Santa's Little Helpers

Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring

Not even a mouse

But the hovies are a-waiting

For midnight to strike

So they can go out

For a wonderful hike

Seems Santa is poorly

And just cannot cope;

And this band of brave doggies

Is his best and last hope

Lead dog is Riversong

A proud girl indeed

A perfect combination

Of power and speed

Her co-pilot is Skara

Her coat full of sheen

Her energy is endless

She’s youthful and keen

The rear guard is Tussock

An experienced old girl

Quite happy to go for

A clandestine whirl

 

Also in attendance

Is Talulah the flattie

Full of enthusiasm

But ever so scatty

And driving the sleigh on this

Night of all nights

Is pack leader Jan with the

Stars in her sights

But we need to get dressed

So we look the part

And that means some costumes

Before we can start

We need some tree branches

To go round the face

And plenty of sticky tape

To hold it in place

We then need a red nose

To show us the way

And glitter and tinsel

To put on the sleigh

Sadly this is where

We meet disarray

Dressing up hovies?

To hitch to a sleigh?

River is wanting to go right away

No way does she wish to stand still

She huffs and puffs as I put on her traces

Hurrying me with the strength of her will

And Skara’s decided the costumes are naff

And no longer wants to dress up

She wriggles and shuffles and rolls on the ground

And causes a major hold-up

Talulah is also so keen to move on

But like river she fidgets and jumps

Her vertical take-offs are something to see

But her energy’s escaping as trumps

Tussock is bored with the whole silly farce

And insists on going to sleep

I have to persuade her to shift off her butt

And the stress is making me weep

I take a step back and I look at the mess

And at what is attached to each hound

The branches are broken and chewed up in bits

And the parcel tape stuck to the ground

The traces are wrapped around both of my legs

And my arms are attached to my head

The thought of flying the skies just right now

Fills me with a deep sense of dread

I manage to wriggle a hand from the mess

And find a bottle of whisky

I glug a bit down and then with a frown

Realise driving is going to be risky

But suddenly a shout goes up through the night

And a streak shoots over the skies

Perhaps Santa is better and can do his own job

Or the elves have launched a surprise

But no! The colours are wrong and the reindeer too small

There’s a hint of some black and some white

The organised collies have seen our disorder

And now are the stars of the night!

Merry Christmas Everyone!

A Wind is Blowing

We all have wind from time to time

It’s a natural part of living

It only becomes a problem

When the smell is unforgiving

Tussock is the older dog

And her body is loosening off

As she climbs upon the sofa

Her bottom gently coughs

I rarely hear Talulah parp

Unless they are always silent

But I’ll never know for sure

Because they’re certainly never violent

Skara does some pips and pops

But nothing too alarming

They are quite like the rest of her:

Sweet and cute and charming

River has been known to cause

Some night time entertainment

I only wish I had a box

For gaseous containment

I woke last night to noxious fumes

Arising from her bum

A slow and thick and heavy gas;

Which left my senses numb

But Sisko was the King of Farts

Nobody would deny

His emissions after a knuckle bone

Would bring tears into your eyes

Nobody ever told him

That a bone was just to gnaw

His mission was to eat the lot

Leaving little for the craws

He would come in looking chuffed to bits

At conquering such a feast

Then settle down to have a sleep …

…whilst brewing his inner beast

And just in time for guests arriving

He’d suddenly wake up again

And dash out through the open door

Like a supersonic train

At the point the guests walk through the door

You understand his hurry

The gasses milling round your feet 

Are reminiscent of slurry

They grab the bottom of your legs

And climb up on your clothes

Heading to their destination:

The innards of your nose

They hang on to your nostril hairs

Bringing tears into your eyes

And through the haze of evil gas

You suddenly realise

The guests think you’re the author of

This fetid smelling fog

And all that you can think to say -

“It was the bloody dog.”

Missing Dog

We are slightly bereft this morning - we have no Talulah!!  And how we miss her.  But don't worry, she is just a quarter of a mile up the road, having a weekend with her "dad".....

People have often asked me how I cope with four big dogs.  I don't really see it as coping, rather it is just a way of life.  I have had some folks say that at least I wouldn't notice it if I lost one - I would still have three more.  That says more about them than me and most dog owners that I know.  Would you say such a thing to someone who has lost one of four children?  No.  Each child and each dog is an individual and brings their own touch to a cohesive unit.  Granted, if you do lose one, then yes, you still do have others to love and cuddle, but it doesn't stop  you missing that lost individual.

But back to Talulah.  Chris and I have often discussed her having some lone time with him.  As she gets a bit older, she has been showing a preference for "me time".  She stays downstairs at bedtime for a few hours, she sometimes doesn't want to go in the back of the vehicle with the others, often does her own thing out on a walk, gets a bit grumpy with the younger ones, goes up to the bedroom in the evening, or if it is summer, stays out in the conservatory.  She also loves to go visit Chris.

I have often left Tussock and Talulah with Chris if I have been taking the two youngsters to a show, and lately, on returning, Talulah has actually been quite "off" with them on their return.

Anyway, we decided to give it a go this weekend and Chris picked her up on his way home from work last night.  How strange it was without her last night - and the other three dogs noticed it too.

I missed the 9.30 reminder that it was nearly supper time.  I missed my special cuddle time that I have with her before going to bed.  I missed the grumble from the sitting room as I came down to the loo in the night.  I missed the gentle woof at the bottom of the stairs as she asks me to put the light on when she is ready to come up in the night.  I missed the jostling for position that she and Skara perform on the bed.  I missed the pre alarm clock whines and whistles as she tells me it is nearly breakfast time.  I missed the frantic scuffle as she finds my slippers to take downstairs and presents them, foot-ready, in the sitting room.  I missed the fight for my socks.  I missed the vertical jumps at the door as she waits to get outside.  I missed the increasingly loud whingeing as I prepare their breakfasts.  I missed the paddling she does with her front feet as I go to put her bowl down.  I missed the growl as she bursts back through the door when I let her in the house when she has finished, and she aims for the other bowls to see if anything has been missed.  I missed her morning grumpy sounding growls as she wishes everyone good morning and how it increases in volume as she vies with Tussock for the morning bum scratch.  I miss seeing her and Skara have their morning play session, with River voicing her jealousy.

And it's only 9.30 am...... Going to be a long weekend!

And the other three are very quiet too - there is an air of puzzlement about them.  Part of their team is missing, and it will be interesting to see how they adjust, and who will fill in for each of her duties within the unit, and in what way.  It will be also interesting to see how they will be when she comes home again.  Will she tell them all off for invading her space, or will they tell her off for going away?

It isn't a permanent arrangement.  She will be generally be better off with me due to our different jobs and lifestyles, but it may well be that she will spend a bit more time on her own with Chris at weekends.  And I have to put aside any ego accepting that she might actually prefer to be there!

Who Goes There?!

I wrote the following about three years ago - I never really finished it, and wasn't really happy with it, so shoved it in the draft folder and forgot about it.  It was only reading a facebook post by a friend on a similar kind of subject that reminded me that I had written something similar at some time.  For me, it is fascinating to realise how much has changed in three years but will update on that later.  This is how it was:

My dogs have their own hierarchy of greetings, and each of them has their own vocabulary and body language for these varying occasions.  I will talk about Tussock here, though, partly because I know her best, and partly, because she is the boss dog, it is often her body language I watch to see how a situation may evolve, although that also is very fluid as sometimes it is one of the others I need to watch!

I suppose to a non dog person or someone who doesn't know Tussock's personality will not be aware of the enormous vocabulary she possesses - which any dog has, for that matter.  The tiny movement or the specific tilt or level of the head tells me that something is coming, going, happening or happened, and how she feels about it.  Or the half note change of pitch in the bark can say a similar thing.  Of course, as in communication between humans, I have to be listening or observing, and to do that we have to be alive in the moment - not digging in the past, or meddling with the future, or going round in endless circles mulling over a problem of the present.  I am guilty of all three and I have to work very hard to stay in the moment.  Of course, when I do, it's brilliant!  I see more, hear more, feel more and notice more.  You'd think we would learn the lesson.... ha ha ha!

But back to Tussock.  Out on a walk, if her head position is up and right back with ears raised, it means high alert!  Unidentified person/dog/animal/situation/prey/ in sight.  That tells me to get my act together NOW and get her attention before she legs it and acts on her own initiative.  If she does that, it isn't always a problem - but it could be.

Head long and low with ears lowered tells me her focus has increased and this probably means it is a dog approaching.  Down in a crouch is the precursor to moving in towards the dog and I have often considered this as the time to get hold of her!  She isn't a troublemaker in any way - indeed, recent interpretation from a trainer friend suggests she is a tad anxious, but if I don't know the approaching dog, I have no idea of the "conversation" that might take place in the ensuing moments.

In the garden all the dogs are quite vigilant at keeping their patch free of intruders -

Tussock in particular has an enormous vocabulary in this department.  It is fascinating to watch her subtleties in all situations.  Again, I can usually tell by the position of her head that there is “something” out there, something she feels she needs to keep an eye on.  Or she might let out a low growl intended as a warning to me that the something is getting close.  The single bark means “Oi!  I’m watching you” or “Mum – you might be needed”.    Then we get to the real ferocious deep bark which means there is a dog going past.  She is actually pretty okay with other dogs, but not on her patch, thank you very much.  The mid level bark says it is a person – if it goes up in pitch it means it’s someone she knows and the higher it gets, the more she likes them.  If they are outside, I can tell where the “something” is, who it might be, and at what point they reach the gate and if I am needed to give them safe passage – just on the volume and tone of voice.

River is enthusiastic in her greeting, but hasn’t fully learned the subtleties required of her.  She is all noise and bluster – a mix of her own fear and insecurities and an adolescent attitude.

Talulah generally lets the other two go onto the front line but it is her antics that are the funniest.  She does bark, but the rest of her energy is spent jumping up and down on the spot, and gathering as much stuff in her mouth as possible.   I doubt she could ever bit an intruder as it takes her long enough to empty her mouth.

The Wood Pile

A few days ago, I took some time out to try to get to the bottom of my woodpile.  I don’t often see the pallets at the bottom as, more often or not, more wood is dumped on before I get to the bottom of the existing pile.  All my wood is collected by hand, and cut by hand – never using a chainsaw.  Lots of people think I am crazy, but I don’t think so.

If I am collecting driftwood off the shore, I am simultaneously exercising the dogs, exercising myself, enjoying the fresh air, watching the gulls, the heron, listening to the wind, or to the quiet.  I find myself reflecting on where the wood might have come from, how long it has been in the water, or, indeed, how long buried in the sand before being washed up.  I can look in among the seaweed for anything of interest.  I look at the shape of the wood, imagining where it once stood when it was part of a tree.

If I am collecting in woods, or fields, I can watch the sheep or cattle and listen to their conversations, or listen to the birds, keep an eye out for buzzards, ravens, pine marten, squirrels, deer.  Sometimes I don’t see anything because the dogs are playing boisterously around the grass or trees.  But once again, it is an opportunity to be outside with my dogs.

The collection is often left in piles to dry out a bit and then eventually piled up in the vehicle to go home, and once again all handled onto the wood pile just inside my gate.  My hands invariably smell of earth, or sea, or both, and my clothes covered in moss or seaweed – or both.

When it comes to cutting it into lengths, because I don’t use a chainsaw, it means the dogs can be outside with me.  They know to keep out of the range of the bowsaw, and if they do get too close, it is easy enough to halt in my movement.  As I handle the wood onto my sawhorse, I often remember finding that bit, sometimes I remember an incident attached to it.  I rarely cut rhododendron without remembering the cut to the bone of my finger in a momentary lapse of concentration.  I think I was rushing that day….I should know better.

The Cutting Room Floor

And The View From The Cutting Room Floor

I like to cut wood in the morning sunshine – we have had precious little of that this year, hence this late push to get some more done.  As I cut, I often put pieces aside, with thoughts of something else I might do with it. 

Might find another use for this.

Each season brings its own entertainment; the courting birdsong of early spring, the rush and push to get as much food as possible for baby birds, the neighbour’s chickens, the wind in the trees, the joy of a line of washing blowing in a warm summer wind, the oystercatchers down on the shore, visiting children next door.

I watch Tussock sleeping at the foot of the house steps, gradually turning from black to speckly black as sawdust drifts over and settles on her.   Talulah curls up to the side of me for a time, watching what I am doing.  River and Skara watch out for intruders.  Or they all sunbathe on the path.

I think they were watching a passing crow here.

Or sometimes we have a bit of play time.

I think this might have been a hot day.

And once it is cut, then it is sorted into which pile it will go on – good and dry goes in the early winter pile, seasoned but a bit damp goes in the mid-winter pile, not quite ready, but will be in a month or two goes in the late-winter pile.  Then there is the next-winter pile. 

Early Winter Pile

The Middle One

The Later Pile

Still needs a bit of seasoning.

During the winter, when the stove is burning 24 hours a day, I can take satisfaction in knowing that all my heating and hot water has come from my own efforts.  But more than that, each hour I spend out there by my saw horse, I am forced to slow down, to pace myself, to be aware of what is around me.  I feel grounded, and connected.          

Time to put the feet up.

             

Adventures Inside a Campervan

So, I got myself a little campervan.  It was time to change my vehicle, and I wanted to go for something completely different.  The pickup was great - but it did mean that the dogs were apart from me, and in the winter it was rather cold and draughty back there for them.  I also fancied something I could sleep in giving me the opportunity to spend the odd night away from home without the faff of putting up a tent.  Initially I was aiming for an empty van, to kit out as I saw fit, but to cut a long story short, I was sold on the romance of a little van ready kitted out with a cooker, a fridge, and a sink.

When we finally got it, we had a few weeks of running around and getting used to it.  The dogs very quickly adapted to their new home on wheels - and I got the feeling they were happy within it.  For me, it was nice to drive, and very comfortable - my only gripe, really, was the fuel consumption - but we'll see how we get along with that.  And I could see a few issues keeping it clean, but...... we can certainly live with that!

Time came around to go to the annual Hovawart GB show down in Oswestry - a round trip of about 800 miles, and so I got organised for a few nights away, filling the fridge, buying some gas for the cooker, putting in my bedding and so on.  I was only taking River and Skara with me, so no problems with space.  We were all set to go!

We set off at around 4pm on a Friday afternoon with the intention of getting as far as Tebay services on the M6, and spending a night there before finishing the journey on the Saturday morning.

However, my first night in the van wasn't quite the romantic, cosy affair I had anticipated - cuddled up with the dogs and sleeping soundly for a full night.  I had chosen a van which gave me the option of  sleeping on flattened down seats, if only travelling with two dogs, or up the top if I had all four of them, and after rolling up at 1030, and choosing a quiet corner to park overnight, I got to work to set ourselves up for the night.

I removed the netting which prevents the dogs going to the front seats, took off the headrests from the passenger seat and the single seat behind it, flattened the two of them down to make the bed.  The dogs went out for their last pee, the blinds went up, curtains closed, last visit to the loo, lights on.  Our first night in the van!  How exciting!  We sat down to read for a while, and have a night cap.  The dogs were a little puzzled by this accommodation, but they soon settled - as close to me as they could get at one point.

It looks huge, here, but it really is only a small van!

Cosy together on the memory foam bed.

I climbed into my sleeping bag and lay down on the flattened seats and at this point I realised that whoever designed this set-up either had no concept of human anatomy, or they were having a laugh.  The dips and rises were in the wrong places and there was no way I could get comfortable on my back.  Or my left side.  Or my right side.  I tried with my head at the other end.  Same problem.

After about half an hour, I decided the dogs could have my "bed" and I would have the memory foam dog bed on the floor.  So the lights went back on, we all shuffled round and settled back down again.  But River couldn't get comfortable on the seats either, and she came down to join me.  That made it a little cramped, and my arse was hanging over the doorstep, and getting cold.  Turned over - no, that didn't work either.  I found something to cover my bum, but no matter how I tried, I couldn't find a comfy position in which to sleep.  I began to curse the coffee I had drunk at the beginning of the journey.

In a state of agitation, I decided I would go up top.  The lights went back on, the bedding boards put into place, the memory foam was taken out of the dog bed and hoisted up, sleeping bag and pillows thrown up with it, and then the scramble to hoist myself up there.

Now there isn't a huge amount of headroom up there, and with a few bangs to the head, I got back into the sleeping bag, pillows under my head.  Sigh.. Now to sleep.  But it was at this point I realised the memory foam was showing its age - or maybe it was me.  Whatever the reason, there wasn't much cushioning between me and the boards under me.  I tossed and turned for quite some time - almost fell asleep a couple of times, but came fully awake each time I moved and was aware of the hardness of the floor.

I gave it a good try, but then decided to come back down again.  And I needed a pee.  So up came the bed boards, threw down the sleeping bag, the foam topper, and then came down myself.  Lights back on again to I could see what I was doing.  Opened the side door to go out to pee, only to find a truck load of workmen parked just a few yards away.  Eek!  Opened up the other side door, to find a little motor car which was very much occupied.  I daresay the occupants may not have noticed me streaking by their windows or dancing on their bonnet given their own activity at the time, but modesty dictated a more discreet method of relieving myself.

Once back in, I put the memory foam on top of the seats.  Skara loved this, and stretched out in luxury until I shifted her to the end of the "bed".  Back into my sleeping bag, and sigh...... but not for long - the peaks and troughs of the seat were still too obvious to my tired body.  After much time of shuffling and sighing, accompanied by the dogs complaining about my restlessness I think I might have fallen asleep - only to be rudely awakened by quacking ducks.  Now, quacking ducks really do sound as though they are laughing, and for all I know they might have been laughing at me.  In the dark, I hadn't realised I had parked near the duckpond

I then had the bright idea of filling in one of the troughs with a cushion of some description, so back out of the sleeping bag, lights back on, rootle about in the cupboards for something to do the job, and then back in the bag.  I finally felt comfortable and drifted off into sleep again.  Skara was happy curled up at my feet, and River was contented on the floor.   Only problem was, by this time I didn't have a huge amount of time in which to sleep before I needed to be up and away.

When the alarm went off, and I got up, I realised it was going to take me forever to tidy up to get shipshape for travelling again!  How once person can create so much of a guddle, I will never know.  And I couldn't blame the dogs on this occasion.

My parents have a van about the same size as this one, although laid out differently.  But theirs is tidy.....and I somehow doubt I will ever have my mother's ability to keep everything shipshape!

We were greeted by a glorious morning of rainbows and rain - the duckpond was right next to where we had parked, indeed the overnight rain had created another pond around the van. 

Normal Service Has Been Resumed

Well, the last two posts here have been a bit personal, a bit hard to write, and I expect even harder to read - but I am not embarrassed by them because I know damned fine there are many people out there going through life as though they are wading through mud with dark clouds flanking their every move.

What I am, however, is surprised - at how much better I am feeling in less than a week.  The clouds have lifted, and the sun is starting to be visible, the mud has gone, although it is still a bit sticky underfoot, and my brain is actually starting to make sense of life again.

Two, maybe three, years ago, I came across an article about a nutrient - vitamin B12.  What I read resonated with me, and I went on to read more.  As a result I started taking a supplement, and was astounded at how much better I felt.  I stayed on it for quite a while - but on one occasion when I ran out, I never got round to ordering more.  I kind of thought I no longer needed it.  I was "better".

Back on Tuesday, I found a lonely little tablet of vitamin B12 in the cupboard - the light bulb went on and I popped it in my mouth.  I bought some supplies on Thursday, and the difference is astonishing.  I feel normal again - well, recovering!  My sense of humour is returning.

I settled down to do a bit more reading and did actually discover something I didn't know before.  The absorption of this nutrient is impaired by quite a few prescription drugs including anti-epilepsy drugs which I have been taking for nearly 40 years.  For 35 of those years I have struggled with a tendency to feel down, or downright depressed.  Little wonder.

It is mostly found in fish, shellfish, meat, organ meat and eggs, and given I have been pretty much vegetarian for the last couple of months, it isn't surprising that a stressful incident would push me over the edge.

A deficiency in B12, and the many symptoms that can come with it, is responsible for a number of mis-diagnoses - dementia, depression, parkinsons are just a few.  If the deficiency remains untreated, then  those diseases will actually well and truly manifest themselves as the brain gradually grinds to a halt in so many functions.

Those most likely to be affected are women over 50, people taking medication for diabetes, epilepsy and indigestion, and folks who don't eat meat and fish.

This is a simplistic view - there is a huge amount of information out there.  All I can say is thank goodness for the internet.

Thanks for your support this last few weeks.  I will go back to talking dogs again now.

Collateral Damage

So.  My last post now seems a little self indulgent.  I almost took it down, but no - we are told we must speak about these things more openly.  There are many of us who have times like that - and some of those times seem to last for ever, with no light at the end of the tunnel.  Been there and done that.  I guess some people are more sensitive, and more susceptible than others to the ravages of anxiety and depression.  It makes sense to me more now that I have realised I have, as yet, untapped, empathic abilities.  But that is a whole different subject.

You might wonder what the hell that post had to do with dogs, or this one for that matter - given this is meant to be a blog about dogs.  The answer finally came to me at 4.30 this morning.

The day before I wrote that post I had an "incident" at work.  One of the dogs ran into a chap at work just as he was leaving a cottage - he tripped over the dog, fell down some steps, banged his head, hurt his wrist, and hurt his already injured knee for which he is awaiting surgery.  I didn't see it happen, but eventually heard his shout.  I went out, he told me what had happened - without accusation, but with much pain - and I finished his jobs off and turned the pick-up so he could easily drive back to base.

I was cursing myself as I had got into the habit of always putting the dogs in the car while anyone else was at a cottage other than me and my workmate.  This particular chap, some time ago, said "don't worry - they don't bother me".  And when I watched them, I could see that they didn't - I guess he had growled at them often enough that they learned to keep out of his way.  Until that day.  He didn't see her coming and vice versa.   He ended up being taken to A&E, wasting his time, a colleague's time, and causing extra work for all.  To put a nail in the coffin, the dogs remained out only for me to look out a little while later and see my boss and another worker had arrived to do another job without my having heard them - and for once, the dogs didn't bark to warn me of someone coming.  The boss is none too fond of my dogs given that River has had a go at his own very sweet labrador on a couple of occasions, and the other chap loathes them.  I think he is also a little afraid of them.  At that point, I rounded them up, and to their credit, they came immediately and piled into the car.

From that point onward, my state of mind went steadily downwards into depths I haven't visited for some time, and the door to which I believed I had locked firmly behind me after my last trip.

The lad had a suspected broken wrist, severe soft tissue damage to his knee and a bump on his head.  He was to be off work for an unknown length of time making me, I felt, the pariah of the workplace.  I cleared off home as soon as I could that night, and, other than phoning the lad to see how he was and to apologise once again, holed up for the weekend steadily going downhill.  But Monday came round and I was asked up to the "office" to chat over a few things.

I had already gone through various scenarios.  I felt fairly sure I was going to be asked to not bring the dogs to work, and I knew in my heart that there would be no way I would go and work the silly hours and long days that I often do, leaving the dogs at home.  In my mind I was exploring the options open to me for earning a living.  The financial implications hit me hard - my age hit me hard as there are limited options open to someone like me.  I realised what a narrow ridge I walk upon in so many areas of my life - there isn't much room for error.  I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place - with no control over my own life.

As it turned out, I was asked to keep the dogs in the car whilst I am inside a cottage but providing I am outside with them they are still allowed to be out - my boss recognises that I have them under control when I am out and about with them.  They can still be with me when I am gardening, they can still sit in their enclosure at "base", although perhaps I should make that a bit more escape proof.

And the good news is that a couple of weeks on, the wrist isn't broken, the head bump wasn't serious, and they have finally agreed to get on with the surgery on his knee.

So all's well that ends well?  No.

For the last couple of weeks I have holed up as much as possible, communicating with other people as little as possible.  I have hardly been on Facebook - my usual happy haunts are the hovawart groups, and chatting to my hovawart friends.  All of a sudden I don't want to be there, don't want to see pictures of lovely puppies, happy dogs, proud owners.  I don't want to hear about successes at shows, or new litters, or new pups joining households.  I just don't want to talk to anyone any more than is necessary.  I have struggled to understand why.  I think there are a mixture of things going on in my mind and many of them seem so warped, but such are the ravages of depression and anxiety that nothing really makes sense.

Everyone else seems to be happy, even though I know so many of the people I communicate with have had more than their fair share of heartache.

Everyone else seems to have perfect dogs and perfect lives.  My rational mind knows this isn't true, that we all have our ups and downs with our dogs.  I know that I have what is generally regarded as an enviable place to live, a great job, happy dogs.  But my emotional mind is not seeing this, not believing it, not accepting it.

I guess I have felt worthless as a person this last couple of weeks, my confidence has been shot down in flames, I feel I have little to offer to anyone or anything so I have just kept out of the way and let life carry on around me, taking solace in reading, watching tv, anything to shut my mind down for a while.  I have felt embarrassed that I allowed one of my dogs to do this, even though I know it truly was an accident.

The arrival of a bottle of whisky this morning, sent by some dear friends, reduced me to tears for over 30 minutes.  Get a grip woman!!

And even though I am making sense of all of this on some level - the climb back up that cliff is taking a hell of a lot longer than it took to fall off.  The damage done is far worse than it should have been.

Once again, I imagine some of you are thinking what on earth does this have to do with dogs - well, I guess it's more about the baggage that comes with them - the responsibilities, the worries, the heartache, the times when you wonder if you are coping with it all, if you are fit to be a dog owner.  But it is also to do with just how fragile the human condition can be.  At the end of the day I would far rather be over sensitive, than be one of those people who just don't give at damn.  Though at times I wish I could step into their shoes, and wear their cloak of steel against the world.

I'm Tired

Every so often, life becomes overwhelmingly difficult.  Sometimes these times creep up on you slowly and you don’t realise it is happening, sometimes it arrives like a tsunami wave – you get a bit of warning, and you realise the inevitable is coming.  You find something to hang on tight to, and try to ride it out and hope that it passes quickly.

All of a sudden you feel tired:

Tired of working when you’d hoped to be taking it easier by now but finding you are doing more than ever.

Tired of trying to be a participating member of society

Tired of being tired

Tired of being responsible for everything in your life

Tired of putting a brave face on in the morning

Tired of meeting people, being nice to them, tired of saying goodbye to them after their holiday, asking them if they have had a nice time, and then having to clean up their shitty toilets and filthy kitchens.

Tired of having no energy to clean your own damn house.

Tired of feeling that doing things you actually want to do is somehow wrong

Tired of living on the edge, financially and emotionally - it doesn't take much to push you over that edge

Tired of feeling that the one thing that brings me the most joy is the one that seems to irritate other people

Too tired to fight your own corner

Too tired to relax

Tired of feeling you have to fit in

Tired of being so sensitive to and caring about what others think

Tired of worrying about each rattle in the car and crapping yourself when it comes to MOT and service time

Tired of not having enough money to pay the tax man

Tired of not being able to afford a decent holiday

Tired of constantly thinking you are going to have to sell the horses and knowing it will be like selling part of your soul.

Tired of people walking over you and tired the fact that you allow them to do so.

Tired of your job and wanting  to change, but not knowing what to do and realising there isn’t much available for someone your age.

Tired of the thought of having to work like this until I am 66

Tired of questioning if you should breed a dog or not, have you got time, can you afford it

Tired of losing days due to worry and anxiety and total brain freeze

Tired of being told that life is full of joy, but struggling to find that joy on so many days

Tired of feeling it is self indulgent to feel like this

Tired of feeling guilty because you know damned fine there are others far worse off, and still not being able to shake off the heaviness of depression.

Tired of feeling nothing

Tired of feeling too much

Tired of everything and everybody

Just tired.

And after a while, it all passes, and you can bury all these feelings again.  But like weeds in a neglected garden they come back up when you turn your back and don’t keep an eye on them.

This isn’t a call for a sympathy vote, or kind words.  It is a putting down of something that happens – not just to me, but to so many people.  Chances are that many of you who might read this (if you got this far) have had this happen to you.  Everyone copes in different ways.  Apparently we are supposed to talk about it more, but sometimes you don’t want to.  All I want to do is pull down the shutters, lock the doors, and tell the world to fuck off.  But it doesn’t.  It is still there when I wake up in the morning and try to find the strength to get through another day.  And you wonder what the hell it is all about.

Socially Disadvantaged

Someone who has known me all my life recently commented that I am socially disadvantaged  because I have so many dogs.  I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused.  To be honest, I am neither of those things, but it has certainly made me think.

What does it mean to be socially disadvantaged?  Surely it must mean that you are unable to partake in a social life, or social situations, that you would like to.  So, a young mother who cannot go out to a night club with her friends must be “socially disadvantaged”.  An elderly man who cannot meet his mates down the pub because he has broken a hip must be “socially disadvantaged”. 

Then you have the young woman who says that being a new mother is hard work, but she wouldn’t change it – she made a choice and accepts that there are now certain limitations on her life.

Am I unable to partake in situations that I would like to?  That is debatable.  Perhaps it is more accurate to say I am financially disadvantaged, or time disadvantaged.  But my current situation, for the most part, is my own choice.

I can no longer go on holidays like I used to when I was married, had a thriving business, and my parents were able to look after the dogs while we went away.  But in those years I went on sea kayaking expeditions in Doubtful Sound and Charlotte Sound in New Zealand, went on a 10 day horse trek in New Zealand, walked the Dusky Track, took a float plane over Fjordland, sat in hot pools on a mountain side.

In Sri Lanka, we travelled round the country by train, climbed Adams Peak and saw the sun rise, stayed at the Hill Country Club, discovered the joys of good tea, watched turtles come up the beach to lay their eggs, listened to thousands of frogs singing by the ponds.  India brought river boats, wonderful food, traditional ayurvedic massage (that is a story in itself!).

In the Maldives we snorkeled for hours and saw rays and sharks and clown fish, watched a bait ball, watched pipe fish on the sandy ocean floor, watched a nurse shark as it slept on the reef.

The Seychelles gave me the chance to hold hands with a wild turtle under the water, scratch the throats of giant tortoises.

We cycled round Antigua – sleeping under picnic benches, in beach huts, under bushes, and took a helicopter trip over the island of Montserrat with the money we saved by sleeping rough.

At home here in Scotland I have seen the sun rise in the mountains, seen the sunset in the mountains.  Watched mountain hares, golden eagles, slid on polythene bags down snow slopes, camped in wild places, swum in the sea, the rivers, the lochs.

I could go on and on, but the gist of what I am saying is that the holiday experiences I have had remain as memories in my mind, and they will always be there.  

My career has been varied, too.  I have picked mushrooms, and potatoes.  Worked in an ironmongery shop and a bank, went back to college, then was a secretary in the membership office of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club, personal secretary to a community consultant paediatrician (that was an eye opener) and then assistant in accommodation and group services at St Andrews University. 

Then I left my home and moved up to the north east to join Chris – we walked the beach at midnight as it was so light in the summer, watched the northern lights in the winter, caught our own food.

The Isle of Skye beckoned where we ran our own restaurant – very successfully.  We discovered the joys of fossil collecting, finding ammonites, belemnites, a plesiosaur paddle, and part of the first dinosaurs to be found on the island.

Then we found our way (reluctantly to begin with) to the Isle of Seil where we had our hotel for 14 years.  We hand fed the swans that lived locally, fed hundreds of garden birds, and ducks.  We planted trees and shrubs and flowers, raised two orphan hedgehogs and eight orphan ducklings.  Watched otters swimming off the garden, deer grazing in our garden, stoats on the front doorstep, found a sparrowhawk in our sitting room.  I started riding again and got my first horse, then the second and a third.  We lost old dogs, and got young puppies.

Nowadays, my family is my four dogs and three horses, and the small group of friends I spend some time with.  I take part in the annual local pantomime, having a ball running round like a loon, I go to Zumba, I visit friends for coffee, go visit my family when time and cash allow.  But on a winter's night, I am happy by the fire, knitting, watching TV, ignoring the housework.  In the summer I like to be out in the garden if I can, perhaps a late walk with the dogs, listening to the birds singing.

But am I socially disadvantaged - by some people's standards and ideals, yes I am.  By mine?  Not so much.

I went to look for some photos, but there were just too many to choose from - here are some of my favourite memories.  There's lots more.

Abel Tasman National Park - South Island NZ

High above the river - NZ

Climbing tree roots on the Dusky Track NZ

Caving in a kayak, Charlotte Sound

River crossing on horseback

We have a convoy!

And even a hovawart in The Seychelles

A bit of a love-in

No words for this

Donkeys on Barbuda

Not quite the Titanic

Roe deer and rabbit

Humble or Pie - can't remember which

Mr & Mrs D52 and family

Our duck family waiting for supper

Sun bathing wild goats

One of my very favourite places - not telling you where!

The Pantomime of Breeding

When I got Tussock, my first hovawart, I really wanted to breed from her.  It seemed a shame not to let such a gentle character pass on those easy going, steady, loyal genes.  But, living in a hotel as I was at the time, and with someone else having a say in the matter, it just never got beyond wishful thinking.  Then when the proverbial shit hit the fan and my familiar life fell to pieces, I had no choice but to forget the idea for the time being.  I really wasn't in an emotional place to consider it.  River came along - taking a pup from that particular litter was a conscious choice to use new blood into the country to breed with.  I figured I had a few years to get my act together, straighten out my life, my mind and so much else.

But I kept finding excuses not to get on with it - work was busy, the house is too small, I don't have time, I don't have money, I don't have experience, negative influence from other people.  The penny finally dropped and I realised the only thing stopping me was my own negativity and lack of confidence.  The voice inside my head now said "Get on with it".  So, for the last six months I have thought about things, loosely planned how I would cope with a litter of pups, the other dogs, creating a private space for River - knowing damn fine that all the planning in the world would likely go out the window anyway.

My next issue was a dog...... I had two in mind.  One was a young dog that River has met, and likes, and he really is a handsome lad - that would be a natural mating.  The other would have to be artificial insemination from another very handsome lad.

I guess things went a bit wrong right at the beginning when River came into season a few weeks before I expected and I was already on the back foot.  The young dog hadn't had all his health tests, and going on the "usual" way of things, we would only have 10 days or so to be organised on that front, so it possibly wasn't going to happen.  Then his owner decided that perhaps she didn't want to introduce him to the joys of wanton females in season!  I totally understand her decision.  He is a calm, good natured boy, and she didn't want to risk ending up with a dog whose eyes went out on stalks every time a girl walked by.  AI could be an option, but that was just another complication to cope with in the time allowed.

So, AI from the other dog it would be.  The semen would come frozen, and River would be inseminated on the appropriate day.  No travelling involved..... seems a good option.

I visited my vet to get a first blood test to check River's progesterone levels, and a chat about AI.  First hurdle was dealing with a rather negative vet that I had never met before, and her announcement that they had never done AI in a dog before!  Cows, horses, sheep, yes, but not dogs.  So, a few days later I spoke with one of the regular vets who was quite enthusiastic, and keen to learn about AI.  He phoned the other vets where the semen would be coming from, had a good chat with them, only to then let me know that they didn't have the equipment to do it, and I might as well  throw my money away.  He was very helpful, though, and said he would see if he could find someone who could do it for me.

And he did.  Either a vet in Dewsbury (about 8 or 9 hours away) or one in Dunbar (about 4 hours).   By now we were on Day 5, and I needed to get the semen organised to be here in time for day 10 as that is when "most" bitches start to become receptive.  The vet contacted the lady in Dunbar, but she never got back to him.  I had ordered the semen, and then had to email them to cancel it.  Then the Dunbar lady phoned my vet.  We were on again.  I tried to make contact with her to chat it all over, but to this day, I am still waiting for her to call me back.  With little faith in her services, I regretfully cancelled the semen again.  There was no point going to all that expense only to end up having to send it back again.  We were now on about day 9.

During this time River had had several blood tests, and her progesterone levels were still low.  Great, I still had chance to work out Plan C.  Enter into the arena a trusty old lad, experienced, wonderful temperament, and a line I would be delighted to help continue.  And not too far away.  Wonderful.  Sorted.

Now to wait for the progesterone levels to rise......and wait.....and wait......!  A blood test on the Monday came back as a bit more elevated - the results came in on the Tuesday afternoon (Day 16) and the vet was suggesting another test on the Wednesday morning.  Now I was running into sticky territory.  That test wouldn't come back until Thursday afternoon by which time I wouldn't have time to do anything about it.  With a long standing commitment over the weekend I had to be at home from the Friday.  By this time River was happily standing to be bonked by Talulah so I thought I would take a chance.

So on the Wednesday morning (day 17) we all piled in the car at 6.30 am and set off.  We got to His house about 10.30, and we let her into the garden to leave some scent about the place, and let Him out.  Ooooh!  She was delighted!  Flirty flirt, a bit of coy running about, a bit of courting from Him, and then she so beautifully stood for him.  He obviously thought she was ready too.  Yes!  I thought - seeing little bundles of joy in the future!  But despite several attempts, they never really got a good go, and certainly didn't tie.  She was perhaps a bit tall for him, so we tried on a slope to give him the advantage of more height, we gave him a leg-up..... we tried letting them run up the top of the garden to a private space, which is what River seemed to want to do.  But... no go.  And the poor lad was getting a bit tired.

Okay, we will try again tomorrow we thought.  And we did, but with the same results.

Whether her progesterone levels weren't high enough, whether the result might have been different in a couple of days (days 19/20!!!) I will never know.  I had to go back home for my part in our local pantomime although it did feel as though I was starring in two pantomimes at this point.

Whilst slip matings might sometimes result in puppies, I guess that is only when you don't want them to.  We are all back to normal now, seasons finished, no more bonking.  I am not expecting the pitter patter of little paws, but you never know.........   I can dream!