Saturday, 8 November 2014

Sunday 9 November 2014

I was left with no choice, dear reader.  Kind cajoling, implied threats, humble pleading - all came to naught.  And the only option remaining to me was that of the "ultimate weapon".  It has been successfully deployed on a now suitably-chastened Gisèle.  I like to think that her looks of contrition and apology were genuine... (hmmm...).

Having finally consented to fulfil her duty, I turn back to the post that had been only partially completed when 'Sèle decided that her time would be better employed in things other than the upkeep of the blog (not necessarily in order of preference nor a fully-comprehensive list: playing and gossiping with Betty; flirting with boyfriends Boris and Monty and assorted other suitors, visiting her buzzard "friends" (we'll get on to that in a bit); and maintaining her youthful beauty.  I insisted that my work of 25 August should not go to waste - and so here it is:

Monday 25 August 2014

At last, after some three or four days, Gisèle was able to look at Betty without grinning and peace reigned in our small world once again.  Not for long, alas.

Repairing for their evening exercise to one of their usual favourites, Betty and Giz were happily occupied in caperings and gossip for most of their walk.  Until, that is, little Giz spotted the most part of what had formerly been a pigeon just off the woodland path (pigeon-shooting often taking place in the woods).  Seizing it by the remaining shoulder, Giz snatched it up and dashed off with it.  I believed I could guess where she was going.  Betty followed dubiously.
"Hello, nest-babies!" squealed 'Sele, triumphantly displaying the gift she had brought them to one of the adult buzzards.  "This is only a bit manky, but I hope that you will all like it!  Bye!"  She skipped away, pleased with herself.
"I thought you promised me that you wouldn't associate with those buzzards any more?" Betty demanded angrily, as Giz pottered up to her.
"Eh?" replied a momentarily-puzzled 'Sele, "No I never, I - oh sh*t - er, uh, I mean... um... what buzzards...?"
"Pathetic, Gizzle, you invidious weasel," sighed Betty, shaking her head, "Just pathetic." She sighed deeply again. "Well, you cannot bark that you've not been warned.  I will not say that I have 'washed my paws of you', but you must accept that you are mistress of your own fate.  I urge you to rethink, before it is too late."
"Hihihi, OK!" yipped Giz, before dashing off on the scent of an incautious squirrel and leaving Betty, still shaking her head despairingly, on the path...

Betty was able to claw back a modicum of revenge later though, when

And that is where it ends.  I cannot think for the life of me what Betty's revenge ultimately turned out to be.  Giz pretended to try to remember, but Boris is staying with us at the moment and so she is at her giggly worst.  I doubt she could recall what she had for supper this evening...  If I remember, I shall tell you, but my hopes aren't high.

If truth be told, Gisèle is not really barking to my partner at the moment.  The uneasy atmosphere has persisted for almost two months.  The reason for this is that my partner has taken proactive action to get rid of the last vestiges of her debts once and for all.  Her insolvency is over (see THIS ENTRY for the beginning of that wretched affair), but the last after-effects still needed considerable 'mopping up'.  And it was for THIS, dear reader, that I tried so hard to stay alive for my partner - and why I could not leave her even after I lost my fight with the Big C.  I had vowed to myself that I would not abandon her; that I had been there at the beginning of the IVA and I would support her throughout.  Alas, that was not to be; in a physical sense at least.  I hope this helps to explain my steadfast determination not to let go.

I digress somewhat.  Rather than moping and feeling sorry for herself, my partner has gone out and secured a second job, in addition to her full-time one.  This second, part-time, job - and it mortifies me to have to bark this - is at a Vets' Surgery.

A Vets' Surgery.  Oh yes. 

My duplicitous partner is their evenings and weekend receptionist.  She does her day job from 9 - 5 (like Dolly) on Mondays to Fridays, after which she dons a jaunty uniform and works 7pm - 11pm on weeknights, 2pm - 10pm on Saturdays and then 9am - 7pm on Sundays.  It seems to be tiring for her, but she has the gross temerity to claim that she "enjoys it".  The double-dealing wretch.  After starting this additional job halfway through September, it was a full month before Gisèle could bring herself to even look at my partner.  And the occasional gift of a gravy-bone from a well-meaning vet has done nothing to placate her.  Her one consolation is that it is not our vet, but an out-of-hours-only one - based, coincidentally, at Betty's vets.  Sweet 'Sèle has derived some cheap humour from this at Betty's expense, but she remains still largely unimpressed.  My partner has promised to buy Gisèle a special Christmas present, now that she is less financially-embarrassed, but I suspect it will take more than that for 'Sèle to fully accept the situation...

And so - now that I have secured Gisèle's agreement and her (not entirely convincing) mitigations; let us trust that normal service will now be resumed!  Hurrah!

And the ultimate weapon...?  Why the worst that there could ever be.

I simply took Gisèle aside and explained that I was not angry with her; I was just disappointed...  How many amongst us would not prefer the righteous irate b*ll*cking?!  Certainly not Gisèle-Stephanie, hehe...

Onwards and upwards!


Post a Comment