Well, a week has passed since my partner and I returned to our own home. And yet STILL the building-works are ongoing. In general, I consider myself to be a patient man, but these works are enough to try the patience of the most placid of dogs. Ewan, my marshmallow-brained canine friend, even. I have only ever seen him mildly irritated on a single occasion - and I've known him for well over three years now - but even he would have been reduced to enraged, frenzied swearing at the wretched business. Last Friday brought the discovery of yet ANOTHER leak in our bathroom pipes, decorators in the house with us on Saturday, and the frustrating discovery that the plumber had forgotten to re-install my partner's clothes washing-machine (it's a bit like a television, but with endless repeats).
In the meantime, the bathroom in Eddie's house has been completed, Archie the Jack-Russell's bathroom likewise, and work has commenced on Rosie's house next-door. WE have a decorated kitchen, a partially-decorated bathroom, dust-covers and boxes everywhere, and no curtains or flooring in either room. Grrrowl. My partner is part-way through a strongly-worded letter of complaint to the Housing Association. I am only letting her write it a portion at a time, as it makes us both very angry and I fear for her blood-pressure.
Let me return now to the happier topic of my friend Ewan. You may recall the last time his name came up between us. It was with the horrific realisation that, despite medical and scientific precautions, pea-brained Ewan may have succeeded in impregnating his long-term, belovèd basket-mate, Fizzy the pretty black Labrador. After a holiday of some duration, Ewan and Fizzy returned to the workplace. I concealed myself in the rear office, wanting to scope out the situation before I blundered and put my paw in it with Fizzy.
I watched as Ewan, his tail wagging wildly, settled himself beside his partner's desk and began to wash his paws. Fizzy trotted to her favourite spot on the opposite side of the room and gently laid herself down with a sigh. I peered closely at her. There was no discernible swelling of her belly or growth to her milk-dispensers. No sign, in fact, of pregnancy whatsoever. I wondered if I dared to feel relief. I thought that -
"Jasper." said a voice, suddenly, from behind me.
"Aiiieeeee!" I screamed, startled, almost jumping clean out of my own mouth.
"Bl**dy h*ll, Ewan!" I gasped crossly, turning around and trying to regain my breath. "Don't do that!!!" For a tall dog, Ewan had an incredibly soft tread.
"Sorry!" grinned Ewan, wagging his big daft tail. "What are we watching?"
"Fizzy and Ewan." I muttered absent-mindedly. I was still struggling to get back my composure.
"Oh. Right. Brilliant. Yes." nodded Ewan, squeezing up next to me and staring at Fizzy. After a few minutes of further study, it was clear that the lady was not "with-pup". I sighed, heavily - mentally closing the door on that particular traumatic episode. Ewan, however, continued his vigil, scanning the other office while occasionally shaking his head, sniffing the air and muttering to himself. I watched him until I could bear it no longer.
"Ewan, what ARE you doing?!" I asked.
"Well," explained Ewan, with a careful lick of his nose, "I can see Fizzy there - but I've looked and looked and I can't see Ewan anywhere."
"Are you being serious?"
Ewan turned and looked again.
"No." he announced, finally, "He's definitely not there. Shall we look outside?"
"Um... no, Ewan, it's alright. Let's not worry, eh?"
"Oh. Alright. Never mind, Jazz. I expect he'll turn up soon."
The boy never ceases to astound me. Just when I think I've heard the stupidest thing a canine could conceivably utter, Ewan plumbs yet further depths... It doesn't mean I love him any the less for it though. I wouldn't swap him for any other chum in the World.
I am hoping that, the next time I write a journal entry, my house might be once again complete. But I shall not be holding my breath...
Good night.
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Thursday 17 February 2011
I find that it is possible for a human to say 'sorry' without sounding in the least bit apologetic. I refer, of course, to the ongoing saga of my home "improvements" and a telephone conversation between an un-named representative of the building firm. I will not belittle you, my dear reader, with further details of that unsatisfactory discussion.
Suffice it to say that I am still here. Well, of course, I am still here. I mean that I am here in the here of my partner's parents' house, as opposed to the here in my own home - when I AM both here - and here. I think I've explained myself clearly - though I'm certain of fewer and fewer things these days... Anyway.
The fruit of today's toil seems to have been several half-installed kitchen units and an hand-scrawled note from someone calling himself "Lee", apologising for the fact that he forgot to put half of the kitchen fittings on his lorry when leaving his depot this morning.
As if these tiresome struggles were not enough, they have also indirectly caused me much in the way of humiliation. It commenced on the first night of my stay here. At home, my partner and I each have one side of a large double bed. Our refuge in my partner's parents' guest room is only a single bed - and a small one at that.
Imagine my distress, dear reader, at 4.45am one morning when I stretched out my supple limbs, yawned, and rolled over - only to find myself plummeting floor-wards, hitting the carpet sideways-on with a dull thump. My partner was instantly awake and offering comfort tinged with sympathy. To recoup a little of my vanished pride, I pretended that I had been going to get out of the bed anyway, to go to the toilet. Dozily, my partner clambered out of the bed and we headed for the stairs.
At home - our proper home - we have a curved staircase. When descending it is eight stairs down, turn to the right, then four steps down. In our temporary refuge, the staircase was a straight thirteen stairs down - top to bottom.
Still mostly asleep, I led the way downstairs with my door-unlocking/opening-capable partner in-tow. I am sure you can guess what happened.
Yes. Eight stairs down, turn to th-DONK! "Urrrrhhhh...." Jasper walks clean into the wall in his sleep-addled state. My partner had the tact and good grace not to laugh, giving my bruised skull-cap a tender and soothing kiss.
A small SINGLE bed. How the mighty are fallen. How came the mighty Jasper Horatio Stafford to this? To such indignity? Witness the following photographic image. It may distress the more sensitive among my readers - but the truth must be told, disgusting though it is. How? I ask you. How is a man such as I supposed to EXIST in such conditions? :-
I know. So sick, it's almost obscene. I am sorry that you had to see this.
More to follow....
Good night.
Suffice it to say that I am still here. Well, of course, I am still here. I mean that I am here in the here of my partner's parents' house, as opposed to the here in my own home - when I AM both here - and here. I think I've explained myself clearly - though I'm certain of fewer and fewer things these days... Anyway.
The fruit of today's toil seems to have been several half-installed kitchen units and an hand-scrawled note from someone calling himself "Lee", apologising for the fact that he forgot to put half of the kitchen fittings on his lorry when leaving his depot this morning.
As if these tiresome struggles were not enough, they have also indirectly caused me much in the way of humiliation. It commenced on the first night of my stay here. At home, my partner and I each have one side of a large double bed. Our refuge in my partner's parents' guest room is only a single bed - and a small one at that.
Imagine my distress, dear reader, at 4.45am one morning when I stretched out my supple limbs, yawned, and rolled over - only to find myself plummeting floor-wards, hitting the carpet sideways-on with a dull thump. My partner was instantly awake and offering comfort tinged with sympathy. To recoup a little of my vanished pride, I pretended that I had been going to get out of the bed anyway, to go to the toilet. Dozily, my partner clambered out of the bed and we headed for the stairs.
At home - our proper home - we have a curved staircase. When descending it is eight stairs down, turn to the right, then four steps down. In our temporary refuge, the staircase was a straight thirteen stairs down - top to bottom.
Still mostly asleep, I led the way downstairs with my door-unlocking/opening-capable partner in-tow. I am sure you can guess what happened.
Yes. Eight stairs down, turn to th-DONK! "Urrrrhhhh...." Jasper walks clean into the wall in his sleep-addled state. My partner had the tact and good grace not to laugh, giving my bruised skull-cap a tender and soothing kiss.
A small SINGLE bed. How the mighty are fallen. How came the mighty Jasper Horatio Stafford to this? To such indignity? Witness the following photographic image. It may distress the more sensitive among my readers - but the truth must be told, disgusting though it is. How? I ask you. How is a man such as I supposed to EXIST in such conditions? :-
I know. So sick, it's almost obscene. I am sorry that you had to see this.
More to follow....
Good night.
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Sunday 13 February 2011
I am writing this entry not from my own home (aka " Jasper-Horatio Stafford's House of Pain and Pleasure") but from the residence of my partner's parents; to whither my partner and I have decamped for the immediate future. I am almost unbarkably livid. I am NOT the kind of man who goes running back to mummy - and you may be sure that my partner is equally annoyed.
You may be aware that my partner and I are currently in the midst of having our kitchen and bathroom completely gutted and all-new ones built in their stead. "Hurrah!" was the initial cry. "How delightful." Not so now though. Oh no.
I will explain.
Originally, the work was scheduled to commence on Tuesday (8 February). Shortly before Christmas, we received a letter to say that the work was put back by a day to the Wednesday. No problem there. Then, a few weeks before the builders were due to start, the firm sacked one of their main contractors for incompetence and we had to take a day off work to meet the new contractor and re-select our kitchen colour scheme and style of units. Well.... alright then.
Two builders arrived at the house on Wednesday, around mid-morning. They were pleasant enough, liked me greatly, and acted efficiently. My partner and I popped out for a few hours, leaving them to it. When we returned, the builders had gone - and so had our kitchen and bathroom! The water had been reconnected, but there was plaster-dust EVERYWHERE. Grrrowl. After a couple of hours had passed with no reappearance of builders, my partner telephoned the firm's office. Oh no, came the reply, those fellows were just there to take everything out. Different builders will be coming tomorrow to begin the new installations. "But," protested my partner, "I have to go back to work tomorrow! How are they going to get in?!" Eventually, she elicited a promise that someone would be here to collect a key before she and I departed for work the following morning.
We waited. And, after we had finished that, we waited some more. Finally, we sighted a builder going into Eddie the Rottweiler's house (Eddie's partner and her boyfriend are having a new bathroom). My partner dashed over and gave him a key. We managed to be only slightly late for work.
As we pulled into our parking space that evening, the first thing we noticed was that the builders had left lights on in the house, using electricity that we have to pay for (at this point it is perhaps relevant to state that my partner presently has £5 left for us to live on this month), as well as the fact that an incredibly annoying high-pitched beeping noise was sounding constantly. My partner turned to me and wondered aloud how much work had been accomplished in our home that day. Upon entry, it was hard to ascertain whether or not ANY work had been done. Closer inspection revealed that an electrician had been in (there were new plug-points and switches, as well as new smoke-detectors and extractor-fans). It wasn't long before the irritating shrill noise from outside began sending us over the limits of endurance (my partner assumed to begin with that it was the electricity key-meter from next-door. These money-hungry meters emanate such a tone when funds are running low, to warn householders that, unless fed, all power to the home will be cut-off. A bit like a cat demanding its dinner). My partner went outside to take up the matter with our neighbours, only to discover that the peals seemed to be issuing from a large plastic sack beside our wheelie-bin, containing the workmens' waste from that day. She made a closer investigation - and uttered extreme, though justified, profanity at what she found.
Yes. The clowns had thrown our old smoke-detectors - with their batteries still in them - into the rubbish sack, and tossed plaster-dust, scrapings, bits of wood and any old sh*te in after them. The thing about fine plaster-dust is that, in many ways - it is just like smoke. G*d knows for how long those bl**dy alarms had been going off and tormenting our neighbours. My partner had to go through the whole sack by hand, getting scratched and filthy, to retrieve the smoke-detectors and remove the batteries. She was not pleased.
And thus dawned the weekly miracle that is Friday. Off we went to work, thinking that better things would be awaiting us on our return. Sometimes, dear reader, I wonder why I bother with optimism, I really do.
No further progress seemed initially evident in the kitchen after a fleeting glance so my partner proceeded upstairs to look at the bathroom. She found that a new bath, lavatory and washbasin had been installed. MY attention, however, was arrested by the kitchen. I wandered in and sniffed around - something didn't smell right and there was an odd clicking sound. As my partner returned downstairs, something hit me on the head. "Erm... you might want to come and have a look at this." I wuffed hesitantly.
"What's up in there, Jazz?" replied my partner, entering the kitchen and switching on the light.
Oh poo.
Water was steadily dripping through the kitchen ceiling (which is beneath the bathroom), and had clearly been doing so for SOME TIME. A small bulge was also forming around the source of the drips. Double-Grrrowl, which is mild compared to some of the remarks on the subject made by my partner.
My partner endeavoured to contact the "emergency out-of-hours helpline" of the building firm (though it was only 5.40pm) - no-one was there and mobile 'phones had been switched off. Hmmmnnn... Eventually, my partner gave up and telephoned our landlords' helpline. She spoke with a very helpful young man named Asif who, to be honest, was our first encounter with someone efficient throughout the whole business. He summoned a repair-man, who arrived after a couple of hours, and we took some pictures of the damage whilst we were waiting. Our repair-man did his best, but struggled to comprehend quite how the incompetence of his havoc-wreaking colleagues had been achieved. Ultimately, all he was able to do to cease the flow into the kitchen was to disconnect our water and heating until Monday. Had we no other options, my partner would not have been able to go to the lavatory for the whole weekend. I offered her some space in my favourite pee-patch in the garden, but she wasn't tempted.
My partner's parents kindly offered us sanctuary, and here we now are. We can do our laundry, cook our food, and have our baths. But that doesn't mean that we are not very cross indeed.
This, I suspect, is not the end of the sorry saga. Updates will be posted.
Grrrowl.
Good day.
You may be aware that my partner and I are currently in the midst of having our kitchen and bathroom completely gutted and all-new ones built in their stead. "Hurrah!" was the initial cry. "How delightful." Not so now though. Oh no.
I will explain.
Originally, the work was scheduled to commence on Tuesday (8 February). Shortly before Christmas, we received a letter to say that the work was put back by a day to the Wednesday. No problem there. Then, a few weeks before the builders were due to start, the firm sacked one of their main contractors for incompetence and we had to take a day off work to meet the new contractor and re-select our kitchen colour scheme and style of units. Well.... alright then.
Two builders arrived at the house on Wednesday, around mid-morning. They were pleasant enough, liked me greatly, and acted efficiently. My partner and I popped out for a few hours, leaving them to it. When we returned, the builders had gone - and so had our kitchen and bathroom! The water had been reconnected, but there was plaster-dust EVERYWHERE. Grrrowl. After a couple of hours had passed with no reappearance of builders, my partner telephoned the firm's office. Oh no, came the reply, those fellows were just there to take everything out. Different builders will be coming tomorrow to begin the new installations. "But," protested my partner, "I have to go back to work tomorrow! How are they going to get in?!" Eventually, she elicited a promise that someone would be here to collect a key before she and I departed for work the following morning.
We waited. And, after we had finished that, we waited some more. Finally, we sighted a builder going into Eddie the Rottweiler's house (Eddie's partner and her boyfriend are having a new bathroom). My partner dashed over and gave him a key. We managed to be only slightly late for work.
As we pulled into our parking space that evening, the first thing we noticed was that the builders had left lights on in the house, using electricity that we have to pay for (at this point it is perhaps relevant to state that my partner presently has £5 left for us to live on this month), as well as the fact that an incredibly annoying high-pitched beeping noise was sounding constantly. My partner turned to me and wondered aloud how much work had been accomplished in our home that day. Upon entry, it was hard to ascertain whether or not ANY work had been done. Closer inspection revealed that an electrician had been in (there were new plug-points and switches, as well as new smoke-detectors and extractor-fans). It wasn't long before the irritating shrill noise from outside began sending us over the limits of endurance (my partner assumed to begin with that it was the electricity key-meter from next-door. These money-hungry meters emanate such a tone when funds are running low, to warn householders that, unless fed, all power to the home will be cut-off. A bit like a cat demanding its dinner). My partner went outside to take up the matter with our neighbours, only to discover that the peals seemed to be issuing from a large plastic sack beside our wheelie-bin, containing the workmens' waste from that day. She made a closer investigation - and uttered extreme, though justified, profanity at what she found.
Yes. The clowns had thrown our old smoke-detectors - with their batteries still in them - into the rubbish sack, and tossed plaster-dust, scrapings, bits of wood and any old sh*te in after them. The thing about fine plaster-dust is that, in many ways - it is just like smoke. G*d knows for how long those bl**dy alarms had been going off and tormenting our neighbours. My partner had to go through the whole sack by hand, getting scratched and filthy, to retrieve the smoke-detectors and remove the batteries. She was not pleased.
And thus dawned the weekly miracle that is Friday. Off we went to work, thinking that better things would be awaiting us on our return. Sometimes, dear reader, I wonder why I bother with optimism, I really do.
No further progress seemed initially evident in the kitchen after a fleeting glance so my partner proceeded upstairs to look at the bathroom. She found that a new bath, lavatory and washbasin had been installed. MY attention, however, was arrested by the kitchen. I wandered in and sniffed around - something didn't smell right and there was an odd clicking sound. As my partner returned downstairs, something hit me on the head. "Erm... you might want to come and have a look at this." I wuffed hesitantly.
"What's up in there, Jazz?" replied my partner, entering the kitchen and switching on the light.
Oh poo.
Water was steadily dripping through the kitchen ceiling (which is beneath the bathroom), and had clearly been doing so for SOME TIME. A small bulge was also forming around the source of the drips. Double-Grrrowl, which is mild compared to some of the remarks on the subject made by my partner.
My partner endeavoured to contact the "emergency out-of-hours helpline" of the building firm (though it was only 5.40pm) - no-one was there and mobile 'phones had been switched off. Hmmmnnn... Eventually, my partner gave up and telephoned our landlords' helpline. She spoke with a very helpful young man named Asif who, to be honest, was our first encounter with someone efficient throughout the whole business. He summoned a repair-man, who arrived after a couple of hours, and we took some pictures of the damage whilst we were waiting. Our repair-man did his best, but struggled to comprehend quite how the incompetence of his havoc-wreaking colleagues had been achieved. Ultimately, all he was able to do to cease the flow into the kitchen was to disconnect our water and heating until Monday. Had we no other options, my partner would not have been able to go to the lavatory for the whole weekend. I offered her some space in my favourite pee-patch in the garden, but she wasn't tempted.
My partner's parents kindly offered us sanctuary, and here we now are. We can do our laundry, cook our food, and have our baths. But that doesn't mean that we are not very cross indeed.
This, I suspect, is not the end of the sorry saga. Updates will be posted.
Grrrowl.
Good day.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
Wednesday 9 February 2011
This is my 300th blog post - but today is not about me (and it's not often you'll catch me barking that - but this time it is true). Our dear friend Angie Marshall was laid to rest today.
To mark her passing, I share with you now a paw-picked selection of favourite comments left by her on this blog. Yes; I keep and cherish EVERY comment from EVERY reader. They mean so much to me (apart from those that offer me cut-price medications, s*xual aids, or opportunities to view dubious videos - but none of THOSE came from Angie...!) and one day, when I am gone, I know that my partner will have a veritable treasury of affectionate memories from readers old, new, still with us today, or long-since gone.
And these comments will remain, after I am become mere dust and memories, to support my partner and remind her that, for the most fleeting of moments in the scheme of Time and the Universe, I was not only Jasper - but I was HER Jasper. And a pleasure shared is a pleasure increased. If you are a follower of this blog - whether you post comments, sign up as an 'official follower' or just quietly lurk in the background, popping in now and again, I am YOUR Jasper too. That, I suppose is why I continue to blog - not to draw gratuitous attention to myself, but because I want to be loved. Or at least, after I am gone, to have someone say "Who? Oh, yeah, that dog. I quite liked him.". Just like dear Angie, I existed - and was loved.
If you are reading this now: thank you. And I mean that most sincerely - whether this is your first visit - or your three-hundredth.
I am only sorry that Angie's physical life on Earth came to an end before mine own. But she is not gone in spirit - she exists now in Heaven; and her writings endure within our temporal realm - to ensure that her vibrant wit, her love for her family and friends, and her goodness will never fade away.
The Dog's Blog
Sunday 12 November 2006
Comment from: faveanti
"Tillywoo at 62 sent me over and I am really glad I dropped in. I'm only a mere lowly human but I love my doggy partner to bits BUT she has got me over a barrel! Knows just which buttons to push and when! I'll be back - be good. - Angie, x"
And a selection of my personal favourites (although I loved everything Angie sent to me!), once I started lifting my leg here on Blogger:
I read this first time round, on AOL, dear Jasper and time has taken away none of its humour. For me that's the benchmark of good humour: that it remains funny even if you read it 100 times.
Is that bad tempered old swan still about?
much love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Thursday 28 June 2007 on 15/10/08
Eeeeh Jasper, you do get yourself in hot water sometimes! 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' and all that. This was a very VERY narrow escape. What sort of a coward is that swan though, picking on a poor defenceless female? I suppose with all that snapping and snarling it took to save Candy I ought really to feel sorry for your slip of the tongue.
And SHE ought to show her gratitude. Somehow.
Much love, brave one,
Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 23 November 2008 on 25/11/08
Our Sal has a big lump which goes from just behind her left front leg for about 4" along her ribcage. She has had it years and doesn't bother her at all. Vet says it's a fat lump and of no consequence. Hang on, did he say 'it's' or was it 'she's'? JOKE JOKE!
Seriously though, you are being very brave and we love you, me and sal.
love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 6 January 2009 on 07/01/09
Good job you've got those beautiful - I won't say patches, you might be offended, I would be - 'nuances of colour', will that do? Otherwise you could hide in the snow without hiding if you see what I mean. Oh heck, I'm getting as bad as poor Ewan.
I like to see snow but, it not being wheelchair friendly, I can't go out in it. It does make our garden look on a par with the neighbours though.
love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Monday 2 February 2009 on 03/02/09
Hello my dearest one. How many of Ewan's windows did you agree to? Shame about him and Fizzy but if, as I suspect, she gave him his info as well as spellings well then she is having a larf and you will be having to console Ewan ere long. I don't lke that Fizzy. Sorry, I know you do but I just have this ..feeling....
Your house looks grand. Very posh. A place of your own at last. Don't forget the photers - I'm nosy remember!
love, Angie
By Angie on Tuesday 10 February 2009 on 13/02/09
JASPER - GERROUTA THE FLOWERS! Silly boy, if you leave them alone they'll maybe grow bushy and block out those eyes. Whoever those eyes belong to would surely by now have made his intentions known. They have probably never had such a handsome neighbour so they're feasting their eyes. Eh?
When I think of you two half frozen I could weep. I could almost write some Dickens-like novel starting from "Jasper wimpered in his sleep and drew closer to his beloved waif-like mistress that she may feel the fading warmth of his starving body.....". Hmm, perhaps more Barbara Cartland-ish. Anyway.
It is good to have you back at the end of your ordeal (or I suppose the end of it?). Do tell more bout WS. What a good job his initials are not WC!
love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 7 April 2009 on 08/04/09
Jasper - DON'T DO IT! Oh deary me I fear history is about to repeat itself. Remember the buzzard and - THINK ON. That might be a sewer rat or a weasel or a stoat. You don't want them round your back garden. Ruth would go daft. See him off Jazz, whatever he says he is not your friend. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Saturday 25 April 2009 on 26/04/09
I'm with Lance - Ruth first, everything else second. Do not let old Stinky near her either. Are you beginning to see the light about him by the way? It sounds to me as if the seeds of doubt have been planted. Hurrah! How great would be your stature in the community if you could somehow warn the kittens (yes, specially them - what a selfless gesture) about Stinky. Despite all my dire warnings - all fondly well-meant in spite of their severity - I do love to hear you enjoying just 'being' the unique, irrepressible and incorrigible YOU. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Wednesday 29 April 2009 on 01/05/09
I'm not going to say it Jasper, I'm NOT. Oh, all right then, I TOLD YOU SO. You raging great nincompoop, you. THAT close you came - THAT CLOSE - to being a murderer! And you supposed to be a nice well-brought-up chap with manners and finer feelings. But as you have 'fessed it all up to us, your devoted friends, we'll say no more about it. I won't tell Ruth even, she has enough to contend with just now - or does she know already? Just one more word : TWIT! love anyway, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 24 May 2009 on 25/05/09
Oh, ha ha ha ha. Did they not tell you that injuries like your eye always start to itch maddeningly when they're getting better. So, as my late father used to say. "Less of the not so much of it" and have your drops in, there's a good boy. No more scrattin' and pickin'. As we used to say during the miners' strike of '74 (before your time) "It'll never get better if you pick-et!" Nice to know that Eddie the Rottie - gay old dog - lives nearby. I hope we shall hear more of him. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 30 August 2009 on 31/08/09
Flamin' taters - is my dashboard letting me down? I never saw this one. I'm pleased you've taken the kitten under your wing (so to speak). He should grow into a fine cat under your guidance. Well informed about willies anyway! I absolutely forbid you to kick up any fuss about having your eye stitched shut. They're not doing it for fun you clot. It's so that nothing can get in and irritate your damaged eye. With you being such a fine active and adventurous chap all manner of outside detritus and s**t like that can get in. Be good and spare a thought for Ruth eh? Some of these Word Verifications are hilarious. My one is OPEEPIP! lOVE, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 22 September 2009 on 28/09/09
Ladies first...........I was chuffed to bits to learn of the Famous Receding Lump. Maybe things are looking up eh? As for you Jasper - I'm just glad you're safe. I echo the Animal Doc, it is the most horrible feeling when your beloved pet goes missing because even if you are a naughty young beggar there's nothing that can replace you. Nothing. Now you know for sure that lots of people love you but - for goodness' sake - don't ever do that again. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Saturday 7 November 2009 on 11/11/09
200th post - brilliant. And you are you know, brilliant I mean. If anyone dared to tell me these woofs don't fall direct from your jowls I would deem it as bad as saying they didn't believe in Santa Claus. First I thought Aww poor squirrel then, like AD, I thought I detected a faint nuance of infamy on squirrel's part, then I thought Aaaaw again. And THEN, Jasper, I was so proud of your magnanimous gesture. Surely we saw there the Ewan of the squirrel world? And thanks to your largesse he will continue to be so. Well done young Jazz! love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 6 December 2009 on 09/12/09
Late comment from an idle slug to the handsomest of God's creatures. Not all men are bad (as I'm sure you now know) but you can ALWAYS rely on women to care for you. It's in our job description. Don't keep us cliff-hanging too long. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Saturday 26 December 2009 on 28/12/09
I'm with Lance and the Doc too Jasper, loved one. Your life story would make a brilliant book. But you know you are an incorrigible little so and so, you are. All those resolutions lovingly made for you without you having to so much as lift a paw. Oh well, it's what makes you YOU. Good job you're loved.
By Angie on Tuesday 5 January 2010 on 08/01/10
Tch Tch = will you ever learn Jasper!! Still, no harm done, you naughty wotsit you. What Lance said about the mobile phone - he's right unless, of course, Ruth uses 'pay as you go' in which case the calls can't be traced back. You'd better hope so! I knew a Jack Russell called Schatze whose prowess at telephone answering had Interpol on the hop trying to locate the partner they thought was laying half dead in a locked-up house!
By Angie on Monday 8 February 2010 on 13/02/10
If somebody said I had a perky bottom I would be quite chuffed! What are you like though, eh? Letting yourself be led into scrape after scrape. Still, you were just a youth then weren't you? You would have more sense today, wouldn't you? love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Thursday 4 March 2010 on 05/03/10
Well, maybe not the most flattering photo ever but a real "Ooooh, int he CUTE" sort of thing. A tickle on the tum picture and it's lovely. Nothing our Sal likes better than a nice tickle on the tum - unless it's an edible delicacy. Sorry Jasper - that was a typical 'people' speech wasn't it? Oh well, I'm only human, I can't help it. But Carys - what a lovely name. It just begs for a gorgeous Welsh accent to say it with. By the way- how early does one have to get up to be first on your comments list? Here I am not much after 7am and Lance is here already. I see your list of followers is growing too. Nearly as long as Dr Who's scarf!
By Angie on Wednesday 7 April 2010 on 08/04/10
Ooh yes, Jasper, we ALWAYS know, so think on. Chain saws / tin openers - whatever next. You'll be getting yourself a reputation and not get invited to parties and things in case you bring your axe. That poor geezer with the roofless car is probably still saving up for that bit. Bit of a devil on a wet and windy day eh? At least you and Ruth have a proper car with all bits as listed!
By Angie on Sunday 2 May 2010 on 03/05/10
Are you OK Lance? Where is he then? Oh Jasper, you cuckoo. If Ruth read that she must have laughed her socks off. Who would rank among the useful humans? Can I be one... please?....bagsy I be one. And Ruth. Well if you can have a revolution you must expect a counter revolution and SOMEBODY has to run it. POWER TO THE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!! UP THE HUMANS ..... no, that doesn't sound right. xxx
By Angie on Saturday 8 May 2010 on 09/05/10
Here I am - better late than never. You wicked lad Jasper. How ever will Ruth explain the plant's absence to her mum. Didn't you even get a bit of a belly ache? You ought to have. You are doing so well, telling us about your previous life. That's how it happens too: a tentative happy memory of the one who's passed from someone who feels they shouldn't. But really it's exactly what they SHOULD. It starts the healing for everybody. love and hugs - AND KEEP OUT OF THE FLOWER BEDS - Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 23 May 2010 on 29/05/10
Oh yes, the 'fat old fairy' dig had me in stitches! At least it went home and you've ditched the hi-viz jacket idea. Now, silk cravat sounds more your STYLE, but don't you reckon every other creature in the neighbourhood will know exactly who your wardrobe designer is? Anyway, a different type of Queen is paying a state visit to your part of UK in little more than a week and will be pleased to advise on Gok related topics.
By Angie on Monday 14 June 2010 on 15/06/10
What a relief! I'm so glad you're OK I can't think how to be cross with you! For one so clever and intelligent you can be incredibly daft at times. But I do see, as an experienced housemate of various dogs and even mother-substitute to some, that sometimes it's old Mother Nature that takes over and you just do what dogs do. Same with us not-dogs: it's in our nature to nurture and that's why we care about you so very much. It's why we would rob a bank if that's what it took to right a wrong against you or make you better. Will that make any difference when you look like getting into a scrape? I think not but TRY eh? lots of love, as always, Angie, xxx
By Angie on Sunday 4 July 2010 on 05/07/10
What does a big toughie like you want to be hiding for? IF there is really any scrattin' - which I doubt - it means no harm to them as tried to help it. And in any case, it's in a b****y cupboard, yer lummox! I still think it odd that Peaches doesn't vent his wrath on whoever gave him that daft name. Where's Lance got to?
By Angie on Sunday 22 August 2010 on 23/08/10
(sharp intake of breath) - I VERY nearly ended up as dish of the day 25/12/2010. Jasper Horatio - that's not funny either (splutter, splutter). I can - sort of - understand you not wanting to defile your garden by poo-ing in it but that's not the issue is it? It's the lack of privacy. I remember when my brother was little he always took his potty behind the chair in the corner of the living room. When he realised we could still see him he went behind the sofa. But Jasper, the car - I ask you - THE CAR? love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 29 August 2010 on 30/08/10
Hi Jazz, sweetie-pie! Do you know, I was right proud of you, lending your strong right paw in poor Ewan's defence of the kittens. I'm sure they'll turn into fine feral felines one of these days. But fancy Fizzy going off on one like that eh? I think I can see where Ruth is coming from on this matter of being woken from her slumbers so often. One time or two is an acceptable level of scaredness. But ALTOGETHER, not every night. I'm not qualified to say whether or not ghosts exist. I've never seen one but I know people who think they have. But even if, say, there IS a teensy little scratter in your airing cupboard, don't you think it might have popped out by now and GOBBLED YOU UP (tee hee) if it meant you any harm? Now stop being a wimp and get back to your kitten minding. lots of love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 14 September 2010 on 18/09/10
You naughty little b****r!
By Angie on Saturday 25 September 2010 on 30/09/10
Priceless, priceless! Bless him, I bet Ewan would go into deep mourning if he accidentally trod on an ant. Baby Cheesus..............!
By Angie on Thursday 25 November 2010 on 28/11/10
And Happy New Year from us and Sal too. This chapter of Evolutions is wonderful. You're a good dog to have on-side and I for one would hate not to be your friend. Even when you're being a bit naughty or bolshie. love to you both, xxxx
By Angie on Sunday 2 January 2011 on 03/01/11
And our final comment from Angie, just a couple of weeks ago:
Hi Jasper sweets. Like Lance, I'm a bit confused here. You see, I thought it was boy dogs who went seeking for girl dogs at Potato time, not tuther way about. You know the kind of thing: "Oh she'll have to be kept in or next door's dog will be at her.....". Am I to suppose it's actually the other way round? How IS Ruth?
By Angie on Saturday 22 January 2011 on 24/01/11
And now she is gone.
These are just a few of the messages that I have to remind me of lovely Angie. She gave us SO many smiles over the years - and I am grateful to her for each and every one. Goodbye Angie - until we meet again one day...
Good night.
To mark her passing, I share with you now a paw-picked selection of favourite comments left by her on this blog. Yes; I keep and cherish EVERY comment from EVERY reader. They mean so much to me (apart from those that offer me cut-price medications, s*xual aids, or opportunities to view dubious videos - but none of THOSE came from Angie...!) and one day, when I am gone, I know that my partner will have a veritable treasury of affectionate memories from readers old, new, still with us today, or long-since gone.
And these comments will remain, after I am become mere dust and memories, to support my partner and remind her that, for the most fleeting of moments in the scheme of Time and the Universe, I was not only Jasper - but I was HER Jasper. And a pleasure shared is a pleasure increased. If you are a follower of this blog - whether you post comments, sign up as an 'official follower' or just quietly lurk in the background, popping in now and again, I am YOUR Jasper too. That, I suppose is why I continue to blog - not to draw gratuitous attention to myself, but because I want to be loved. Or at least, after I am gone, to have someone say "Who? Oh, yeah, that dog. I quite liked him.". Just like dear Angie, I existed - and was loved.
If you are reading this now: thank you. And I mean that most sincerely - whether this is your first visit - or your three-hundredth.
I am only sorry that Angie's physical life on Earth came to an end before mine own. But she is not gone in spirit - she exists now in Heaven; and her writings endure within our temporal realm - to ensure that her vibrant wit, her love for her family and friends, and her goodness will never fade away.
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| ANGIE MARSHALL 1951 - 2011 |
Angie's first comment, from back when I was on AOLJournals:
A comment has been posted to the Blog:
The Dog's Blog
Sunday 12 November 2006
Comment from: faveanti
"Tillywoo at 62 sent me over and I am really glad I dropped in. I'm only a mere lowly human but I love my doggy partner to bits BUT she has got me over a barrel! Knows just which buttons to push and when! I'll be back - be good. - Angie, x"
And a selection of my personal favourites (although I loved everything Angie sent to me!), once I started lifting my leg here on Blogger:
I read this first time round, on AOL, dear Jasper and time has taken away none of its humour. For me that's the benchmark of good humour: that it remains funny even if you read it 100 times.
Is that bad tempered old swan still about?
much love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Thursday 28 June 2007 on 15/10/08
Eeeeh Jasper, you do get yourself in hot water sometimes! 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' and all that. This was a very VERY narrow escape. What sort of a coward is that swan though, picking on a poor defenceless female? I suppose with all that snapping and snarling it took to save Candy I ought really to feel sorry for your slip of the tongue.
And SHE ought to show her gratitude. Somehow.
Much love, brave one,
Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 23 November 2008 on 25/11/08
Our Sal has a big lump which goes from just behind her left front leg for about 4" along her ribcage. She has had it years and doesn't bother her at all. Vet says it's a fat lump and of no consequence. Hang on, did he say 'it's' or was it 'she's'? JOKE JOKE!
Seriously though, you are being very brave and we love you, me and sal.
love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 6 January 2009 on 07/01/09
Good job you've got those beautiful - I won't say patches, you might be offended, I would be - 'nuances of colour', will that do? Otherwise you could hide in the snow without hiding if you see what I mean. Oh heck, I'm getting as bad as poor Ewan.
I like to see snow but, it not being wheelchair friendly, I can't go out in it. It does make our garden look on a par with the neighbours though.
love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Monday 2 February 2009 on 03/02/09
Hello my dearest one. How many of Ewan's windows did you agree to? Shame about him and Fizzy but if, as I suspect, she gave him his info as well as spellings well then she is having a larf and you will be having to console Ewan ere long. I don't lke that Fizzy. Sorry, I know you do but I just have this ..feeling....
Your house looks grand. Very posh. A place of your own at last. Don't forget the photers - I'm nosy remember!
love, Angie
By Angie on Tuesday 10 February 2009 on 13/02/09
JASPER - GERROUTA THE FLOWERS! Silly boy, if you leave them alone they'll maybe grow bushy and block out those eyes. Whoever those eyes belong to would surely by now have made his intentions known. They have probably never had such a handsome neighbour so they're feasting their eyes. Eh?
When I think of you two half frozen I could weep. I could almost write some Dickens-like novel starting from "Jasper wimpered in his sleep and drew closer to his beloved waif-like mistress that she may feel the fading warmth of his starving body.....". Hmm, perhaps more Barbara Cartland-ish. Anyway.
It is good to have you back at the end of your ordeal (or I suppose the end of it?). Do tell more bout WS. What a good job his initials are not WC!
love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 7 April 2009 on 08/04/09
Jasper - DON'T DO IT! Oh deary me I fear history is about to repeat itself. Remember the buzzard and - THINK ON. That might be a sewer rat or a weasel or a stoat. You don't want them round your back garden. Ruth would go daft. See him off Jazz, whatever he says he is not your friend. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Saturday 25 April 2009 on 26/04/09
I'm with Lance - Ruth first, everything else second. Do not let old Stinky near her either. Are you beginning to see the light about him by the way? It sounds to me as if the seeds of doubt have been planted. Hurrah! How great would be your stature in the community if you could somehow warn the kittens (yes, specially them - what a selfless gesture) about Stinky. Despite all my dire warnings - all fondly well-meant in spite of their severity - I do love to hear you enjoying just 'being' the unique, irrepressible and incorrigible YOU. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Wednesday 29 April 2009 on 01/05/09
I'm not going to say it Jasper, I'm NOT. Oh, all right then, I TOLD YOU SO. You raging great nincompoop, you. THAT close you came - THAT CLOSE - to being a murderer! And you supposed to be a nice well-brought-up chap with manners and finer feelings. But as you have 'fessed it all up to us, your devoted friends, we'll say no more about it. I won't tell Ruth even, she has enough to contend with just now - or does she know already? Just one more word : TWIT! love anyway, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 24 May 2009 on 25/05/09
Oh, ha ha ha ha. Did they not tell you that injuries like your eye always start to itch maddeningly when they're getting better. So, as my late father used to say. "Less of the not so much of it" and have your drops in, there's a good boy. No more scrattin' and pickin'. As we used to say during the miners' strike of '74 (before your time) "It'll never get better if you pick-et!" Nice to know that Eddie the Rottie - gay old dog - lives nearby. I hope we shall hear more of him. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 30 August 2009 on 31/08/09
Flamin' taters - is my dashboard letting me down? I never saw this one. I'm pleased you've taken the kitten under your wing (so to speak). He should grow into a fine cat under your guidance. Well informed about willies anyway! I absolutely forbid you to kick up any fuss about having your eye stitched shut. They're not doing it for fun you clot. It's so that nothing can get in and irritate your damaged eye. With you being such a fine active and adventurous chap all manner of outside detritus and s**t like that can get in. Be good and spare a thought for Ruth eh? Some of these Word Verifications are hilarious. My one is OPEEPIP! lOVE, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 22 September 2009 on 28/09/09
Ladies first...........I was chuffed to bits to learn of the Famous Receding Lump. Maybe things are looking up eh? As for you Jasper - I'm just glad you're safe. I echo the Animal Doc, it is the most horrible feeling when your beloved pet goes missing because even if you are a naughty young beggar there's nothing that can replace you. Nothing. Now you know for sure that lots of people love you but - for goodness' sake - don't ever do that again. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Saturday 7 November 2009 on 11/11/09
200th post - brilliant. And you are you know, brilliant I mean. If anyone dared to tell me these woofs don't fall direct from your jowls I would deem it as bad as saying they didn't believe in Santa Claus. First I thought Aww poor squirrel then, like AD, I thought I detected a faint nuance of infamy on squirrel's part, then I thought Aaaaw again. And THEN, Jasper, I was so proud of your magnanimous gesture. Surely we saw there the Ewan of the squirrel world? And thanks to your largesse he will continue to be so. Well done young Jazz! love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 6 December 2009 on 09/12/09
Late comment from an idle slug to the handsomest of God's creatures. Not all men are bad (as I'm sure you now know) but you can ALWAYS rely on women to care for you. It's in our job description. Don't keep us cliff-hanging too long. love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Saturday 26 December 2009 on 28/12/09
I'm with Lance and the Doc too Jasper, loved one. Your life story would make a brilliant book. But you know you are an incorrigible little so and so, you are. All those resolutions lovingly made for you without you having to so much as lift a paw. Oh well, it's what makes you YOU. Good job you're loved.
By Angie on Tuesday 5 January 2010 on 08/01/10
Tch Tch = will you ever learn Jasper!! Still, no harm done, you naughty wotsit you. What Lance said about the mobile phone - he's right unless, of course, Ruth uses 'pay as you go' in which case the calls can't be traced back. You'd better hope so! I knew a Jack Russell called Schatze whose prowess at telephone answering had Interpol on the hop trying to locate the partner they thought was laying half dead in a locked-up house!
By Angie on Monday 8 February 2010 on 13/02/10
If somebody said I had a perky bottom I would be quite chuffed! What are you like though, eh? Letting yourself be led into scrape after scrape. Still, you were just a youth then weren't you? You would have more sense today, wouldn't you? love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Thursday 4 March 2010 on 05/03/10
Well, maybe not the most flattering photo ever but a real "Ooooh, int he CUTE" sort of thing. A tickle on the tum picture and it's lovely. Nothing our Sal likes better than a nice tickle on the tum - unless it's an edible delicacy. Sorry Jasper - that was a typical 'people' speech wasn't it? Oh well, I'm only human, I can't help it. But Carys - what a lovely name. It just begs for a gorgeous Welsh accent to say it with. By the way- how early does one have to get up to be first on your comments list? Here I am not much after 7am and Lance is here already. I see your list of followers is growing too. Nearly as long as Dr Who's scarf!
By Angie on Wednesday 7 April 2010 on 08/04/10
Ooh yes, Jasper, we ALWAYS know, so think on. Chain saws / tin openers - whatever next. You'll be getting yourself a reputation and not get invited to parties and things in case you bring your axe. That poor geezer with the roofless car is probably still saving up for that bit. Bit of a devil on a wet and windy day eh? At least you and Ruth have a proper car with all bits as listed!
By Angie on Sunday 2 May 2010 on 03/05/10
Are you OK Lance? Where is he then? Oh Jasper, you cuckoo. If Ruth read that she must have laughed her socks off. Who would rank among the useful humans? Can I be one... please?....bagsy I be one. And Ruth. Well if you can have a revolution you must expect a counter revolution and SOMEBODY has to run it. POWER TO THE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!! UP THE HUMANS ..... no, that doesn't sound right. xxx
By Angie on Saturday 8 May 2010 on 09/05/10
Here I am - better late than never. You wicked lad Jasper. How ever will Ruth explain the plant's absence to her mum. Didn't you even get a bit of a belly ache? You ought to have. You are doing so well, telling us about your previous life. That's how it happens too: a tentative happy memory of the one who's passed from someone who feels they shouldn't. But really it's exactly what they SHOULD. It starts the healing for everybody. love and hugs - AND KEEP OUT OF THE FLOWER BEDS - Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 23 May 2010 on 29/05/10
Oh yes, the 'fat old fairy' dig had me in stitches! At least it went home and you've ditched the hi-viz jacket idea. Now, silk cravat sounds more your STYLE, but don't you reckon every other creature in the neighbourhood will know exactly who your wardrobe designer is? Anyway, a different type of Queen is paying a state visit to your part of UK in little more than a week and will be pleased to advise on Gok related topics.
By Angie on Monday 14 June 2010 on 15/06/10
What a relief! I'm so glad you're OK I can't think how to be cross with you! For one so clever and intelligent you can be incredibly daft at times. But I do see, as an experienced housemate of various dogs and even mother-substitute to some, that sometimes it's old Mother Nature that takes over and you just do what dogs do. Same with us not-dogs: it's in our nature to nurture and that's why we care about you so very much. It's why we would rob a bank if that's what it took to right a wrong against you or make you better. Will that make any difference when you look like getting into a scrape? I think not but TRY eh? lots of love, as always, Angie, xxx
By Angie on Sunday 4 July 2010 on 05/07/10
What does a big toughie like you want to be hiding for? IF there is really any scrattin' - which I doubt - it means no harm to them as tried to help it. And in any case, it's in a b****y cupboard, yer lummox! I still think it odd that Peaches doesn't vent his wrath on whoever gave him that daft name. Where's Lance got to?
By Angie on Sunday 22 August 2010 on 23/08/10
(sharp intake of breath) - I VERY nearly ended up as dish of the day 25/12/2010. Jasper Horatio - that's not funny either (splutter, splutter). I can - sort of - understand you not wanting to defile your garden by poo-ing in it but that's not the issue is it? It's the lack of privacy. I remember when my brother was little he always took his potty behind the chair in the corner of the living room. When he realised we could still see him he went behind the sofa. But Jasper, the car - I ask you - THE CAR? love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Sunday 29 August 2010 on 30/08/10
Hi Jazz, sweetie-pie! Do you know, I was right proud of you, lending your strong right paw in poor Ewan's defence of the kittens. I'm sure they'll turn into fine feral felines one of these days. But fancy Fizzy going off on one like that eh? I think I can see where Ruth is coming from on this matter of being woken from her slumbers so often. One time or two is an acceptable level of scaredness. But ALTOGETHER, not every night. I'm not qualified to say whether or not ghosts exist. I've never seen one but I know people who think they have. But even if, say, there IS a teensy little scratter in your airing cupboard, don't you think it might have popped out by now and GOBBLED YOU UP (tee hee) if it meant you any harm? Now stop being a wimp and get back to your kitten minding. lots of love, Angie, xx
By Angie on Tuesday 14 September 2010 on 18/09/10
You naughty little b****r!
By Angie on Saturday 25 September 2010 on 30/09/10
Priceless, priceless! Bless him, I bet Ewan would go into deep mourning if he accidentally trod on an ant. Baby Cheesus..............!
By Angie on Thursday 25 November 2010 on 28/11/10
And Happy New Year from us and Sal too. This chapter of Evolutions is wonderful. You're a good dog to have on-side and I for one would hate not to be your friend. Even when you're being a bit naughty or bolshie. love to you both, xxxx
By Angie on Sunday 2 January 2011 on 03/01/11
And our final comment from Angie, just a couple of weeks ago:
Hi Jasper sweets. Like Lance, I'm a bit confused here. You see, I thought it was boy dogs who went seeking for girl dogs at Potato time, not tuther way about. You know the kind of thing: "Oh she'll have to be kept in or next door's dog will be at her.....". Am I to suppose it's actually the other way round? How IS Ruth?
By Angie on Saturday 22 January 2011 on 24/01/11
And now she is gone.
These are just a few of the messages that I have to remind me of lovely Angie. She gave us SO many smiles over the years - and I am grateful to her for each and every one. Goodbye Angie - until we meet again one day...
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| (Angie's Avatar) |
Good night.
Friday, 4 February 2011
Friday 4 February 2011
With a broken heart, I post a daytime entry.
I learned, only slightly above an hour ago, that my dear friend Angie Marshall has just died. The shock and distress I feel is overwhelming. I cannot bear to believe that I will never hear from her again. Just a few days ago she mentioned that she wasn't feeling too well - and now she is gone.
Angie was one of the first people to comment on my debut blog entry, back in August 2006. She (and Lance) have stayed with me from that time to this.
Angie's funeral takes place next week - but I am certain that she is already walking tall in Heaven. Angie requested that, instead of flowers, donations in her memory are made to The Brittle Bone Society (Angie was afflicted with this most unfortunate condition). www.brittlebone.org/
I will post another entry later.
Angie Marshall - you were a true friend and I loved you very, very much.
I just can't believe that I will never hear from her again.
I learned, only slightly above an hour ago, that my dear friend Angie Marshall has just died. The shock and distress I feel is overwhelming. I cannot bear to believe that I will never hear from her again. Just a few days ago she mentioned that she wasn't feeling too well - and now she is gone.
Angie was one of the first people to comment on my debut blog entry, back in August 2006. She (and Lance) have stayed with me from that time to this.
Angie's funeral takes place next week - but I am certain that she is already walking tall in Heaven. Angie requested that, instead of flowers, donations in her memory are made to The Brittle Bone Society (Angie was afflicted with this most unfortunate condition). www.brittlebone.org/
I will post another entry later.
Angie Marshall - you were a true friend and I loved you very, very much.
I just can't believe that I will never hear from her again.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Sunday 30 January 2011
"Fizzy's pregnant." announced my witless but lovable canine chum, Ewan, proudly.
"WHAT?!?" I yelped, incredulous. "But how...?"
"Well, I'm surprised that you has to ask!" barked Ewan. "What happened is that I put my winkie in Fi-"
"NO!!!" I snapped, "I mean, I thought you'd been snipped!"
Ewan shrugged. I continued, completely dazed, "So how..."
"Don't know." responded my simple friend. "But all I does know is that Fizzy is having some babies. Mummy took her to the vets and they putted something on her belly and she saw six babies on a television. They is ALL look like me!"
I began to feel nauseous. Ewan noticed not, and prattled on, grinning from ear to ear. "They is two baby-ladies and four baby-boys. Think about that! Fizzy has got four little willies growing inside of her! Four little willies, Jasper, hiihiihiihiihiihiiihiiiiii....! They's all lined up in her tummy with three on each sides! Theys look like beans in a pod!"
"Peas." I corrected, weakly. This was one of my all-time worst nightmares made flesh.
"What?" yipped Ewan. "Oh, of course! You doesn't have to ask politely, Jazz, Of COURSE you can see her! Come with me."
I staggered behind him as best I could, feeling numb in every quarter. Ewan led me into the workshop, where Fizzy was lying on her side on a piece of carpet, her belly noticeably swollen. She smiled serenely. I managed a watery grin back. "Isn't she beautiful?" beamed the proudly expectant father. Before I could even whimper out a response Fizzy called me over.
"Come Jasper," she smiled, extending out a welcoming paw. "If you listen carefully you can hear the babes within my womb." There was nothing I would like less than that.
"Erm..." I muttered, "There's nothing I'd like more..." I forced my legs to walk towards the happy black labrador and rested my head sideways against her flank. At first, I could discern nothing, save the normal passage of juices through a warm, living body. And then I heard them. Tiny, high pitched, almost imperceptible, unconscious squeaks. A human ear would not have been able to hear them. They came, sometimes together, sometimes overlapping each other, in time with the rhythm of one adult and six foetal heartbeats, the same squeak inside Fizzy's belly, mingling with the gurgle of the amniotic fluids. The same squeak.
"Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", OVER and OVER and OVER...
"Are you ok, Jasper?!" asked Ewan, with concern in his voice, as I staggered backwards in horror and almost fell over. I whirled round to look at him - and screamed.
For he had turned into a giant prawn, his long pink antennae wavering at me. Spinning back, I saw that Fizzy was also a prawn, curled up, her tail flicking in my direction... "Are you OK?" repeated prawnEwan.
"Jasper, are you alright?!" asked prawnFizzy, extending a pink pincer and shaking my shoulder.
I screamed again.
"Jasper! Are you alright? JASPER! J A S P E R?!!?!" The voice morphed into that of my partner's. I opened my eyes - and saw her concerned face staring down at me. I was entangled in my favourite blanket, which was cast wildly about me, and I was hot, breathless and numb. My heart was flinging itself against my ribcage as though it sought to snap through and escape. My partner relaxed somewhat when I opened my eyes and she saw my pupils focus upon her pretty young face. "You were screaming in your sleep, Jazz." she explained, giving me a reassuring hug. OHHHHH, thank goodness. THANK goodness. I wept with relief until my breaths once again came easily.
**************************************
And THAT, ladies and gentleman, is the price of stealing.
Yes - it's true.
Yesterday evening, my partner decided to treat herself (it has been a long time since she had a treat) to a Chinese take-away meal. And, whilst her back was turned, I took away some of her take-away.
A portion of prawn fried rice. Easily snaffled; it went down a treat. My partner was VERY angry. Alas, my reward was also my punishment. A portion intended for human consumption is a prawn too far for a handsome, slender, dog's consumption - and hallucinatory nightmares were the unhappy consequence of such a crime.
I report this so that it may serve as a salutary lesson to others minded to thieve delicious take-away meals.
I shall wish you a good night - though 'twill be a long time before I sleep soundly once more:
Good night.
"WHAT?!?" I yelped, incredulous. "But how...?"
"Well, I'm surprised that you has to ask!" barked Ewan. "What happened is that I put my winkie in Fi-"
"NO!!!" I snapped, "I mean, I thought you'd been snipped!"
Ewan shrugged. I continued, completely dazed, "So how..."
"Don't know." responded my simple friend. "But all I does know is that Fizzy is having some babies. Mummy took her to the vets and they putted something on her belly and she saw six babies on a television. They is ALL look like me!"
I began to feel nauseous. Ewan noticed not, and prattled on, grinning from ear to ear. "They is two baby-ladies and four baby-boys. Think about that! Fizzy has got four little willies growing inside of her! Four little willies, Jasper, hiihiihiihiihiihiiihiiiiii....! They's all lined up in her tummy with three on each sides! Theys look like beans in a pod!"
"Peas." I corrected, weakly. This was one of my all-time worst nightmares made flesh.
"What?" yipped Ewan. "Oh, of course! You doesn't have to ask politely, Jazz, Of COURSE you can see her! Come with me."
I staggered behind him as best I could, feeling numb in every quarter. Ewan led me into the workshop, where Fizzy was lying on her side on a piece of carpet, her belly noticeably swollen. She smiled serenely. I managed a watery grin back. "Isn't she beautiful?" beamed the proudly expectant father. Before I could even whimper out a response Fizzy called me over.
"Come Jasper," she smiled, extending out a welcoming paw. "If you listen carefully you can hear the babes within my womb." There was nothing I would like less than that.
"Erm..." I muttered, "There's nothing I'd like more..." I forced my legs to walk towards the happy black labrador and rested my head sideways against her flank. At first, I could discern nothing, save the normal passage of juices through a warm, living body. And then I heard them. Tiny, high pitched, almost imperceptible, unconscious squeaks. A human ear would not have been able to hear them. They came, sometimes together, sometimes overlapping each other, in time with the rhythm of one adult and six foetal heartbeats, the same squeak inside Fizzy's belly, mingling with the gurgle of the amniotic fluids. The same squeak.
"Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", "Cheese!", OVER and OVER and OVER...
"Are you ok, Jasper?!" asked Ewan, with concern in his voice, as I staggered backwards in horror and almost fell over. I whirled round to look at him - and screamed.
For he had turned into a giant prawn, his long pink antennae wavering at me. Spinning back, I saw that Fizzy was also a prawn, curled up, her tail flicking in my direction... "Are you OK?" repeated prawnEwan.
"Jasper, are you alright?!" asked prawnFizzy, extending a pink pincer and shaking my shoulder.
I screamed again.
"Jasper! Are you alright? JASPER! J A S P E R?!!?!" The voice morphed into that of my partner's. I opened my eyes - and saw her concerned face staring down at me. I was entangled in my favourite blanket, which was cast wildly about me, and I was hot, breathless and numb. My heart was flinging itself against my ribcage as though it sought to snap through and escape. My partner relaxed somewhat when I opened my eyes and she saw my pupils focus upon her pretty young face. "You were screaming in your sleep, Jazz." she explained, giving me a reassuring hug. OHHHHH, thank goodness. THANK goodness. I wept with relief until my breaths once again came easily.
**************************************
And THAT, ladies and gentleman, is the price of stealing.
Yes - it's true.
Yesterday evening, my partner decided to treat herself (it has been a long time since she had a treat) to a Chinese take-away meal. And, whilst her back was turned, I took away some of her take-away.
A portion of prawn fried rice. Easily snaffled; it went down a treat. My partner was VERY angry. Alas, my reward was also my punishment. A portion intended for human consumption is a prawn too far for a handsome, slender, dog's consumption - and hallucinatory nightmares were the unhappy consequence of such a crime.
I report this so that it may serve as a salutary lesson to others minded to thieve delicious take-away meals.
I shall wish you a good night - though 'twill be a long time before I sleep soundly once more:
Good night.
Friday, 28 January 2011
Friday 28 January 2011
Jakey and Deevs! Thank you for sniffing us out and for stopping long enough to lift a leg and add us to your list of followed blogs!
Before I proceed any further, I will hearken back to the last, somewhat disturbing, blog entry for an explanation. Let me explain that, occasionally, dogs such as Ewan and I (who were both condemned to the operation-of-which-we-do-not-bark AFTER we had passed our years of puberty and reached physical maturity) lose our ability but not, necessarily, our passions. Indeed, my own struggles with post-snippage desires will form the final chapter in my "Evolution" series... And "entire" ladies chase after the boys just as much they are chased by us boys in turn. Particularly if they have, erm... , if you will forgive me, "experience". Fizzy, we are told, bore a litter of puppies in her younger days (before she was adopted by Ewan's partner) - so she knows the delights she is pursuing. Happily (for Ewan and his sleep-deprived partner, at least) Fizzy's season has passed and everything is once more as it was. Ewan's partner is still frowning with concern, however, lest there had been a slip with the snip, so to bark, and Ewan has been able to successfully... great heavens, I cannot even bark the words. The fact that Fizzy may now be carrying a bellyful of baby Ewans chills me to my very core. I love my friend Ewan dearly - but the line must end with him. His genes are such as should never be passed on.
I very much doubt that Fizzy is in pup. It has been three weeks or so now and the fair one has shown no signs of increased maternal behaviour. I think the future generations of dogs can breathe a collective, spectral, sigh of relief. But it has been many a night since I have enjoyed a completely peaceful sleep. Every time I lay down my head and close my eyes, my mind fills with the vision of six or seven tiny Ewans capering around my ankles and dewclaws with their high-pitched little yips and squeaks - "Uncle Jasper! Uncle Jasper! What cheese is this?! Where do we go for our milks - mummy or daddy? Uncle Jasper! Which bit of a tree is a cat? Why are squirrels? Uncle Jaaaaassssper....?" Arrrrrrgh....!!!! Let us continue to pray that this horror never becomes reality.
And let us move hastily on from this murky business. I have new neighbours! They moved in last weekend, into the house formerly occupied by the permanently-annoyed, loud electric-guitar-playing, misery-monger. My partner met the young man of the household, who had formed an advance furniture-installing party with a couple of his friends. The young man's lady and baby daughter are also to live there, although we haven't met them yet. They are slightly younger than my partner. He was most pleasant to me, happily scratching my furry head and greeting me by name after we had been introduced. I have since, once, heard the young baby squalling but I can tolerate this noise. 'Twas the ill-advised persistence in believing his own proficiency in music that vexed me so about my former neighbour. The innocent cries of a helpless babe-in-arms are sweet sounds in comparison. Yes; I welcome my new neighbours.
And, barking of neighbours, I had an opportunity to talk with the exquisite Rosie - the beautiful young, delightfully pert, West Highland Terrier, who dwells with her partner on the other side of my property, on Tuesday. My conversations with her are never up to much. Generally, I bark a friendly greeting, wag my tail, she begins to respond (fluttering her eyelids at me all the while) and then dissolves into giggles and scampers shyly away. I cannot comprehend her - but she seems nice enough. I was beginning to recall that I hadn't seen sweet Rosie for some time lately when her partner, in talking to MY partner, accounted for this mystery.
Apparently, an horrendous canine sickness bug has been "doing the rounds" locally. Twelve straight hours of constant, unceasing, vomiting afflicts each victim and, following on from that, the dog recovers as if naught had ever ailed him (or her). Poor Rosie had been the latest to succumb (although thankfully now recovered). According to Rosie's partner, only three out of the many dogs in the vicinity have not fallen prey to the virus; Archie, the Jack Russell from two doors along, Eddie, the Rottweiler from across the way, and myself. Not that this is much of a clue to the business - I had a trifling night of minor illness last Thursday and suspect that was a fleeting glance of the bug, sparing me from its worst. Archie is so irrepressibly chirpy that it's well-nigh impossible to tell whether he's ill or not, and Eddie is so robust that he'll probably still be in excellent health on the day they finally lay him in his coffin. I am not worried for myself - worrying uses up too much energy, I have decided.
The new neighbours mentioned above are not the only recent arrivals. The lady in the house directly opposite mine has got herself three new young cats. Three! Why? She already has Honey, the ginger-striped queen, and now she also has three smokey-coloured others. I cannot fathom why anyone would want to blight their own life with even one cat, let alone four of the parasites. However, one of the latest arrivals provided me with an unexpected source of amusement this morning. I will explain.
This morning, as my partner and I were leaving our house for work, our attention was arrested by a most unusual spectacle. One of the new smokey-cats opposite was attempting to re-enter its house through the cat-flap. Unhappily (for the cat), it could not master the workings of the small door. The dimwit cat repeatedly, and with increasing frustration, batted at the flap with its paws, tried levering it open from each side, shouted at it, head-butted it, all to no avail. After some fifteen minutes of this, a small human hand appeared, pushing the flap up from inside the house and holding it open to allow the baffled moggy to enter. I laughed until my belly hurt and a little bit of wee accidentally dribbled out of Little Jasper. My partner laughed too.
As I meandered to my New Teal Megane, still laughing, I spotted the queen-cat Honey, lying atop the wheelie-bin (one of her favoured perches). Her face was a picture of wry disdain. I met her eye and, instead of barking foul abuse at her, I grinned and winked. Honey rolled her eyes heavenwards, winked back at me, and was gone. I have asked it before and I ask it again now. Cats:- why?!
For goodness' sake.
Good night.
Before I proceed any further, I will hearken back to the last, somewhat disturbing, blog entry for an explanation. Let me explain that, occasionally, dogs such as Ewan and I (who were both condemned to the operation-of-which-we-do-not-bark AFTER we had passed our years of puberty and reached physical maturity) lose our ability but not, necessarily, our passions. Indeed, my own struggles with post-snippage desires will form the final chapter in my "Evolution" series... And "entire" ladies chase after the boys just as much they are chased by us boys in turn. Particularly if they have, erm... , if you will forgive me, "experience". Fizzy, we are told, bore a litter of puppies in her younger days (before she was adopted by Ewan's partner) - so she knows the delights she is pursuing. Happily (for Ewan and his sleep-deprived partner, at least) Fizzy's season has passed and everything is once more as it was. Ewan's partner is still frowning with concern, however, lest there had been a slip with the snip, so to bark, and Ewan has been able to successfully... great heavens, I cannot even bark the words. The fact that Fizzy may now be carrying a bellyful of baby Ewans chills me to my very core. I love my friend Ewan dearly - but the line must end with him. His genes are such as should never be passed on.
I very much doubt that Fizzy is in pup. It has been three weeks or so now and the fair one has shown no signs of increased maternal behaviour. I think the future generations of dogs can breathe a collective, spectral, sigh of relief. But it has been many a night since I have enjoyed a completely peaceful sleep. Every time I lay down my head and close my eyes, my mind fills with the vision of six or seven tiny Ewans capering around my ankles and dewclaws with their high-pitched little yips and squeaks - "Uncle Jasper! Uncle Jasper! What cheese is this?! Where do we go for our milks - mummy or daddy? Uncle Jasper! Which bit of a tree is a cat? Why are squirrels? Uncle Jaaaaassssper....?" Arrrrrrgh....!!!! Let us continue to pray that this horror never becomes reality.
And let us move hastily on from this murky business. I have new neighbours! They moved in last weekend, into the house formerly occupied by the permanently-annoyed, loud electric-guitar-playing, misery-monger. My partner met the young man of the household, who had formed an advance furniture-installing party with a couple of his friends. The young man's lady and baby daughter are also to live there, although we haven't met them yet. They are slightly younger than my partner. He was most pleasant to me, happily scratching my furry head and greeting me by name after we had been introduced. I have since, once, heard the young baby squalling but I can tolerate this noise. 'Twas the ill-advised persistence in believing his own proficiency in music that vexed me so about my former neighbour. The innocent cries of a helpless babe-in-arms are sweet sounds in comparison. Yes; I welcome my new neighbours.
And, barking of neighbours, I had an opportunity to talk with the exquisite Rosie - the beautiful young, delightfully pert, West Highland Terrier, who dwells with her partner on the other side of my property, on Tuesday. My conversations with her are never up to much. Generally, I bark a friendly greeting, wag my tail, she begins to respond (fluttering her eyelids at me all the while) and then dissolves into giggles and scampers shyly away. I cannot comprehend her - but she seems nice enough. I was beginning to recall that I hadn't seen sweet Rosie for some time lately when her partner, in talking to MY partner, accounted for this mystery.
Apparently, an horrendous canine sickness bug has been "doing the rounds" locally. Twelve straight hours of constant, unceasing, vomiting afflicts each victim and, following on from that, the dog recovers as if naught had ever ailed him (or her). Poor Rosie had been the latest to succumb (although thankfully now recovered). According to Rosie's partner, only three out of the many dogs in the vicinity have not fallen prey to the virus; Archie, the Jack Russell from two doors along, Eddie, the Rottweiler from across the way, and myself. Not that this is much of a clue to the business - I had a trifling night of minor illness last Thursday and suspect that was a fleeting glance of the bug, sparing me from its worst. Archie is so irrepressibly chirpy that it's well-nigh impossible to tell whether he's ill or not, and Eddie is so robust that he'll probably still be in excellent health on the day they finally lay him in his coffin. I am not worried for myself - worrying uses up too much energy, I have decided.
The new neighbours mentioned above are not the only recent arrivals. The lady in the house directly opposite mine has got herself three new young cats. Three! Why? She already has Honey, the ginger-striped queen, and now she also has three smokey-coloured others. I cannot fathom why anyone would want to blight their own life with even one cat, let alone four of the parasites. However, one of the latest arrivals provided me with an unexpected source of amusement this morning. I will explain.
This morning, as my partner and I were leaving our house for work, our attention was arrested by a most unusual spectacle. One of the new smokey-cats opposite was attempting to re-enter its house through the cat-flap. Unhappily (for the cat), it could not master the workings of the small door. The dimwit cat repeatedly, and with increasing frustration, batted at the flap with its paws, tried levering it open from each side, shouted at it, head-butted it, all to no avail. After some fifteen minutes of this, a small human hand appeared, pushing the flap up from inside the house and holding it open to allow the baffled moggy to enter. I laughed until my belly hurt and a little bit of wee accidentally dribbled out of Little Jasper. My partner laughed too.
As I meandered to my New Teal Megane, still laughing, I spotted the queen-cat Honey, lying atop the wheelie-bin (one of her favoured perches). Her face was a picture of wry disdain. I met her eye and, instead of barking foul abuse at her, I grinned and winked. Honey rolled her eyes heavenwards, winked back at me, and was gone. I have asked it before and I ask it again now. Cats:- why?!
For goodness' sake.
Good night.
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