Sunday 29 August 2010

Most couples discover this eventually, I suspect. It happened to my partner and I very recently.  There comes the moment when, no matter how much love you have in your heart for the other individual, emotions inadvertently spill out and harsh words are exchanged.

An atmosphere of ill-ease had been brewing between us for a short while.  My partner was the first to crack - although, I accept now that, I was the catalyst for her outburst.

As mentioned in the last blog-post, I presently have issues over laying my dog-eggs within the bounds of my estate.  The weather leading up to the incident had not been conducive to walking out, and I had managed to successfully hoodwink my partner into thinking I had "given birth" in the garden, without my having passed a single thing.  The morning dawned in which my eggs were groaning against the walls of my gut and some were actively seeking escape independent of my muscular-contractions.  My partner could not help but notice my discomfort as we prepared to leave the house for work.  She ushered me into the garden.
"Jasper, will you please just go to the toilet before we get into the car?" she prompted, "You look seriously uncomfortable."
"No, thank you." I grunted, trying to keep the most persistent turd at bay, "I am fine."
"You're not fine, Jasper." she rejoined, "Please just go and do a poo.  It's okay, you know.  You are allowed to go to the toilet in the garden."
"No, thank you.  I don't need to go."
"Well, I think you do."
"I don't want to do any poo.  It's getting late - let's go, let's go, let's go!"  And, with that, I leapt into the passenger-seat and began to eat my breakfast (which is always laid out on my seat for me to eat on the way to the office; just as I like it).

My plan was relatively straightforward.  Whenever I need to answer a call whilst at work, I head off along the bridleway into the woods adjacent to the office, where there is an abundance of suitable places of concealment for a dog with a full bowel and discretion on his mind.  I planned that, as soon as the car came to a halt in the yard, I would leap forth and eject my straining hoard.  Alas!  My previous restraint was the smoking gun - and my addition of the morning's breakfast proved to be the trigger.  We were still more than a mile from work when my body rose up in rebellion against me.  My muscles automatically bent and twisted me into position and my partner screamed as (at least) two days' worth of shining healthy turd was delivered onto the passenger-seat of our New Teal Megane.  She continued to squeal like a stuck piglet as she had no option but to continue driving me and my healthy litter of pups to the workplace (the road being too narrow to simply stop).  Pulling the car into her parking space, my partner switched off the engine and glared at me.
"Out."  she hissed at me, through gritted teeth.  I hastened to comply, and dashed off to complete my ablutions whilst my partner began her working day by washing out our car.

An uneasy silence persisted between us throughout the day.  But I refused to accept that any of this had been MY fault.   How could it?  I didn't give myself the breakfast - it was surely her fault for having put it there.  I was blameless.

I endured the poisonous atmosphere throughout the day and refused even to apologise.  I even had to wait for my dinner, as my partner stopped off to do some grocery shopping on our way home, without me having given my approval.

One of the items purchased by my partner was a small jar of Chicken Bovril.  She had a craving for the traditional (Beef) Bovril for her sandwiches; but they only had the larger sizes of those and my partner didn't have enough money and so decided to try the Chicken variety.  Upon arrival home, after having enjoyed my dinner, I remained in the kitchen to supervise my partner as she prepared her own repast.  Spying me in the doorway, she asked if I would like to try some of the Chicken Bovril - I believe as a peace-offering for this morning's frosty atmosphere.  I accepted and moved closer.  My partner took a knife and spread a glob of it onto one of my marrowbone biscuits.  Then, in a malicious act of pure spite, my partner allowed a large dollop of the sticky spread to fall from her knife onto my head.  I didn't realise until I'd eaten the biscuit, savouring the chicken-ey taste.  Suddenly, I became overwhelmed by an urge to consume my own ear.  I tried twisting my head around and about but simply couldn't reach it with my tongue.  My partner noticed what I was about - and had the impudent audacity to LAUGH at my predicament.

"Well, well, Jasper," she chuckled.  "Chick-can you believe it?!"

That was the last straw in a day's-worth of straws.  I snarled at my partner and stamped out of the house, heading towards the gate.  "Jasper, where are you going?!" called my partner.  I did not reply.  "Jasper Stafford - come back here NOW!"
"I'm going to sit with Eddie." I growled.
"Come back here NOW!"
"No."
"JASPER HORATIO STAFFORD!!!"

[Anyone tempted to laugh at this revelation of my full name - or even to smile - can consider themselves the main ingredient in my Christmas dinner this year....]

The street seemed to echo with my partner's voice.  I knew I had gone too far.  I crawled shamefully back to my partner.  "Well?"  she demanded.
"Please may I go and sit with Edward for a few minutes?"

My partner knelt beside me and used a moist baby-wipe to clean my head.  She then gave me a little kiss and another spoonful of Chicken Bovril.
"Off you go then.  Careful on the road, and come back before it gets dark."

The remainder of the evening was spent in listening to Eddie telling me what a silly little tart I'd been for arguing with my partner, and how he'd never let Angus get away with that kind of behaviour.  On my return home, I made a full and frank apology for my behaviour to my partner and all was once again well in our world.


As the old adage goes - one should never go to sleep on an argument.  For one never knows what could happen at any moment.  A lesson taught to me by my late friend Starsky - one day, his chipper little self, and the next day gone to the next world, by way of an inoperable brain tumour.  I grow more determined now than ever that, whenever they should come, be they years, months, weeks, days or even hours away, the final parting words between my partner and I will be words of love and respect.

Next time - The next "Evolution" instalment (I mean it this time)... and a pretty new girlfriend for me, hehehe!

Good night.