Monday, 19 March 2007

A Bl**dy Dog! Story this time ...

Ooh. I said OOH!

Mr T is away for a few days, staying down South, in England, with my brother - an excuse, you see to partake of (lots) of brewed hops, some F1 on the telly and a look at some pop star called Lemar, and generally having a batchelor kind of time... Me? O I'm having some lovely, peace ...

Back here at the ranch, the Scottish sky keeps sending snow to fall on our heads. Well, it arrives in the night, covering our ve!ux windows so I can't see out, and making the hills look like xmas cakes. Then the sun comes out to play and it goes - see-saw, see-saw.

(Just now, at 10 minutes past 4 o'clock, the sun's out and the trees are swaying in an ear-bitingly cold wind, when half and hour ago big, fat fluffs were sailing down - confusing.)

And, while Mr T is away then with the dog I have to play. Wee dog and I came back yesterday at about 7 o'clock, from having a lovely mother's day dinner, cooked by Freaky Friday and ... well, me and a little bit by nanny's best girl (who, not grumpily, o, no missus never grumpily, helped me wash and dry the dishes (moody nearly 10 year olds, eh? tsk.)) and that morning's snow had melted. So I peacefully had a bath.

Then, 30 minutes past 8 o'clock the wee dog needed to make yellow snow. I thought bugger it, I'll put my coat over my jarmies and put on my wellies. O, no. The wanky torch batteries had gone (we do live in the wilds, hence no streetlamps, and hope to gawd the buggering Gordon Brown does NOT double the price of the 4x4 tax) so, I put in more batteries. It turns out the torch bulb had gone. Meanwhile, the wee black dog is turning white in new, freshly falling yet-a-bloody-gain, snow, waiting patiently for me. So, found another torch, donned hat, gloves and scarf as well as thick, long coat and socks and wellies, to brave the near white-out so she could have a poo, and I waddled out the door.

O, wee now-white dog, loved bounding about in the snow, hiding from the torch-light and fair danced up to the end of the lane. Just to return to the house with me, wriggle and generally fuck about while I tried to wipe her feet, and she didn't have a poo at all.

Ooh, I said OOH!


Ujima said...

Oh, you write such a great story!!

Doris said...

Oh, I can identify with *that* one, all right.

apprentice said...

Me too. Mine's eleven years old, I swear he gets up the garden and then forgets why he came!

BTW thanks for the comment on my poem. I've left a idea on my comments bit.

tea and cake said...

Thank you low curtsey *#*

THIS morning she ran off when I opened the back door, and I had to go out Again in my jarmies and coat etc, and the neighbours took a picture of me! blah!

apprentice: will look!