Do Not Disturb

Shhhhhhh!

Sympathy please

We have a very sore paw.

Luckily I have a full first aid kit and a strong stomach. And a great vet. I was thinking of leaving the NHS and joining pet doctors instead. And insurance. Phew.



It was all a little stressful as Ruby has that classic boxer genetic weakness - Aortic Stenosis ... a type of heart murmur which makes any general anaesthetic procedure a lot more risky. However, I decided that if she was still capable of bounding up mountains then she'd probably be ok ... and she pulled through just fine. The vets said she was the nicest, best behaved boxed they'd ever had in ... apparently she was sitting on the receptionist's lap, which is something she does whilst I work at my desk. At 28kg though it's not something I encourage for long periods!

So, we are 3 days into 10 days of being confined to the house except for very brief on-lead excursions into the garden to do the required business. She has perfected the art of hopping, and insists on showing her bandaged paw to anybody who passes her.

So, it's been a while. I'm not certain why ... busy with work, christmas, assorted annoying health problems ... and then of course there is the point at which something has been on my 'to do' list for so long that it becomes almost impossible to actually do it. What is that about? Thanks to all who have noticed my absence - it's nice to be missed!

I think actually it's also about pictures. I've not been taking them ... hence I have nothing to say. Or at least no external conversations to be had. More pictures is the plan!

Fire(works) night

It's nice right now in here. Dark outside the curtainless windows, the fire is blazing and we're tucked up on our huge leather couch with blankets and hot water bottles.


Ruby, sleeping at my feet, perks up occasionally at the fireworks, but she's more irritated than afraid, barking a warning back.

The cat is pinning down my right arm, washing her front legs again, though I can't think I've seen her do a single thing today that might get her dirty. As the temperature drops the animals slowly manipulate themselves under the blankets with me, these days tolerating the proximity to each other in exchange for body heat.

Chase me! Chase me!

Ruby stole this lovely yellow ball from an elderly golden retriever on Saunton Sands beach in North Devon.

She is looking a little chubby. Might be something to do with the half-a-pound of fudge and six bread rolls she stole from the kitchen counter last week.

***

Pecking orders

Ah, I'm relieved to hear that Lorianne's dog Reggie is as much of a push over as my boxer Ruby in the cat department.

We have returned from holiday to discover that the cats have claimed both the dog's beds for sleeping in during the day. Ruby slowly approaches Frank (the cat) who is stretched out inside her crate, and she lies, head down, sniffing and wagging enthusiastically as he nonchalantly rolls on to his back and swipes at her nose with his claws.

At feeding time, she steps back and is muscled out by Ophelia, our dainty siamese (less dainty actually at the moment, having doubled in size whilst I was away), who likes to have first pick of the dog food, before retiring to curl up in Ruby's basket.

My dog has no difficulty being assertive around postmen, delivery guys, male strangers in the woods. She will bark at huge pieces of machinery and large lumps of stone / tree trunk. Even the scariest formations of plastic bags can be warned with the correct tone of woof. When they don't dare to attack us she turns and snorts, that told them.

In Scotland, no word of a lie, she sprinted 400 meters up a mountain (a climb that would take a human 2 hours) and rounded up a whole herd of wild Red Deer, tidying them into a coherent group and moving them around the side of the mountain, before returning at seventy miles an hour, panting hard but clearly imagining our approval of her at an important job well-done.

I have tried many things to achieve the level of control over Ruby that Frank and Ophelia seem to manifest. Cheese, bacon, training classes, whistles, clickers and even chopped up sausages. I would love to know what my feline friends are using - pheremones? Or perhaps some jedi mind trick ... This is not the bed you were looking for.

***

This post is brought to you by the number 1 and the letter 'm' ...

... for most of the last nine years or so, I have been half of a Two. Now, I am becoming accustomed to being a One.

Right now, I am sitting on a small wooden pontoon over a lake in the field where I am camping in Wales. It is the first time I have been on holiday as a One. Just a few days here, so far west that you can't go any further. When I say One, I mean one person. Ruby is here with me, loving every moment. So, I did not sleep alone, but snuggled up with a tired, sandy, happy dog.

The weather is astounding. The lane we drive from the field to the beach has set the hedgerows a loose dress code for June/July - anything, so long as it's pink and flowery.



The thing about my dog is that she is so much better at making friends than I am. She struck up a conversation with Meg, a border collie we met by the sand flats, and whilst they romped and chatted, there was not much else I could do but strike up a conversation with Meg's human, a lovely woman in her late sixties, not that long in the area. We talked for maybe twenty minutes, maybe longer. First just the polite soundings out, but after a while she told me that her husband had died in November. She went on to talk about how supportive her welsh farming neighbours had been, much more so than the middle class english folks with whom she has so much more in common - on the surface at least. We talked about whether living in proximity with death as well as life, with death as part of life, equipped those people better for dealing with loss in all forms. How so many people seemed to think death was something that could be avoided.

Eventually we said our goodbyes, and Ruby and I carried on our path, stopping to greet a small but cheerful cocker spaniel - Meg. Whilst meg and ruby chased around her owner and I initially kept some distance, but our defences were broken down by the ridiculous antics of our doggies, and we struck up a conversation and quickly found we had our profession in common. Meg's mum began telling me how she had got into her industry, but ended up telling me pretty much her life story. After a few minutes she invited us to walk with them on the route they were taking, and so we spent a couple of hours together, strolling and talking. She spoke to me about struggling with depression, and anxiety. About failed relationships and finding herself. About loss and fear of loss and how powerful that could be in her life. At one point as we wandered across the golf course, she turned to me and said "I don't know why I'm telling you all this, you're a total stranger ... but I trust you - I don't normally talk about this stuff". And I believed her.

We both shared confidences and spoke about the kinds of feelings not normally thought of as small talk. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Big talk. About stars and the nature of shared experience and reincarnation and self-destruction. About being a One when you have been half of a Two and how difficult it can be, but how freeing and empowering too. And when we had to part she gave me her number, and I did the same. For next time I am here. And she gave me a hug. And it felt right and supportive and not at all odd. Which is odd in itself.

So, back on our own again, Ruby and I retired to the beach and lay in the sand, scorching under the sun but not much caring. And I felt hopeful, but also heavy, scared of losing Ruby, who is my world. And I wondered whether I would ever get over the loss I am feeling now, and the future loss of Ruby, which may be sooner that I would hope because she has a heart problem which may get worse quickly at any time.

And then we met Mabel. 12 weeks worth of loose skin and big paws and pure vulnerable joy. Just like Ruby was when I first brought her home a year and a half ago.


They romped around together for a while, but it was an uneven match and little Mabel scared regularly and retreated to sit on my feet and lean against me and look up for reassurance. And I knew then that if Mabel didn't already have a very lovely family, I would take her home and love her just as much as I love Ruby. Different, but no less. Hope.