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Dogs and Moles and Relations, oh my…

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Seems to have been an absolute Ian since I updated (Yes … intentional pun). Been reading the-IT-Man’s diary and laughing about the idiocy of the world relating to the ongoing survival of the Mole People.

Well let’s see. Dogs seem to have improved over the last week or so curiously. Firstly they don’t bark and whine in the morning, so I am getting back to having enough sleep to function as a human being. I, of course, DO still bark and whine, but that’s just a medical condition. Seth (the lighter of the two dogs and the one with an IQ but a mental age of the terrible twos) has formed an unhealthy obsession with tractors. We live in a village, so there are rather a lot of them. And he wants them. All. He whines and barks when they go past. He sticks his head through the gate to get closer to them. Weird, as he doesn’t seem to care about other wheeled vehicles. I can only assume that some time in the Palaeolithic era when dogs were still wild hunters there was some kind of fat mastodon that bore an uncanny resemblance to a Massey Ferguson and that race-memory is telling Seth that there are at least a dozen meals on that thing. Murphy, our other dog, seems to have a higher mental age, but at the same time to have the IQ of a Cheese and Pickle Sandwich and is trying out for Coward of the Year award. It’s a good job they’re both beautiful and loving eh? They’ve learned that the Utility Room is where their food is prepared and that it’s the only room in the house where, even when shut, leaning very heavily on the door opens it. So tonight I get to attach and extra latch. They are still apparently climbing and tightrope walking around the kitchen and have almost broken our kettle so it’s now kept in a really inaccessible place. Other than that we’re getting better.

Tomorrow I will not be in work as I’m going to a funeral. I’m not massively down about it or anything. The lady was a distant relation and, while I rather liked her, it’s more out of respect for my great aunt’s feelings and that rapidly-diminishing side of my family that I’m going. The first to go on that side that I vaguely remember was a guy called Nat. He died in 1975 and I remember him being a real nice guy. He was a good friend of my grandfather and the two of them did a lot of stuff together. Nat had suffered all his life with Polio, but had not let it inconvenience him and had driven the butchers van around the Yorkshire Dales his whole life. He also won the Bainbridge Rally with my granddad many times. I learned the other night that my granddad used to call him crafty. They won the rally regularly because in those days no-one had an automatic vehicle and one of the tests was a hill start with an egg behind the wheel that must be unbroken. Nat of course, because of his condition, had an automatic. Good on you man. Fight the system. Anyway, I shall be paying my respects to them tomorrow.

And because I seem unable to write on here without a rant about the Creature from the Black Latrine that is the bane of my life… here goes.

It took him almost a year after my dad’s illness to stop asking me on a daily basis if my father was alright. Yes, Moley… he’s fine.

Now he has an array of questions. And does he vary them for a change? No. Every day the question and answer goes like this:

  • How are the dogs?
  • They’re fine.
  • Did you have a good lunch?
  • Yes.
  • Has Mrs Moosehunter got a teaching job yet?
  • No.
  • Would you like a drink?
  • Dear God, no.

And, on Fridays we get the extra special: Well it’s feel-good Friday again eh?

This one is especially well timed. He only asks this if there’s some particularly good reason he shouldn’t. Witness the last few times:

  • Well it’s feel-good Friday again eh?
  • The dogs destroyed all the crockery we got for a wedding present, so no.
  • Well it’s feel-good Friday again eh?
  • My dad’s cousin died yesterday, so no.
  • Well it’s feel-good Friday again eh?
  • We crashed the car this week and are wondering how we’re going to get around next week, so no.

Etc.. etc.. etc..

So since I’m going to a funeral tomorrow, I’m expecting him this afternoon to say “Well it’s feel-good Friday tomorrow anyway.”

Yesterday he hummed all day. ALL DAY. ONE NOTE! Not a tune, just one GODDAM note! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

I was ready to strangle him with his own intestine by the end of the day.

Anyway. I think that’s enough for now. After all, I have to go and find my eviscerating knife…



Written by SJAT

January 27, 2010 at 4:46 pm

One Response

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  1. Sorry for your loss. But it is a verrry funny entry… Jules



    March 3, 2010 at 4:15 am

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