Tragedy

Today I read with much sadness of another fatal dog attack on a small child.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leicestershire-24839612
Little Lexi Branson was killed in her Leicestershire home by the family pet, which as it turned out , was a male bulldog albeit what looked like  a bulldog cross.
The dog was apparently bought from rescue centre , so should have been assessed carefully for life within family home. It was also a breed not  known  for it's aggressive   nature, yet because of one unforeseen reason or another, the dog turned on the little girl and mauled her to death before being killed itself by the girl's  desperate mother .
I am insanely careful where children and our dogs  are concerned. Even though all  four dogs are delightfully warm and friendly characters, I will never allow a child to stroke them unless I can control the situation and make introductions calm and nonthreatening, Running kids are always stopped with a sharp " NEVER RUN TOWARDS A DOG YOU DONT KNOW!" and I have been known to bellow " control your child!" Orders to fraught mothers, when little fingers reach out for a hug.
Dogs need love. They need consistency, and they need to be given respect for being animals and not strange hairy little people.
They  are animals that think as animals do
and no matter how much we would like to think....we do not walk in their paw steps.

" Let's Not Bother"

Llandudno At Night

How many times have we all said that?
The nights are drawing in.
The weather is somewhat rough and ready.
The fire is warm.
The cottage is cosy.
The closer we get to Christmas ( sorry I have now mentioned he " C" word) the less sociable many of us become .
On a social level, I need a kick up the arse.
It's has become easy to live in the Trelawnyd " bubble"
Bloody hell.....I have even mislaid my mobile phone!

So later this week, Chris and I are off for drinks and eats after work ( fuck weightwatchers). We have arranged to meet in Llandudno ( which is the Welsh version of the French Riviera) and will sit in the window of a nice designer restaurant looking out at the sea.

In a similar vein I have just booked to catch up with friends I have not seen in a while. So I am off to Manchester to visit with old mate Nige, then off to London for long cheerful chats with Nuala, and I need to make some time for a quick overnight  Yorkshire trip to see my " All Bar one" muckers, and so it's hands down the back of the sofa time, to see if I can find that bleeding elusive mobile.....
It's time for a few " touch base" texts and phone calls me thinks......

A Bulldog In Your Handbag

Like many commuters Chris drives to the local station at some ungodly hour ( a round trip of around 9 miles) and catches the train to his University. If I want to use the car during the day, I can either take him myself or I can pick the car up from town later in the day.
I tend to plump for the latter as Chris' overly chatty personality drives me to destruction at 6 am in the morning.
Now there are only a couple of buses a day that run from Trelawnyd to the coastal towns, and every time ( bar one) that I have stood at the bus stop waiting for one to arrive, I have been kindly picked up and given a lift from someone in the village.
I am always tickled pink when a car draws up before the bus arrives!
In a reciprocal manner , if I see someone standing at the bus stop that I know, I will stop the car and offer a lift , a thing I did today as I was driving through the nearby village of Dyserth.
The smart elderly lady I picked up sat in the front of the car ( on one of my clean t shirts to protect her from the muddy dog paw prints) while all the dogs sat patiently on the back seat.and before I dropped her off home, I stopped briefly to drop some eggs off for a customer.
When I got back to the car, the woman looked just a little shocked as during the few seconds I was out of the Berlingo, Winifred had jumped into the drivers seat and had pushed her fat head into the woman's handbag which she had just opened up on her knee.
" she's just seen my polo mints" the woman said in way of explanation wiping bulldog spit from her immaculate Spanish leather bag.
Oh the shame

Where is Mary Poppins when you need her?

Oh dear

Series 4 Episode 3

It's all a bit much

Being Crossed

Truce. Winifred shows Albert her arse

The secret of coping with a minor war between two animals is threefold
1. Keep both well fed
2. Keep both well exercised
3. Have a dirty  " look"that could fell a small child at 20 feet ready if violence is indicted

Albert's bad mood and subsequent whipping of Winifred's arse yesterday afternoon went down like a pork chop at a synagogue. It was all over nothing as Winifred got all hefty and silly following an unthinking face rub from the cat........but the bulldog sulked dreadfully following this uncharacteristic show of feline power and sought her revenge this morning when she caught Albert snoozing on the couch.
Luckily I caught the fat fart with a withering look before she could do some serious damage with her big mouth and her heavy paws and both animals returned to their respective corners
peace has now returned to chez Bwthyn-y-llan.

Bitches, in my experience , never forget a slight
They are like most women and middle aged gay men in that respect
Cross a bitch and her eyes will narrow ever so slightly she she sees you
Cross me and I will do the same

Winifred will have her revenge
In this life ....or the next

Bitch Slap

Action shot

One small black cat

Bitch slapping

One 26 kilo bulldog

Beer Swigging Undead

Local teens before dressing up

The Americanisation of  Halloween has, for the most part, passed Trelawnyd by. Three girls of around 11 dressed , I think , as ghosts quietly lurked down the lane for a few minutes last night, and called out a rather polite and reedy " trick or treat" when I was unloading the Berlingo of the weekly shop.
We didn't have any treats ( thanks weightwatchers) so I bunged them a couple of quid. They are the first trick & treaters that we have seen for a few years now.
When I went to town to complete the shop at the supermarket, the scene was very different indeed!
Packs of bored looking teens seemed to lurk around every street corner, waving  light up devil forks and blood stained hands. A group of four Osama Bin Laden lookalikes were having a " chat" to a policeman by the petrol station and even the checkout supervisor at Tescos was decked out as a zombie hospital patient in a bloodstained smock.....a fact that got on my tits somewhat.
I am not a fan of dressing up at work
( I once watched a very difficult conversation between a bereaved relative and a nurse with tinsel weaved around her hat)
As I was driving out of town there was another large group of teenage zombies sitting on the playing field swigging at cans of lager......which I thought wasn't quite in the real spirit of The Walking Dead but as I carried through the large village of Dyserth I did notice a few tots  dressed as pumpkins running around excitedly with their mothers between houses.........that scene was a little more wholesome and reminiscent of ET than the beer swigging undead.
Speaking of the undead.......I am going to miss episode 3 of The Walking Dead tonight....... Working!

A Little Lesson About Dying

Before 9am there was a knock on the cottage door.
It was a lady who had taken part in my first " Chicken Care For Beginners" course a few years ago and she had a problem.
Her daughter's favourite hen, a plump lace Orpington called Tilly, had collapsed. The woman knew it was dying but wanted a second opinion. The bird was wrapped in a child's scarf on her daughter's knee in the back of the car. The daughter looked around seven and was watery eyed.
Her name was Kate
I brought them all into the house and locked the dogs in the front room while I checked the bird over.
Kate chatted away about the hen, telling me all about her, how cheeky she was, how she followed the family dog into the house and the like and when she had finished I asked her how ill she thought the hen was.
" I think she's very ill" she said seriously
" I think you're right " I told her trying to weigh up all of the options open to us.
I could cull the hen for them, but the act didn't quite seem appropriate somehow...especially when faced by a tearful little girl who had wrapped her dear hen in her own scarf. A trip to the vets seemed a bit of an overkill given the fact the hen was more or less dead..and so I plumped for the easiest option.
" I don't think she's in pain, so what I suggest is that you keep her wrapped up and very warm and quiet, and let her die peacefully at home... It won't be very long" I told her
Kate stroked the hen' s head and nodded a watery nod and a minute later they were back in the car and ready for home.
Her mother winked at me before she drove off...and mouthed in way of explanation of the visit " I couldn't face being the bad guy today" and I nodded that I understood.
Being a parent must be a bleeding hard job sometimes
Thank f"*# I only have to be responsible for animals....
You don't have to explain the death question to them
Hey ho