Sunday, 15 November 2009

Sunday 15 November 2009

What, in the name of Beelzebub and all his little wizards, is going on with the weather?!

Never have I seen the trees shaken by such tumultuous winds. It was most unsettling. On venturing into our garden as the gusts whipped around us, my partner glanced at me and said "Toto, I have the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

I nodded, sagely. It was deemed too wild and windy for the woods, so my partner took me for a run on the open commons instead where, fortunately, dwell neither Munchkins nor flying monkeys.

The storm seems to have blown itself out now, so I can settle back into my routine, without having to hide under the furniture, candle at the ready lest a power-cut should ensue.

These horrors duly over, follow me, if you will, into my little time machine and we'll head back - for the last time - to the morning following my great adventure. That was the day set aside, prior to everything, for the removal of the stitches that were binding my eye closed. My partner said that we would walk to the vets and get that done and then go on to our evening walk (unfortunately we live extremely close to the vets' surgery. I must pass it twice a day. I would like them to relocate now that I am in the vicinity, but they selfishly refuse. Their arrogance is unacceptable to my stomach.). As we exited our house, whom should we meet returning from his walk? Starsky. My next-door neighbour and his partner. I greeted him heartily as our respective partners stopped to chat, and endeavoured to engage him in conversation.

Something was wrong, however. Starsky just glared at me and would not respond to my polite enquiries. I was confused - I thought we had come to an understanding. At length, Starsky shot me a contemptuous look and said:
"ALL night, she cried for you." He flicked an ear towards my partner. "All night. You selfish pig." His body tensed, ready to flee in case I went for him. But I lunged not, instead trying feebly to explain myself. Starsky would have none of it. "I heard her through the wall," he went on, "That POOR little girl. She treats you so well, and that is how you repay her. Don't you think of anyone but yourself?"

I replied that I knew I had done serious wrong and was heartily ashamed of myself. I tried to explain that I had been on my way home when I was picked up and, from that point, events had been taken out of my paws. Starsky didn't look very convinced, until my voice faltered and finally cracked on repeating how very, very sorry I was. His expression softened and he said "Well, let's say no more about it, then." He gave my shoulder a friendly head-butt and I managed a weak smile.
"I wish there was anything I could say or do to make things all better." I sighed.
"Well, there is." replied Starsky.
"Just don't do it again."
Wagging my tail, I nodded. And, with that, we parted friends once more.

I was slightly hesitant on entering the vets', fearing that news of my naughtiness had reached my surgeon's ears. But, happily, these fears were unfounded. The stitches and button were removed from my eye, and I held my breath...

The procedure had been a complete success. The surface of my eye had COMPLETELY healed, save for the faintest trace of a scar that once was. My vision was entirely unimpaired and all, partner, surgeon, Jasper, were extremely happy with the results.

After the walk (during which I behaved impeccably), the final act in the drama closed the episode. My partner spotted that I had acquired a number of offensive thorns in my flesh during my hours at large. I had to sit under the big light in the living room while my partner knelt over me, armed with a pair of tweezers. I am sure she was wielding them more forcibly than was warranted.

She also, however, discovered on my neck a tick, which had invaded my personal space in order to sup on the delicious, nourishing soup that flows through my veins. That didn't last long against the mighty tweezers. At the end of the examination, my partner showed me the fruits of her labours on a square of tissue: two very large blackthorns (from 'twixt my shoulder-blades), seven bramble-thorns and the ex-tick, with the ex-contents of his belly, which were the ex-partial content of my veins.

Thankfully, the whole is now an ex-episode and this is the last I shall bark on the topic.

Now then. I don't usually post links on my blog, but I have a couple for you here today. The first is to mark the fact that last Sunday was Remembrance Sunday, with the most recent Wednesday being Armistice Day. During 2009, we have also lost the last three Tommies to survive the horrors of the WWI trenches. Here is the link (All featured are Americans; no Brits, alas, but I think you can take it as read that reactions would be the same around the world):

The second is on behalf of my friends, The Animal Doctor and his lovely Secretary. They do wonderful, selfless work for furry folk in The Philippines. One of their dogs, Scarlet - who is an unbelievably beautiful young lady - has found that nature denies her the opportunity to walk. She is well cared-for and happy, but would like to have a doggy-wheelchair (they exist - I've seen one in action!). Here is a link to find out more about pretty little Scarlet; if you are able to help with a few pennies or even just a bit of encouragement for these wonderful folk in The Philippines, well, that would be wonderful. Here she is: And don't forget - in helping each other (no matter WHAT the species or gender), we are also helping ourselves.

Next time - at work with my partner: back with Ewan and Fizzy! And a night of foul, bloody murder...

Well, all right. I WAS going to leave you with that one - but I didn't want to put thoughts of unspeakable evil in your mind, sweet reader. My partner's play was cancelled, as a key actor had to withdraw for family reasons at a late stage. In its stead, my partner and her cohorts are staging a murder-mystery event, where the audience sit at tables, have some supper, and try to guess who amongst the cast of the specially-crafted play committed a heinous misdeed. There's a prize for the most accurate table of sleuths. Sales have gone through the roof - 80 places were originally on offer; 94 tickets have been sold. ALREADY a success (I would blush to take any credit, naturally). My partner plays the detective, who has to help the audience untangle the evil deeds and reveal the culprit(s) at the end. Rehearsals are lots of fun. I shall, naturally, keep you posted.

And, at some point, I must turn my whiskers to providing the next installment of "The Evolution of Jasper". What a busy life it is for a Staffordshire Bull Terrier these days... I even found time to help my partner sort out our bathroom this afternoon...

Good night.
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