“Listen to her” he proclaimed, pointing at poor Peanut, our old Labrador, who was looking all forlorn with no idea as to why she was the centre of such scrutiny. And there it was, a sound akin to that of the doors closing on the Starship Enterprise, coming out of big old Peanut dog. As the noise ended the 6 year old clutched his sides and cackled again.

The dog continued looking confused. The 6 year old settled down to his mixture of four different cereals and I settled down to work next to him. I eyed Peanut suspiciously, who sat opposite us staring with a look of ‘please take me to the park, I want to chase squirrels’ across her big bear face.

The silence was broken by a noise which sounded like a laser gun followed by a broken harmonica sort of noise. The 6 year old nearly snorted rice crispies through his nose with laughter.

The next ten minutes were spent with me sitting, my ear against the dog’s chest, wondering which of the children’s toys she’d eaten while the 6 year did a stock check of his laser guns, whoopee cushions and musical instruments. I also considered how we would pay the vet’s bill when she was rushed in for an x-ray and the surgery to retrieve the mystery object.

I went to wake the 7 year old. Unlike the 6 year old she normally takes some coaxing out of bed, but with the news of our new musical dog she leaped up.

She came downstairs and assumed the role of vet.  Listening to Peanut’s chest like I had done, feeling her stomach, telling us all to “shushhh” so she could hear the dulcet tones of what I thought could be a rendition of ‘How much is that doggy in the window’ on a harmonica.

At the end of her, very thorough, examination, which stopped short of her putting on a rubber glove, she turned to me and said “Have you ACTUALLY fed her this morning?”

… which is when I realised that the dog had not consumed a harmonica, nor was that her ‘take me to the park, I want to chase squirrels’ face, she was not going to have a £3000 x-ray at the most expensive vets in the world. She was just hungry, her stomach was wailing for food.

Apparently having a puppy around gives the older dog a new lease of life and also calms the puppy a bit quicker with the older dog being a good example.  A good example on how to sleep all day and almost kill with one fart, maybe.

I suggested that we get a puppy to The Husband expecting him to tell me that I was bonkers.  He said ‘OK’ and I fainted in shock.

So, we are getting a puppy, sometime over the next few months.  The children have no idea, but don’t worry, it won’t be like when Father Christmas left the gerbils in a cupboard three days early COUGH. Do you remember that?  it still makes me clench my buttocks thinking about it.  Gramps, also known as Baron Von Foot In Mouth, has almost managed to blow PuppyGate out of the water twice so I’m not holding out much hope.

So we may have a new baby soon … and I think that’s why The husband said OK so fast.  It’ll stop me pestering him for a human one.

Peanut, the dog, is 9 this month, which is 63 in human years.

In the last year she’s started showing her age;  She has white beard, not a good look on a lady; She gets up slowly; Her breath smells as if she is decomposing from the inside out; She sleeps for longer and oh my god the farts … they are getting worse, if that’s possible.  Funnily enough in human years she’s the same age as my Dad, Gramps.  I must ask him if he’s experiencing similar problems.

I felt so sad about her OAP status that I googled ‘how long do labradors live for?’ . I know, I know, SIT ON YOUR HANDS … but I couldn’t. So facts are facts … and Google is never wrong.  She has a maximum of 4 years left.  That sliding noise?  That’s me on the slipping into denial.

The same day I  went to the supermarket with the children.  There was a Dog’s Trust stand outside the entrance.  Both children took great interest in the stand until I ushered them on. The 7 year old asked if we could get a puppy.  I explained that one dog was enough, but that when Peanut died, a long long long long time from now (did I tell you that I’m in denial?), we would probably get another dog. Later at home the 5 year old was snuggling up to the dog, using her as a pillow.  He stroked her,  “It’s OK, Peanut, we’ll get a puppy when you die” he said … lovingly.

She’s a bloody pain sometimes.  The moulting drives The Husband to distraction and whatever you are trying to do in the house she is there in the way, asleep, like a giant log, but I know that our house will be a very sad place without her.

I wonder how much it costs to stuff a large labrador?

The children have been there with Grandma and asked if I would take them with the dog.  I had no idea what a great place it is;  Rock climbing, an abundance of heather, loads of dog walking routes and some amazing views.

I think we’ve found our new favourite dog walk.

We arrived home on Sunday. I unpacked and washed five loads of laundry, then hung them about the house in a crazy formation. The children, tired from a week of late nights and non stop action laid still, snuggled up together, on the big beanbag and watched films all day long and I didn’t feel guilty.

The Husband collected the dog who came home with fleas.  We quarantined her in the conservatory until we came up with a battle plan which involved me racing to Pets at Home, before it shut, and getting something to kill the little blighters. Since our discovery I haven’t been able to stop scratching and the dog is looking forlorn and a bit itchy.

I handed my notice in at work on Monday.  It was nerve wracking but am glad it’s done now. I went on holiday knowing that when I came back I would be handing my notice in.  This caused anxiety dreams all week about Egyptian Extremists. No, I don’t know why. My boss was very good about my news, “Onwards and upwards” he said and I couldn’t agree more.  I’ll be starting a new job in 4 week’s time which I can do mainly at home. It’s an online monitoring position and involves lots of social media.  I’ll have loads more time with the kids in the holidays and lots of child free time during term time where I can finally concentrate on all my writing projects.

Apart from that I need to;

Get on and write up a zillion blog posts.

Stock up on gin-in-a-tin and moustaches for Cybermummy.

Continue reading.  I lost the reading bug a few months ago but it’s back.  I’ve just finished When God Was A Rabbit by Sarah Winman which was a great book, full of nostalgia, all warm and fuzzy with ragged edges and I didn’t want to put it down.  Am now reading The Personal History of Rachel DuPree by Ann Weisgarber … only part way through but I can’t put it down. The 6 year old and I are reading one Dog And His Boy by Eva Ibbotson another great book for kids which has got us both snuggling up at night for “just one more chapter?”.

Continue willing the 5 year old’s hospital letter to arrive with new of the date for his grommet operation.

Stop the involuntary twitch every time I think about fleas.

]]> http://arewenearlythereyetmummy.com/silent-sunday-6/feed/ 28 http://arewenearlythereyetmummy.com/silent-sunday-2/ http://arewenearlythereyetmummy.com/silent-sunday-2/#comments Sun, 10 Apr 2011 07:00:11 +0000 Laura - AWNTYM? http://www.arewenearlythereyetmummy.com/?p=9448 For other Silent Sunday entries pop on over to Mocha Beanie Mummy. Now Shhhhh.

She wrote a diary about her week away …

Day 1

Arrive at Uncle Paul’s house. My family abandons me.  Am I bothered?  look at my face.  I note they are storing my stuff (food, lead and ball) in the downstairs loo.

Day 2

Disgraced myself on both walks today by leaping into ponds/streams etc.  Had to be hosed down. Lovelies note the remarkable water retention properties of my fur.

Met baby dog next door, who peed himself with excitement.  Disgraced self again by madly chasing him into next door, skating on their laminate floor and almost careering into the ironing board in the kitchen.

Lovelies have noted my eternal optimism every time someone goes into the downstairs loo – I do my best “I’m very hungry” look.

Tonight they forgot to feed me – dozy lot.  Had to bark at back door for attention.

Oh, and they’ve lost my ball already … great.

Day 3

Despite my doubts about Els and Saraaaah’s advice that going to bed with wet hair would ensure I look very cool the next day, my coiffure seems OK.

Uncle Paul tries to take me for a walk, I sit down on the drive and refuse to budge.  They all wonder if I’m ill or if I just don’t want to risk being hosed down again.

Later Els and Saraaaah take me out so I make sure I do a nice juicy poo for them to pick up.  They think it’s minging.

Everyone goes out and leaves me behind so I do my best suicidally sad face.

Later lots of friendly girls turn up and make a fuss of me – hurrah!  They take me out for a walk and there’s a torrential downpour.  I’m soaking wet … Again … Great.  The friendly girls all sleep over, in the garden, in a big green kennel sort of thing.  Bit mean I reckon.

Day 4

Ooooh, lot”s more fussing over me by the friendly girls.  Later they leave so I do some sunbathing and general lolling around.  A bit later on, a boy comes round to see Els, but of course he can’t resist my furry charms and I get fussed over.  Then Els (whom I notice has been acting a bit “giddy” since this boy arrived) says to the boy “Sorry if I smell of dog!”  Bloody cheek!  Anyway, it’s never been a problem for me when meeting the opposite sex – if you know what I mean.

The Lovelies go out and leave me in the kitchen. Ho hum.  I do some complex algebra in my head to keep me amused,  When they finally return, Auntie Ems takes me for a little stroll around the block.  She seems a little less steady on her feet and is chatting away to me about some nonsense – I just humour her.

Day 5

Boring, boring, boring, boring, boring.  They were supposed to take me somewhere nice today and just because of a bit of drizzle, they cried off.

Caused much amusement in evening by falling asleep and snoring very loudly, then twitching like a dog possessed.

Day 6

Had a lovely walk down the Magic Path and into the woods.  It was a smellotastic experience.  Nearly got waped by a Whodesian Widgeback – had to do my best “I’m not that kind of girl!” avoidance tactics of dancing around skittishly.

Uncle Paul and Auntie Ems teased me by asking dumb questions like “Where’ Laura?”.  I fell for it for just a second but they got my best reproachful look.

They are becoming familiar with my extensive repertoire of looks, for example; Wistful, knowing, hopeful, Come hither, I haven’t eaten for ages, Throw it now GODAMMIT! and of course the irresistible look of lurve.

Day 7

Uncle Paul walked me out this morning shortly after 8am.  As we strolled down the main road past queuing rush hour traffic, I felt an urge.  Uncle Paul seemed to think I was putting him to the test – to see if he could pick up my gigantic poo in front of an audience of involuntary onlookers.  Naturally he stepped up to the mark.

Day 8

Another dull and drizzly day for some (whilst others bask, carefree, in the Italian Riviera – or wherever it was they buggered off to).  I take a walk up to Morrison’s with Auntie Ems and Uncle Paul where I’m much admired by staff and customers alike.

Day 9

Only one more sleep to go 0 they tell me – before I’m back in the bosom of my family.  Hurrah!

Although I would say that on balance, it’s not been a bad holiday and I would definitely consider coming to this place again.  The food has been pleasant, although punctuality of service was not always what it could be.  I’ve been fussed over quite a lot.  I’ve also been shouted at a few times – like when I’ve slobbered on Uncle Paul’s best suit trousers just before he goes off to some ‘important’ meeting.

Day 10

I swear Uncle Paul had a tear in his eye when he said goodbye to me this morning – so I did my best to leave a little memento, a nice slobber mark on his suit trousers.  They will be sorry to see me go – they said – and they will probably be wistfully looking for a chocolate brown shadow in the corner of the room after I’m gone.

Of course there will be small fluffy traces of me everywhere so I hope that will be some comfort.

Adieu

Peanut, aged nearly 8 (49 in human years)

They play together every day.  He throws her ball, he follows her around, he sits with her and some days he just lies on her. He hits her and she paws him back.  She plays with him as she would another dog, sometimes putting her teeth round his arm gently. They play cricket together, she is his fielder.

He loves his dog and I think she quite possibly loves him back.