, I don't really blame her for objecting.

She has decided that her various lotions and potions do, in fact, make her feel better, and so has come to the conclusion that I can treat her, but she will glare at me whilst I do so. And then lick me to death when I stop tormenting her.

She is currently sat next to me staring at me with her big brown eyes. Since I know she does get fed, she really is wasting her time with the "I'm starving and completely neglected" look. I think she is feeling a lot better now.

Zach is on my other side. He hasn't destroyed much in the last few days.

The Boy got 16 out of 16 on his spelling test. I am one proud auntie this evening.

For Sale

Item 1: One slightly damaged rottweiler (furless paws, electrical burn on tongue).
Aged 21 months, female. Enjoys bullying puppies, eating wires, and barking at the television. Very stroppy and prone to dribbling.

Item 2: One black labrador, good as new.
Aged 8 months, male. Believes he is a cat. Also enjoys eating electrical equipment. Has a history of knocking things over with his tail.

Item 3: One black cat, reasonable condition.
Aged nearly 4 years, male, incredibly stupid. He believes he is invisible. 'Nuff said.

Item 4: One tortoiseshell cat, excellent condition.
Aged three years, female. Very very very vocal. Enjoys headbutting, crying and winding up dogs. Scatters kibble over the entire kitchen.

Item 5: One fat orange cat, damaged ears, legs and bowels.
Age unknown, male. Grumpy. Enjoys sitting on the bath mat and laying in the sun.

Item 6: One tabby cat, damaged.
Age unknown, female. Missing one eye, several inches of tail and a lot of brain cells. Will watch food cook in the oven. Enjoys attacking quilts.

Item 7: One tabby cat, good condition.
Age unknown, but old. Female. Enjoys beating up cats, dogs and unsuspecting humans.

Item 8: One ginormous white cat, missing fur and teeth.
Age unknown, male. Will eat entire body weight in food on a daily basis if allowed.

Ex-ter-min-ate

I was somewhat surprised to come downstairs this morning and find a remote controlled Dalek on top of the television. I am fairly sure it was not there when I went to bed.

I was also surprised to find that both Zach and Lila are very afraid of it.

That doesn't stop me sending it on patrol around the living room, though.

Animal instinct

The Monsters know that I am sad.

Lila wants have contact with me at all times. She is guarding my feet right now. I put my hand down to stroke her reassuringly solid head, and am rewarded with a warm lick.

Zach is on my other side, his weight firm against my leg. His tail thumps every time I look at him.

Both follow me everywhere. They stick close together, as if to reassure themselves that things are ok. Little and Large, although Little is not that little anymore.

Charlie, Frankie and Ozzie are my constant companions in bed. Charlie takes my left arm and shoulder, Ozzie the right, and Frankie takes my chest.

Since I am having some sleeping problems at the moment, this isn't as annoying as it sounds. It is calming to lay in the dark, hearing and feeling the purrs of my three contented boys. Their presence is soothing.

Willow lays next to my right leg. Holly grudgingly takes my left leg. She'd rather be on my left shoulder, but Charlie nearly always gets there first and doesn't fight with the nearby boys. Both purr quietly. Holly bops me when she senses I am awake and not talking to her.

Ellie doesn't like to be on the bed with the other cats, but she jumps up in the night to check that all is well on her way to her favourite windowsill spot. If the boys have moved, she will lay on my chest for a while whilst headbutting my hand.

I feel surrounded by furry love.

Who would have thought?

…that such a small dog could hold such vast quantities of vomit?

Imagine my surprise shortly after breakfast this morning when I came across not one, not two, not three, but seven separate and large pools of dog sick, all in discreet spots around the ground floor. I should have realised that no puddles was a bad sign…
It turns out that Zach Attack! has been eating the small and very very sour apples that grow on our apple tree, and that they don’t really agree with him. He’s a very sweet, but very stupid dog.

It is hard not to feel sorry for Zach when you see his sad little face, with his big brown eyes and droopy ears. Even if the stupid bastard did bring it entirely on himself.

…that Darth Lila could be trusted around my breakfast?

Well, I did. I know, I know. I’m stupid too. I was just munching my toast and Zach threw up again by my foot. It didn’t stop him begging for my toast crust, of course, but it did put me off eating.

Rather than try to clean and eat at the same time, I put my slice of toast on the highest bookshelf in the conservatory. I could see Lila out of the corner of my eye just watching it. That wasn’t a surprise – she likes toast just as much as I do

What was a surprise was when she leapt up on the armchair, stood on the back of the seat and gracefully swiped my slice of toast from its resting place atop my battered copy of Birdsong. Zach merely watched in awe, and then threw up again.

…that a poorly dog would still find time to eat printer paper (in the whole thirty seconds that my back was turned)?

‘Nuff said. Git.

…that the Boy would make it to his 8th birthday in one piece?

I had my doubts, I have to admit. But so far the worst we’ve had is a couple of black eyes, some scabby knees and a handful of detentions for fighting. Happy Birthday to the ratbag!

He’s buggered off to Cornwall for two glorious weeks to visit his new stepmother’s parents. Or it could be her grandparents. I wasn’t actually listening when he told me, because we were in the middle of a thrilling Mario Kart race, where I had joined in after the Boy had completed two laps (he insists on a head start but surely two laps head start is taking the piss even for the second worst player in the world – my mother is the worst ever) and I was still winning. The shame.

…that the United in Fear Scaredy Cat Society meetings would take place in my conservatory? And that two of the three members were in fact dogs?

None of my pets like the hoover. True, none of them take it to the extreme of my parents rottweiler, who barks and bears his teeth at it, but it would be fair to say that all eight live in fear of the Coming of the Hoover.

I needed to hoover the stairs this weekend. I hate doing it, but Charlie and Ozzie had had a huge fight, and the stairs were coated in clumps of orange and white hair. They seem to get some enjoyment from chasing each other, then pinning each other down and headbutting each other. Whatever floats their boat…

The hoover lives upstairs in the back bedroom. Holly and Charlie hid as soon as they saw me pick it up. Charlie, bless his orange cotton socks, got all worked up and ran around trying frantically to hide. Holly dove under the bed.

Ozzie and Willow favour getting on the bed, and then fighting over who can lie where.
Frankie prefers the top of the kitchen counters, which is another story altogether, seeing as the stupid cat still has trouble getting back down.

And Ellie likes the conservatory.

If I had actually got round to hoovering the stairs, all would have been well. The cats would have sulked, the dogs would have cowered and my stairs would have looked a damn sight better.
But the computer was being temperamental. So the Baron had pulled the whole thing out and was busy trying to fix it. He decided he wanted to hoover the several dogs worth of fur out from behind the desk in the hopes that it would magically cure the problem.

So the hoover was in the living room. Ellie was sat on the sofa out in the conservatory trying to look cool and unconcerned (and failing miserably, I might add). The dogs took one look and shot out to join Ellie on the sofa.

All three of them looked petrified, and were trying to hide behind each other. Ellie had jumped on to the back of the sofa, and Zach was precariously balanced next to her, occasionally sniffing her face. Lila was sat in front of them, also trying to look brave (and failing. Her shaking was a bit of a giveaway).

The meeting commenced.

Lila put her huge head down next to Ellie’s little one, so that their noses were touching. Ellie responded with a silent hiss, which Lila ignored. Zach put his head down next to Lila. All three were touching.

Lila then licked Ellie all across her face. Ellie’s expression was priceless, and to be honest, she wasn’t all that impressed with the sheer amount of drool coating her fur. But she still didn’t pull away. Instead, she started to lick Lila’s nose.

Of course, by this time, Zach wanted to join in, and he started to lick Ellie too. Lila wasn’t having that, and bopped him across the head with her paw. He tried to bop her back, but missed and smacked Ellie instead. She glared at him, and bopped him between the eyes.

Meeting adjourned.

…that I am supposed to be writing a report right now?

Ummmmm.

If you were a fly on my wall

"Lila, don't eat Zach's tail"

"Frankie, stop headbutting the microwave"

"Lila, it's a broom. It won't hurt you"

"Zach, Frankie is not edible"

"Frankie, leave the bloody microwave alone!"

"Charlie, why are you eating Ozzie? He can't taste THAT good"

"Ellie, me sitting on the toilet is not an invitation for you to sit on my lap. Go away"

"Willow, stop attacking the quilt. It hasn't done anything wrong"

"Frankie, stop headbutting the toaster!"

"Zach, you DO NOT HUMP MY BACK!"

"Lila, it is a plastic bag. You are quite safe"

"Ellie. I am about to give you fresh food. You left that all night because you didn't want it. Why do you insist on starting to eat it as I go to empty your bowl AND THEN GLARE AT ME FOR TAKING YOUR BLOODY FOOD AWAY?!"

"Holly, stop hitting me. I mean it. I know you are there. It's hard not to notice when you have your claws embedded in my nipple"

"Zach, that skirt was clean. Stop jumping up!"

"Ozzie, if you don't let me groom you NOW, I will be forced to shave your entire bum to get rid of the mats. Do you want the other cats to laugh at you?"

"Lila, you are a girl. Why are you mounting Zach?"

"I hate you all. Leave home NOW"

When good weekends turn bad

Friday started off much as any other day does here.

I fed the Monsters, and then I took the dogs out for their walk. Walking two dogs isn't as easy as I hoped it might be. Zach spends most of his time trying to climb on Lila's back for a ride, which Lila completely ignores in favour of holding both her lead and Zach's lead in her mouth.

So we were on the Green, enjoying the early morning sunshine. People were walking to the bus stop and shouting greetings across the street. Just a pleasant morning.

Zach was half on Lila, half dangling in mid air. Lila was carefully ignoring Zach and sniffing a particularly fascinating patch of ground. I, of course, was hopelessly entangled in two extendable dog leads.

I'm fairly good at getting things untangled......after Zach unravelled my last knitting project I spent hours sorting out the mess of wool that he left behind, and I managed to untangle and save nearly all of it.

So after a few minutes of going round, under, over and back round the dogs, I had us all free and ready to go.

That's when I fell over.

So Friday passed in a drug filled haze, as I took painkiller after painkiller to ease the pain of my throbbing ankle. It had only just healed properly from the time I took a tumble over Lila last year....

Today started off with a breakfast of milk and more painkillers for me, and half rations for the dogs. Someone (pointing no fingers at all) had failed to notice that the dog biscuits were nearly all gone.

That meant a trip to the supermarket, instead of the planned "do bugger all and rest the ankle" day. It's a good thing that I took yet more painkillers before I went to enable me to walk round, because I managed to break my toe by ramming my own trolley into my foot.

I am not going outside again this weekend. In fact, I might not move from the sofa at all.
It has GOT to be safer :)

Question and answer

1. Why are puppies so cute?

So you don't kill them when they eat:

Your house telephone;
The blanket you have been knitting for weeks;
Cat shit;
The piano stool;
The Darth Vader water feature that lives in your pond; and
The fish that live in your pond. OK, he didn't eat them, but he keeps getting in to sniff them.

2. Why do rottweilers have such thick necks?

So you can't strangle them when they help your puppy to eat the aforementioned items.

3. Where do all the Jaffa Cakes go?

In my tummy. I am a Jaffaholic.

4. How did Lila break her toe?

Fuck knows. That dog is a mystery.

5. Why am I such a lazy blogger?

Because I spend most of my time at home these days trying to stop the wave of destruction named Zach :)

Hell Hound

We went back to the vets.

Given that her foot clearly was causing her pain, it was perhaps inevitable that she reacted badly to having it poked again. Personally, I would have expected growls and an attempted arm removal, but this vet was more optimistic than I.

I like this vet a lot as she is not just knowledgeable about cats and dogs, but is also very open to owner research and holistic medicine. However, I find holding a conversation whilst looking at her quite hard. She is crossed eyed. Perhaps she had trouble focusing on Lila's menacingly bared teeth....

After a swiftly terminated poke, a large muzzle was provided. Sadly, Lila is adept at removing them and the poking ceased almost as quickly as it commenced. Lila was simply not having her foot touched and that was that.

We decided that the best way to proceed was to knock her out. A large hammer was found and we repeatedly hit her on the head until she passed out.

I may have made that last bit up.

We made an appointment for the following day. Lila was duly starved and returned to the vets the next morning. She hopped out of the car with a surprising amount of glee for a dog at the vets again with a sore foot.

Things didn't start promisingly.

Lila refused to climb on the weighing scales. Last time she was weighed she was 37 kilos, but that was a little while ago and without an accurate weight, giving her anaesthetic would be problematic. It was decided to go ahead with a sedative and weight her later.

A puppy had been brought in as an emergency. She had constipation and was howling mournfully as she underwent repeated enema's.

Lila was supposed to be getting sleepy, but instead she was getting agitated by the puppy's cries. We were taken to an empty consulting room where I sat on the floor with her and helped her give in to the effects of the sedative.

The idea of the sedative was to relax her, weigh her, walk her through to the X Ray room and lightly anaesthetise her.

The best plans are those that work. This plan had a fundamental flaw which was very quickly discovered. Lila had been given a leeetttllleee too much sedative and was not going to be walking anywhere.

After crapping all over the floor, Lila fell into a deep slumber from which she was reluctant to stir. One well known problem with this sedative is that dogs can appear to be deeply asleep, but can come round extremely quickly, bite whoever is nearest in their confusion, and then drop off into another snooze. Sleeping Beauty was therefore muzzled again.

(I wish they had told me about that before her spay and hernia repair. That would have saved me some nice facial bruising.)

So Lila was carted off the the X Ray machine on a stretcher. No anaesthetic was given as she was so out of it. I picked her up no more than two hours after I left her.

She spent the rest of the day trying to stay awake and failing miserably. She would start to chew her bone (a bone that Zach covets and is not allowed) and fall asleep mid chew. Zach would pinch it with glee and sneak away for a quiet chew.

The upshot of all this drama?

The stupid bloody dog has a broken toe.

Situation normal

So the Easter break went well.

Naturally, since the vets were shut, Lila felt the need to injure her leg. We think she twisted it whilst playing with Zach.

She won't put weight on it, she growls menacingly if you touch it and she randomly cries. Not like my big strapping girl at all.

So off to the emergency vet we went. They love us too. We spend a fair bit there as well.

Since they couldn't find anything wrong, they gave her some painkillers roughly the size of horse tablets and she has spent the last three days zonked out. She is still in pain, so back we go later.

I didn't even need to give my name on the phone.

Wheee!

Big Dog pushed Little Dog into the pond. I suspect Big Dog was scared by the frog that has taken up residence, and tried to use Little Dog as a diversion whilst she legged it.

He didn't mind. He came running in, soaking wet, tail wagging, and looking very pleased with himself. Nothing fazes that dog. Not even Darth Lila trying to swing him round by his tail.

She has a fascination with tails. I don't blame her, since she is ill equpped in the tail department herself, but the cats do get a little narked when she tries to hold theirs in her mouth.

Zach does take enormous liberties with her, much as she did with her uncle. He clambers all over her, bites her face and her legs (and then runs away very quickly) and steals her toys. Then again, much like Harvey, Lila truly believes that all toys belong to her anyway. She will remove any toy that Zach has in his mouth as a matter of principle. He then gets another, and whilst she takes that, he runs off with the original toy that he really wanted and sits under the table.

Lila is far too huge to fit under the table these days. Lila is a big girl now, and weighs nearly seven stone.

But they love each other. They are inseparable, my Little and Large.

Toxic farts

I am being gassed out.

I now have two dogs with toxic farts. Eeeewwww. The cats are hiding upstairs to escape the clouds of noxious gases the pair of them are emitting, and I am sorely tempted to do the same.
Added to that the fact that Lila has a major tizzy every single time Zach even looks at one of her toys. Please note that all toys belong to Lila, even those I bought for Zach. She doesn't do sharing at all.

Other than that, the pair get on fine. They have a shared love of eating, farting, and generally being in the way that will see them past their toy difficulties.

More blech

The computer is still buggered. Lila chewed through the power cable and that somehow blew the motherboard. Not to mention the fact that it gave her a nice little shock :)

Seriously, she looked like Jar Jar bloody Binks, running around with her tongue poking out. Stupid dog.

I'm on the mend from the food poisoning. Unfortunately, I got brave and went back to work, where I managed to pick up a nasty viral thing on my first day back. I've found that people aren't pleased to see an auditor at the best of time, let alone one clearly infected with the Lurgy, and so work isn't really an option until I shift this.

So I am off again, with glands the size of golf balls, a barking cough and a crazy dog with a newfound phobia of power cables. And I am supposed to relax and get better?!

'Tis the season

Christmas and animals are a bad combination. A partnership designed to fail. Just ask a turkey....

Lila is scared of Christmas lights. Which is a big problem since half the village has outdoor lights up. She barks and tries to hide between my legs, which of course, would work if she was a poodle. But she isn't, and frankly, she looks quite daft getting upset by a giant illuminated Santa.

Ellie and Frankie are braver. They spend a large portion of their day trying to eat the tree. Frankie in particular likes to hide underneath it and pounce on anyone passing. Sadly, the tree is in the conservatory and so no-one passes it. He will sit for hours just waiting, occasionally batting a branch to pass the time. After a few hours, he might pounce on Ellie, who then smacks the living crap out of him. He isn't the brightest cat around because this usually happens on a daily basis.

Ellie also likes to look at the lights at night-time. She talks to them for hours on end.

Charlie and Ozzie have been caught trying to steal decorations. It is nice to see Charlie being mischievous, but there are things that no respectable Christmas Angel should have to endure, and being molested by two overweight and neutered toms is one of them.

Thankfully, Willow and Holly aren't showing any signs of caring about Christmas. Neither allow anything to stand between them and their naps, but I guarantee that as soon as the turkey goes in the oven, Willow will be underfoot until she receives what she considers to be her fair share.

And things can only get worse. Tonight is a full moon.

Hold me.

One today

Darth Lila is one today. Here she is, in all her birthday glory (she wears the collar - Uncle Sam is nekkid):

Four days

I've turned to drink today. My first though was the Dark Side, but one Dark Lord in the household is enough.

Darth Lila has taken to grabbing my foot when I am sat in the swivel chair and dragging me round in circles.

So alcohol it is.