What all my blog posts are about recently

 

There are one or two other things going on in my life right now . . . but the hellterror makes the best blog copy.  I was out with the hellhounds this afternoon and for the however-manyth time I’ve been hurtling since this particular pair of jeans* came out of the drawer, I was thinking, I’ve now got frelling leg warmers I need to frelling well remember to wear them.  Except that I also need to remember to take them OFF again before the hellterror, with the little hellstiletto teeth, emerges from her crate.  I know you’re not supposed to allow your puppy to do this, that and the other thing, but they really do grow out of a lot of their crazy-making bad behaviours** and so I guess wrong about what they’re going to grow out of occasionally, eh, my problems with the hellhounds are not about my having been insufficiently fierce with them when they were puppies, and you could spend your entire life removing the puppy from doing whatever she’s doing which would get sad fast for both of you.  So one of the things Pavlova likes to do is latch onto my jeans legs and pull.  When we’re out for one of our erratic walks this is actually rather desirable behaviour because it means I know where she is.  Little rocket puppy underfoot is dangerous . . . and as I said yesterday I think, one or two things at a time.  At the moment I chiefly want her to go forward in the same direction (more or less) that I’m going, and not to have tantrums on the end of her lead.**  We’ll worry about which side she should stay on later.  Meanwhile we both have to live that long.

EMoon

Guilty confession time: bull terriers never appealed to me until now. I didn’t like the head shape. But I’ve changed; I repent my earlier artistic ignorance and am now converted to…”That’s a very interesting shape of considerable appeal, when it’s on Pavlova.” And the picture of [Missy and Pavlova], large and small…OK, I get it finally. It’s a geometric sort of shape, and quite appealing. Starting with the tiny puppy version really did help.

CathyR

*confesses meekly* – me too.

Change in perspective also helped by the fact that she is not just any anonymous puppy, but she’s Pavlova!! And hence special in any case.

Snork.  Yes, you get fond of things/people/critters you wouldn’t dream of getting fond of if you weren’t being helplessly boosted in that direction by (say) a friend with a new puppy.  And most baby things are cute by definition so you get kind of used to the grown-up version gradually as they grow in that direction.†

Bull terriers can be an acquired taste or a coup de foudre or possibly both.  I had thought the head shape was weird, weird, weird till I met my first one up close and personal . . . a few months after I moved over here.    She was a white bitch and utterly charming and suddenly bull terriers were on my short list of dogs I’d love to own.  Destiny was clearly at work.  I’ve told you about assuming I never would, however, because the fighting-dog background makes me nervous about finding a breeder I can trust to be breeding for the right things, however many Crufts trophies they’ve won.  But—possibly because I was already a convert—I was pretty staggered by how beautiful Southdowner’s bullies are, particularly the bitches, which includes Olivia’s Lavvy.  You don’t have to know spit about bull terriers to see ‘well bred’ scintillating all over them.  The photos I’ve posted of Lavvy are of her goofballing for the camera because she’s 100% ham, but she’s also a drop-dead gorgeous dog.  I haven’t really caught Missy at her best either—she’s too busy mugging for cheese—and Missy had a Tragic Youth so you have to be gentle with her.  But seeing her standing tall and straight and alert and proud will make your heart stop (briefly).  And Pavlova is going to look just like her.  Except even MORE gorgeous.††

* * *

* I like them TOO LONG.  I like them to come down well over the tops of my All Stars.  But I think I’ve moaned to you before about the geometrically increasing difficulty of finding jeans in my size.  There are MILLIONS of jeans out there and I’m sure my Perfect Brand exists somewhere, but after you’ve either tried on or ordered and sent back about a dozen pairs you start losing the will to live, or I do.  I like clothes because they’re fun.  I don’t like having to work at it.  There are plenty of other things in my life I have to work at.^  So I’ve got one particular pair of black jeans that are basically crap but they’ll do although I’m not going to buy any more of them.  And they look all right, but in terms of THE WIND WHISTLING UP YOUR PANT LEGS they are TOO SHORT.

^ Bell ringing for example.  SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH.  Sunday afternoon service ring at the abbey.  SIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH.  Well, nobody died.  So far as I know there wasn’t even any blood spilt, although I think Albert may have rammed the wall with his head once or twice.

Vicky—she of New Arcadia—comes to afternoon service ring at the abbey not infrequently.  We are excruciatingly polite to each other, or anyway that’s what’s happening on my end.  With the exception of a few personal friends most of my ex-colleagues at the New Arcadia tower make me JUMPY AS GIMBLASTICON.+  And if I may say so the last thing I need is further instigations to jumpiness at the frelling abbey, although I am sure this is very character building.++  But Vicky did me a very good turn today:  there’s a little half-day ringing seminar next Saturday that I would have wanted to go to if I had known about it which didn’t get up on the board at the abbey due to administrative error and Vicky told me.  Oh.  Thanks.  So I launched a running tackle at Albert, who is going to be overseeing the seminar, and he agreed (hoarsely) that if I’d remove the lasso from around his neck he would add my name to the list.  YAAAAAAY.+++

So as I was winding up my lasso again# Vicky approached me in a restrained and delicate matter.  Will you be ringing here next Sunday morning? she said.  No, I said, I only ring here in the afternoons.  Vicky took a deep breath.  Thendoyousupposeyoucouldring 10to10:30 atOldEdenextSundayitwouldbeVERY HELPFULwe’reVERYSHORT.

I blinked.  Sure, I said.  I could do that.

+ Ie very jumpy

++ But it’s not doing my RINGING any good AT ALL.

+++ I need more stuff to do.  But it’s at a tower with nice friendly bells IN A CIRCLE and I may make less of a fool of myself than sometimes.

# Note that I finished winding up a hank of yarn last night that did NOT run amok, which makes a change, although it woke up to its human-enraging responsibilities at the very last minute and tried but there wasn’t enough loose yarn left to make a really kill-me-now tangle.  I WANT A BALL WINDER.  AND A SWIFT.  I WANT MORE MONEY IN MY BANK ACCOUNT.

** With occasional reversions just to remind you they can, like Chaos, mid-leap, balancing himself by his front feet on my chest so he can lick my face.

*** Rowan was a nightmare about this.  I began to think I never would train her to lead.  And yet she was the one who popped both cruciate ligaments and whom I retrained to use the frelling leg after the (EXTRAORDINARILY EXPENSIVE) surgery by mere bullying, poor critter—I took her for walks on lead, saying in my best enforcer voice, Put.  It.  Down.  Like she had any reason to know what I was saying.  But she looked at me . . . and started putting that foot down.  I think possibly because of that early face-off about walking on lead, which in her mind I guess she lost, so she took a deep tragic breath and ‘lost’ about this too, bless her furry little soul.  Rowan was one of life’s victims.  She’d have been happy to tell you all about it.

† The way, for example, some in-law or other is clearly the antichrist^.  And twenty-one years later you realise they’ve become a good friend and they’d be someone you could ring if you were in trouble.  How did that happen?

^ Naming no names or anything.

†† I’ve been trying to get frelling Olivia or frelling Southdowner to send me a good picture of Croissant, who really is another gorgeous puppy.  If one of them ever does I will immediately post it here.  Have I mentioned that her new owner is besotted?  Well of course.