Introducing Leo

Regular readers might remember the demise of poor old Flicka, my parents’ dog back in November 08.

Several dogless weeks passed and then my sister spotted a notice about a litter of local puppies that would soon be ready for homes. She and our Dad set out to have a look. And that’s how they found him. Both parents are working dogs: Dad is a gun dog and Mum, a sheep dog. Leo is a love but I think he might be crossed with a kangaroo as well.

He has had a colourful few months at my Mum and Dad’s. At Easter he broke through the Fort Knox type gate across the bottom of the stairs and stole a chocolate egg. For anyone who doesn’t know, chocolate contains theobromine which is dangerous for dogs. Poor Leo was horribly unwell for three days. I’ll spare you the details, just in case any of you are eating, but the kitchen tiles had to be removed and destroyed … as you can see from the pic the floor has returned to some tiles I remember from my childhood.

There are four cats here. Two, HP and Ketchup, are my parents’ and the other two, Peanut and Custard, are my sister’s. Custard is sweet but aptly named: cowardy, cowardy Custard. He lives upstairs and accesses the garden through a series of catflaps that never require him to come face to face with a canine. HP and Ketch are elderly and pretty stoical about the bouncing dog; they’re buggered if they’re going to run from him.

A couple of days ago Peanut came over the stair gate and Leo appeared from nowhere, 0-80mph from prostrate. Peanut, claws attempting purchase on the lino, reacted with a run toward the kitchen, where Dad was making supper. On hearing the commotion of scrabbling paws, Dad turned in time to see Peanut take flight from nearly two metres away. He glided through the air, landing out of the dog’s reach, on the kitchen table, with one paw in the shepherd’s pie.

Last night Leo started obedience training.

RIP

Poor old Flicka dog didn’t make it.

Rather than relying on the exchange of information via Older Niece and Daughter I spoke to my Dad yesterday.

Flicka was very frightened by bonfire night and thunder. She’s a big dog, but she turned into a quivering jelly (8 stone of terror) at either noise. She also hated people saying goodbye (I think this is a collie personality trait.) On Sunday night Nieces had spent the weekend with their Dad and they were saying goodbye to him. The combination of bonfire night and goodbyes, and the door being left open a crack, Flicka tried to escape (okay, going outside wasn’t the brightest plan …but she was in a panic.)

Anyway, the bastard car didn’t stop. Ex BiL stopped and helped. He and Dad drove Flicka to the local vets HQ a couple of villages away but for the diagnostic MRI scan she was transferred to the Royal Veterinary College in Potters Bar. They called with the results while she was still under the anaesthetic. It was a close call. They could’ve tried to operate but the prognosis wasn’t good and recovery couldn’t be guaranteed.

Thanks to all who left good wishes yesterday. Sorry the news isn't cheerier.

Fingers crossed

Pigtopia was brilliant. I finished it early this morning and I loved it.

Got to move onto sadder news. Flicka, my parents’ dog, was hit by a car at the weekend. She was rushed to the vets with a mouth full of blood, wibbly teeth and hopes for the best.

Yesterday we heard the more alarming news that she is unable to use her back legs and was being moved to a different vet surgery for a scan. Daughter, who had to lose her cats when we moved to BK, is devastated. We await further news. Please keep your fingers crossed.

Here are two incarnations of Flicka dog. Can you tell which one is the real one?

Shooting rabbits

I’ve bought myself a new camera – I’d been planning to do it for a while hoping that I’d suddenly become imbued with more talent…

I’ve become obsessed with photographing the frolicking bunnies on my parents’ lawn; this is the cache from which HP (not for Hannibal) the cat has been murdering rabbits and feeding them to Flicka the dog. I went out to take pictures of the rabbits yesterday and despite a much stronger zoom, they still looked a long way off and my shaky hand skills meant they weren’t exactly sharp. Anyway the lovely fluffies scarpered the minute my foot hit the gravel so I sat on the lawn instead for 40 minutes hoping the rabbits would think I was a tree or something and venture back out. Flicka sat with me – I got so bored I photographed her, a blackbird and some daisies. I'll spare you the daisies...

Flicka is a bit daft. She doesn’t seem to associate the rabbits with the dead things that Hannibal, I mean, HP offers her and which Flicka then devours whole. Actually perhaps I’m maligning Flicka. Her ancestors weren’t bred to hunt … she’s Alsatian cross Collie so she tries to herd us all and she’s very emotionally sensitive. When any of the household gets upset she comes to comfort them, and often cries quietly alongside them until they forget their woes and tickle her tummy.

The new camera’s lovely but I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that it’s not a miracle worker. I will shoot a blasted bunny before my holiday is over. I think photographers world wide are safe.

My Dad

Last week I said I would blog about my parents one at a time. Today is my Dad's turn.

My Dad:

• rarely swears, but when he does he runs together convoluted combinations of really atrocious expletives.


• brought my sister and me a cup of tea every school day morning to wake us up for school. It became a condition that the man I married would selflessly provide me with endless cups of tea. (I failed.)


• catches spiders in his hands. He shakes his hands gently to stop them from biting him. Eeeewugh. (Husband stamps on spiders since he’s a bit scared too – although less so since his six year old Son challenged him with: “Dad, if you hold the tarantula, so will I”.)


• is amazingly talented with his hands. For many years he’s made props for the local theatre group’s performances. So when I go home, this is the kind of thing I chance upon:

• Every year (bar one when he was ill) he has made a Christmas Creature for the children of the family. Until we had our own children this was my sister and I until we were around 30! Christmas creatures are made, Blue Peter style, from cardboard tubes, fizzy drink bottles and are decorated in the style of: aliens, cats, dogs, snowmen, dinosaurs, etc. They always have a hollow in their bodies which is filled with small toys and gifts. They are placed under the tree and given out with presents. Every year it’s a top secret what creature he’s made.

• (This Christmas Creature is Flicka, the dog. If you turn her round, you can open her bottom! and presents are hidden inside her hollow. It's quite scary how Dad has captured her neurotic expression so brilliantly. )

• It never mattered how many friends we invited, how late in the day, my parents always found enough food, and pulled up another chair. Our friends were always welcome.


• Has written his memoirs.


• He’s a fabulous cook. He’s always does Christmas meals and Sunday lunches but since he retired he has done nearly all the cooking.