Epileptic, smelly friend

Four-legged-friend needs a bath. Desperately.

What is it with dogs and despicable smells; smells so awful that he has to be bannished from the room, particularly when you are attempting to consume something, without gagging?

The honk today is of spectacular proportions. Ours is not a particularly large house, but you can detect the whiff when he is approaching and still a whole room away.

So, is it to be the hose and soap and chewed fingers and soaked clothes tomorrow, or alternatively, a walk via the stream ... and soaked clothes? He is distinctly post ictal in a dreamy, gentle, slightly discombobulated fashion, having had another fit yesterday, so we didn't have the heart to over-excite him by washing today, but ablutions - or home removals to the kennel outside - will have to happen tomorrow.

And I'll have to search the garden for fox poo. Ground into the grass, heavily rolled-in fox poo.

Lovely!

Comments

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn...

My beloved boy, how lucky I have been

It's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die ... and I say someone here even though the one in question was a dog - but to us he had character and a place forever in our hearts and was more of a familiar someone than some of the people in our lives. So, I'll start again - it's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die, our senses go into overdrive. We notice things that normally would be part of the background of our every day. We breathe more - or rather, we don't but what we do is notice our breathing more, as we watch his. We pause. We think. We listen to ourselves and our inner voices speak. Memories flood our dreams ... though sleep is fitful. Why am I telling you this? ... ... we lost this beautiful boy today And in the hours before he went, I saw perfect spheres of dew on blades of grass - little orbs holding micro-images of our world; a bumble bee drunk on nectar, yellow-dusted with pollen, resting in a crocus; ten - yes, ten! ...

Temptation, virtual strawberries and a pretty useless tooth fairy

Littlest in the car on the way home from school: "What does tempted mean?" "And determined - isn't that the same?" Somehow, we got onto strawberries and in particular the last strawberry sitting, lonely, on a plate. "So, if I'm tempted to have the strawberry that just means that I'd really like it. And if I'm determined to have it, then I'm jolly well not going to share it, and it's mine, no matter what." Think she got that one! She's also tempted to sack the tooth fairy who has forgotten every night for the last 2 weeks to deliver payment for her tooth and if I might speak on behalf of the tooth fairy, there is equal determination on her side to remember. Maybe.

Walking The Dog

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