lizblackdog: (Spike Love)
( Jul. 29th, 2006 01:57 pm)
GOOOD MORNING LIVEJOURNAL!!!

Well, it's afternoon here. I got coffee, I got music, I got a cool alarm clock program set to go off every half hour.

I have no clue what I'm going to be writing about. A lot of the other bloggers have got plans and lots of Serious Stuff to write about. I take my e-hat off to them, but that ain't my style. I am a highly frivolous, mentally lightweight person. I've done an LJ poll and a thread in the TrekBBS Admirals' Lounge for subject matter, but basically I'll be writing by the seat of my pants.

Well, I would if I were actually wearing pants. It's hot and I'm nekkid!

Before I hit "post" on this very first Blogathon post, a couple of words about the charity I'm supposrting. The Dogs Trust is, in my never humble opinion, the UK's best dog welfare charity. Have a look round their site. Check out the virtual tour (watch out for the barking sound effects on the virtual tour - it sent Spike and Squish a bit nuts), read up on their education campaigns, their work with homeless dog-owners, their anti-BSL stance. Then go look at their dogs for rehoming.

This is where I admit my personal interest. A bit over three years ago, the love of my life was one of those dogs at the Salisbury Rehoming Centre. He hated every minute of it, to the point where he injured himself trying to claw down the kennel door, but that's not the point. The point is, there are so many thousands of places where he would have been worse off.

...eek, better hit post now!
Tags:
lizblackdog: (Spike Love)
( Jul. 29th, 2006 01:57 pm)
GOOOD MORNING LIVEJOURNAL!!!

Well, it's afternoon here. I got coffee, I got music, I got a cool alarm clock program set to go off every half hour.

I have no clue what I'm going to be writing about. A lot of the other bloggers have got plans and lots of Serious Stuff to write about. I take my e-hat off to them, but that ain't my style. I am a highly frivolous, mentally lightweight person. I've done an LJ poll and a thread in the TrekBBS Admirals' Lounge for subject matter, but basically I'll be writing by the seat of my pants.

Well, I would if I were actually wearing pants. It's hot and I'm nekkid!

Before I hit "post" on this very first Blogathon post, a couple of words about the charity I'm supposrting. The Dogs Trust is, in my never humble opinion, the UK's best dog welfare charity. Have a look round their site. Check out the virtual tour (watch out for the barking sound effects on the virtual tour - it sent Spike and Squish a bit nuts), read up on their education campaigns, their work with homeless dog-owners, their anti-BSL stance. Then go look at their dogs for rehoming.

This is where I admit my personal interest. A bit over three years ago, the love of my life was one of those dogs at the Salisbury Rehoming Centre. He hated every minute of it, to the point where he injured himself trying to claw down the kennel door, but that's not the point. The point is, there are so many thousands of places where he would have been worse off.

...eek, better hit post now!
Tags:
Holy crap, thirty minutes goes by fast!!

Rob monitor person, are you going to be going by my time stamps which say when I start making the entry, or the time it actually appears? Because there's liable to be a 15-20 minute difference between the two...

Last night Shona kitten came out and explored the living room. Everything went well until she decided to check out the dogs' water bowl. OMG cat swimming pool! The sudden dunking made her shoot back into the bedroom like a horde of Scarrans were on her poor little tail. Poor Cassie was extremely stressed.

time to hit "post"! again!!

*bounce bounce bounce*
Tags:
Holy crap, thirty minutes goes by fast!!

Rob monitor person, are you going to be going by my time stamps which say when I start making the entry, or the time it actually appears? Because there's liable to be a 15-20 minute difference between the two...

Last night Shona kitten came out and explored the living room. Everything went well until she decided to check out the dogs' water bowl. OMG cat swimming pool! The sudden dunking made her shoot back into the bedroom like a horde of Scarrans were on her poor little tail. Poor Cassie was extremely stressed.

time to hit "post"! again!!

*bounce bounce bounce*
Tags:
Who among you has recurring dreams? What are they about?

I have four: two good and two bad. I want to tell you about the good ones. They're the same dream really, just one is indoors and one outdoors.

I am in a familiar place, usually the house in Dunbar Road where I grew up. That was a gorgeous house; originally a Victorian earl's townhouse, later divided into small apartments and later still undivided into three large ones. It had cupboards under the stairs, outhouses galore, secret passages, an air-raid shelter in the huge garden.

In the dream, I go through one of the secret doors, either up the stairs or into the garden. In the indoors version, there is floor upon floor of hidden rooms and passages, full of dusty treasures, books, clothes and good stuff. It's a combination of a very safe, familiar place and the thrill of exploration. I usually have my dogs with me.

In the outdoor version, I go through a hidden garden gate and find myself in the landscape of my heart - it's a particular place, comprised of elements of places I've loved: the New Forest, the Lleyn peninsula in Wales, the mountain rivers of Northern Iran. I have my dogs and my hawk with me, sometimes ferrets, and we're chasing fat rabbits in this perfect hidden hunting ground.

...I did have some thoughts about what this says about me, but nah. I'll leave that to anyone interested enough to think them.

Want me to tell you about the bad ones in the next entry?
Who among you has recurring dreams? What are they about?

I have four: two good and two bad. I want to tell you about the good ones. They're the same dream really, just one is indoors and one outdoors.

I am in a familiar place, usually the house in Dunbar Road where I grew up. That was a gorgeous house; originally a Victorian earl's townhouse, later divided into small apartments and later still undivided into three large ones. It had cupboards under the stairs, outhouses galore, secret passages, an air-raid shelter in the huge garden.

In the dream, I go through one of the secret doors, either up the stairs or into the garden. In the indoors version, there is floor upon floor of hidden rooms and passages, full of dusty treasures, books, clothes and good stuff. It's a combination of a very safe, familiar place and the thrill of exploration. I usually have my dogs with me.

In the outdoor version, I go through a hidden garden gate and find myself in the landscape of my heart - it's a particular place, comprised of elements of places I've loved: the New Forest, the Lleyn peninsula in Wales, the mountain rivers of Northern Iran. I have my dogs and my hawk with me, sometimes ferrets, and we're chasing fat rabbits in this perfect hidden hunting ground.

...I did have some thoughts about what this says about me, but nah. I'll leave that to anyone interested enough to think them.

Want me to tell you about the bad ones in the next entry?
There was a poem I was going to stick in the last entry that I forgot to put in! Here it is:

Expandcut for poetry )

The bad recurring dreams. These are the two that make me wake up sweating, cold and weeping.

The first is fairly common to people with animals, I've discovered. In the dream, I am going about my life when I suddenly recall another seven hawks or ten or eleven ferrets that I'm keeping in a garage or an aviary somewhere out of the way, and I recall that I haven't fed them or checked on them for weeks. The dreams are always generous with gruesome imagery of creatures starved, filthy and occasionally eating each other because of my negligence.

The other involves my husband. Not everyone on my friends list knows that he died in 1999. Now, I know he's dead. I held him on my lap as the warmth receded from his flesh. I know exactly what death looks and feels like.

In the dream, I learn that he faked his death, that he's been alive all this time. But he hasn't contacted me, and he's left no channel open by which I can tell him I know he's alive. I try and call his family, and they deny all knowledge and hang up on me. His friends have disappeared. Every avenue of communication ends in a blank brick wall. The only one who can communicate is John, but he doesn't want to. I have no idea why.
There was a poem I was going to stick in the last entry that I forgot to put in! Here it is:

Expandcut for poetry )

The bad recurring dreams. These are the two that make me wake up sweating, cold and weeping.

The first is fairly common to people with animals, I've discovered. In the dream, I am going about my life when I suddenly recall another seven hawks or ten or eleven ferrets that I'm keeping in a garage or an aviary somewhere out of the way, and I recall that I haven't fed them or checked on them for weeks. The dreams are always generous with gruesome imagery of creatures starved, filthy and occasionally eating each other because of my negligence.

The other involves my husband. Not everyone on my friends list knows that he died in 1999. Now, I know he's dead. I held him on my lap as the warmth receded from his flesh. I know exactly what death looks and feels like.

In the dream, I learn that he faked his death, that he's been alive all this time. But he hasn't contacted me, and he's left no channel open by which I can tell him I know he's alive. I try and call his family, and they deny all knowledge and hang up on me. His friends have disappeared. Every avenue of communication ends in a blank brick wall. The only one who can communicate is John, but he doesn't want to. I have no idea why.
lizblackdog: (Bite me!)
( Jul. 29th, 2006 04:02 pm)
Took the dogs out. There was rain sometime this afternoon when I wasn't looking, and the field was damp and slightly steamy. Seemed to bring out the scents; Squish kept finding especially fascinating ones among the vole tunnels and bramble bushes.

Met one of my neighbours on the way back, the boyfriend of the girl whose family own Kane the brindle Staff/Pit/sort of thing. He was holding a tiny fawn puppy in his arms; probably the latest litter from Kane and the young red and white bitch.

*sigh*

the charity I'm supporting with this endless typing has a spay/neuter campaign going. I just wish it didn't go over people's heads so much. I've talked to the girl; she loves her dogs, she just doesn't see anything wrong with making more and more and more of them. She even offered to sell me a puppy. Yeah, right. Staffie puppy = exactly what I need in my life just now.
lizblackdog: (Bite me!)
( Jul. 29th, 2006 04:02 pm)
Took the dogs out. There was rain sometime this afternoon when I wasn't looking, and the field was damp and slightly steamy. Seemed to bring out the scents; Squish kept finding especially fascinating ones among the vole tunnels and bramble bushes.

Met one of my neighbours on the way back, the boyfriend of the girl whose family own Kane the brindle Staff/Pit/sort of thing. He was holding a tiny fawn puppy in his arms; probably the latest litter from Kane and the young red and white bitch.

*sigh*

the charity I'm supporting with this endless typing has a spay/neuter campaign going. I just wish it didn't go over people's heads so much. I've talked to the girl; she loves her dogs, she just doesn't see anything wrong with making more and more and more of them. She even offered to sell me a puppy. Yeah, right. Staffie puppy = exactly what I need in my life just now.
I am drinking a concoction of apple and orange juice, mixed in equal parts and then diluted with two parts water to one part juice. I'm eating fresh English strawberries - one of the few compensations for having to suffer through disgusting sticky summer. I have also put a fresh pot of coffee on.

Went through a cat-owning rite of passage last night - I shut Cassie in the utility room by accident when I got today's beastie food out of the freezer. Cassie's one of those clingy cats that follows me everywhere making conversation as she goes - prrp, prrp, pree? Mrrow! Mree, mree-mree? I make noises back at her and she answers. I have no idea what I'm saying, but she always answers. I guess I'm the cat equivalent of a talking parrot. I'm continually tripping over her, stepping on her and having to avoid knocking her into the bath or splashing her as she sits on the edge of the tub watching me wash.

Anyway, she's never going to stay shut in any cupboards or rooms for long. The noise was incredible, and the dogs both came and barked at me on the off chance that I hadn't heard Cassie's "MROWWW!" *crash* "MIIIIIIIAW!!! MROOOWWW!!" *thump* "MREEEK!"
Tags:
I am drinking a concoction of apple and orange juice, mixed in equal parts and then diluted with two parts water to one part juice. I'm eating fresh English strawberries - one of the few compensations for having to suffer through disgusting sticky summer. I have also put a fresh pot of coffee on.

Went through a cat-owning rite of passage last night - I shut Cassie in the utility room by accident when I got today's beastie food out of the freezer. Cassie's one of those clingy cats that follows me everywhere making conversation as she goes - prrp, prrp, pree? Mrrow! Mree, mree-mree? I make noises back at her and she answers. I have no idea what I'm saying, but she always answers. I guess I'm the cat equivalent of a talking parrot. I'm continually tripping over her, stepping on her and having to avoid knocking her into the bath or splashing her as she sits on the edge of the tub watching me wash.

Anyway, she's never going to stay shut in any cupboards or rooms for long. The noise was incredible, and the dogs both came and barked at me on the off chance that I hadn't heard Cassie's "MROWWW!" *crash* "MIIIIIIIAW!!! MROOOWWW!!" *thump* "MREEEK!"
Tags:
Five random statements about people on my f-list:

[livejournal.com profile] wirenth's red dog reminds me so strongly of my collie!

[livejournal.com profile] huntingdon once described himself as "a not very nice person with an overactive conscience". Many people caught onto the first half of that and said "Oh yes you are!" But I know what he meant. He and I, although we're having a spell of not talking much for various reasons that have nothing to do with how we feel about each other, can be like two halves of the same brain sometimes. I'm a nice person with no conscience at all; when we're together he's the Weatherwax to my Ogg, the Spock to my Kirk. I love him.

[livejournal.com profile] nyecamden "Slip inside the eye of your mind..."

[livejournal.com profile] commanderd: ZOMBIE GOAT BUKKAKE!!

[livejournal.com profile] spocked: Write in your damn LiveJournal. And I still have a distant, painless e-crush on you.
Five random statements about people on my f-list:

[livejournal.com profile] wirenth's red dog reminds me so strongly of my collie!

[livejournal.com profile] huntingdon once described himself as "a not very nice person with an overactive conscience". Many people caught onto the first half of that and said "Oh yes you are!" But I know what he meant. He and I, although we're having a spell of not talking much for various reasons that have nothing to do with how we feel about each other, can be like two halves of the same brain sometimes. I'm a nice person with no conscience at all; when we're together he's the Weatherwax to my Ogg, the Spock to my Kirk. I love him.

[livejournal.com profile] nyecamden "Slip inside the eye of your mind..."

[livejournal.com profile] commanderd: ZOMBIE GOAT BUKKAKE!!

[livejournal.com profile] spocked: Write in your damn LiveJournal. And I still have a distant, painless e-crush on you.
Mmm, garlic-flavoured pitta breads with ham and chicken/sweetcorn mayonnaise sandwich filling stuff in them.

*post-food lethargy*

no-one said it had to be a long or interesting entry! my arm is hurting...

oh, all right. see that icon? Spike does tricks with his food bowl when he's being exceptionally attention-whorey. He flips it upside down and then he pounces on it so it slides across the floor with him sledding on it, a huge manic Jack Nicholson grin on his face and his tail high above his back. It's one of those things I should probably discourage, but I'm always laughing too hard...
Tags:
Mmm, garlic-flavoured pitta breads with ham and chicken/sweetcorn mayonnaise sandwich filling stuff in them.

*post-food lethargy*

no-one said it had to be a long or interesting entry! my arm is hurting...

oh, all right. see that icon? Spike does tricks with his food bowl when he's being exceptionally attention-whorey. He flips it upside down and then he pounces on it so it slides across the floor with him sledding on it, a huge manic Jack Nicholson grin on his face and his tail high above his back. It's one of those things I should probably discourage, but I'm always laughing too hard...
Tags:
I had a bath between this entry and the last one, and when I came out I found Expandthis. Cut for cattens. )

actually, I found Shona and Callette at the milk bar, and Spike lying on the floor with Cassie's tail on his face, but I had to step over them to get to the camera and that disturbed them a little.
I had a bath between this entry and the last one, and when I came out I found Expandthis. Cut for cattens. )

actually, I found Shona and Callette at the milk bar, and Spike lying on the floor with Cassie's tail on his face, but I had to step over them to get to the camera and that disturbed them a little.
A limerick from the Admirals' Lounge at TrekBBS, by [livejournal.com profile] ymf77:

There was a young lady called Liz
Who started this thing in a tiz
She posted all day
And wasted away
and now all that's left is ziz.


Now, I can't make up entire limericks on my own, but we used to have a game in the Lounge, where you'd post one line of a limerick and other people would chime in with the next line, and so on and so forth. Anyone want to play?

There was a young Pointer called Squish...
Tags:
A limerick from the Admirals' Lounge at TrekBBS, by [livejournal.com profile] ymf77:

There was a young lady called Liz
Who started this thing in a tiz
She posted all day
And wasted away
and now all that's left is ziz.


Now, I can't make up entire limericks on my own, but we used to have a game in the Lounge, where you'd post one line of a limerick and other people would chime in with the next line, and so on and so forth. Anyone want to play?

There was a young Pointer called Squish...
Tags:
Synchronised leg-cocking is common enough for Spike and Squish, but today's version was more amusing than usual - instead of arranging themselves lengthways nose to tail, they were side by side, peeing on a post that I was standing the other side of. This meant that Spike peed on Squish and Squish peed on my feet. Lovely.

They also made friends with a nice strawberry-blonde lady who complimented their shiny coats and was impressed by Spike's tree-climbing, and infuriated the two poor Rottweilers that a guy down the road keeps outdoors. That's not exactly hard, though; those Rotts make a HUGE NOISE and fling themselves against the gate barking and snarling and growling every time anyone walks within about 200 yards of their house.

Spike, being Spike, barks back, and the one or two times I've walked past the house were frankly terrifying. I'm not one to be scared of big dogs just because they're big dogs, but big guardy frustrated dogs that my arsehole dog is winding up so that they're trying to bash their gate down to get at us? FUCKING scary.

I can't believe he doesn't get shitloads of complaints from his neighbours. Poor Rotties.
Synchronised leg-cocking is common enough for Spike and Squish, but today's version was more amusing than usual - instead of arranging themselves lengthways nose to tail, they were side by side, peeing on a post that I was standing the other side of. This meant that Spike peed on Squish and Squish peed on my feet. Lovely.

They also made friends with a nice strawberry-blonde lady who complimented their shiny coats and was impressed by Spike's tree-climbing, and infuriated the two poor Rottweilers that a guy down the road keeps outdoors. That's not exactly hard, though; those Rotts make a HUGE NOISE and fling themselves against the gate barking and snarling and growling every time anyone walks within about 200 yards of their house.

Spike, being Spike, barks back, and the one or two times I've walked past the house were frankly terrifying. I'm not one to be scared of big dogs just because they're big dogs, but big guardy frustrated dogs that my arsehole dog is winding up so that they're trying to bash their gate down to get at us? FUCKING scary.

I can't believe he doesn't get shitloads of complaints from his neighbours. Poor Rotties.
Deified by [livejournal.com profile] myrystyr:

Comment and I'll tell you:
1. Which is your weirdest icon.
2. Who's the friend of yours with the weirdest name.
3. What's the weirdest community you are in. (or some other weird thing about you)
Then, take this meme and post it in your journal. (or not, I won't insist)

EDIT: OK, STOP NOW!!! Calhoun is the last one I'm gonna do. BRAIN MELTY!!
Tags:
Deified by [livejournal.com profile] myrystyr:

Comment and I'll tell you:
1. Which is your weirdest icon.
2. Who's the friend of yours with the weirdest name.
3. What's the weirdest community you are in. (or some other weird thing about you)
Then, take this meme and post it in your journal. (or not, I won't insist)

EDIT: OK, STOP NOW!!! Calhoun is the last one I'm gonna do. BRAIN MELTY!!
Tags:
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek weirdness commenting almost late with new entry people have cool icons need to PEEE haven't taken my tablet today there is not enough coffee in the WORLD holy run-on sentence Batman!

why is Spike whining?

oh yes, time to feed my dogs...

I'm what, a third of the way through this?

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek weirdness commenting almost late with new entry people have cool icons need to PEEE haven't taken my tablet today there is not enough coffee in the WORLD holy run-on sentence Batman!

why is Spike whining?

oh yes, time to feed my dogs...

I'm what, a third of the way through this?

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!
Expandbloggy kittens!! )

there's a collie under my chair licking my knee.

I just put whisky in my coffee.

but only about a quarter-capful. I am not completely insane. But I like the taste..
Expandbloggy kittens!! )

there's a collie under my chair licking my knee.

I just put whisky in my coffee.

but only about a quarter-capful. I am not completely insane. But I like the taste..
Things life has taught me:

1. Never defrost whole frozen mice or dead day-old chicks in a microwave.

2. Never lend any friend money more than once, and never rely on getting it back.

3. Never buy drugs from complete strangers.

4. Never let your hawk loose near barriers she can cross easily and you can't.

5. Never sleep with anyone who lives in your apartmnent building.

What are yours?
Tags:
Things life has taught me:

1. Never defrost whole frozen mice or dead day-old chicks in a microwave.

2. Never lend any friend money more than once, and never rely on getting it back.

3. Never buy drugs from complete strangers.

4. Never let your hawk loose near barriers she can cross easily and you can't.

5. Never sleep with anyone who lives in your apartmnent building.

What are yours?
Tags:
need food...

coronation chicken in pitta bread? yeah, that sounds good.

now, I am going to talk about fan fiction. I only ever finished writing one, you may find it here. (warning: it's a porny story)

it's not too bad, although it contains an original character perilously close to being a Mary Sue. She didn't actually fail the Mary Sue litmus test, though - since she has chunky legs, a big arse and isn't given to angst.

I keep trying to write more. I have two stories about her gumming up the works of my brain - one is more porn, as well as a "rocks fall, everyone dies" Blake's 7-ish sort of plot, a collaboration with the awesome [livejournal.com profile] captain_lila. the other is more of a straight adventure story with her and a ten year old Kira Nerys. This one's perilously close to actually getting written, although the way I suffer from magpie brain, it could well be years.

then again, the characters aren't going anywhere, I guess...

all the dogs and cats are sleeping. it's quiet... too quiet!
need food...

coronation chicken in pitta bread? yeah, that sounds good.

now, I am going to talk about fan fiction. I only ever finished writing one, you may find it here. (warning: it's a porny story)

it's not too bad, although it contains an original character perilously close to being a Mary Sue. She didn't actually fail the Mary Sue litmus test, though - since she has chunky legs, a big arse and isn't given to angst.

I keep trying to write more. I have two stories about her gumming up the works of my brain - one is more porn, as well as a "rocks fall, everyone dies" Blake's 7-ish sort of plot, a collaboration with the awesome [livejournal.com profile] captain_lila. the other is more of a straight adventure story with her and a ten year old Kira Nerys. This one's perilously close to actually getting written, although the way I suffer from magpie brain, it could well be years.

then again, the characters aren't going anywhere, I guess...

all the dogs and cats are sleeping. it's quiet... too quiet!
phew! a little dog walk has helped clear my head somewhat. It's nice and cool out there, with a desultory blatty sort of rain that the Ferengi probably have a word for. The walk was uneventful, apart from Squish taking an unreasonably long time to find the exact right spot to crap on, but that's normal for Squish, although it doesn't get any less annoying with time.

we came back, and found Callette in the doorway of the bedroom. She was sitting on her haunches with her tail underneath her, and she was trying to kill it, presumably because she didn't recognise it from that angle.

I thought I might talk a bit about the first time I met Spike. His predecessor Scampi died in March 2003 - it was hard and sad, but Scampi was seventeen and a half and he'd been failing for some time, so not unexpected.

Being dogless was a whole new dreadful feeling, quite separately from the grief and loss. It was like trying to walk and finding your legs unexpectedly missing. If there's one thing that defines me, it's my dog-person-ness and I was lost without a dog. It would have been indecent to try and find a new dog before Scampi died, but I was phoning the Dogs Trust for an application form the day after, and I went to visit their nearest rehoming centre (Salisbury) within the week.

They have a fairly complex procedure for adopting dogs, which is as it should be. They need you to think hard about the sort of dog you want to share your life with - they're in the business of making rehoming work out for everyone concerned. So I filled in a long form about my circumstances and the sort of dog I was looking for. I was living with my mother and her cat, so I had to have a cat-friendly dog (I never anticipated quite how cat-friendly he'd be). I had no job, no friends and no life, so I wanted a dog that needed a lot of time and attention, one that would force me to be active and get out of the house as much as possible.

...Good lord, it's quarter past. Better hit submit and make this a two-parter...
phew! a little dog walk has helped clear my head somewhat. It's nice and cool out there, with a desultory blatty sort of rain that the Ferengi probably have a word for. The walk was uneventful, apart from Squish taking an unreasonably long time to find the exact right spot to crap on, but that's normal for Squish, although it doesn't get any less annoying with time.

we came back, and found Callette in the doorway of the bedroom. She was sitting on her haunches with her tail underneath her, and she was trying to kill it, presumably because she didn't recognise it from that angle.

I thought I might talk a bit about the first time I met Spike. His predecessor Scampi died in March 2003 - it was hard and sad, but Scampi was seventeen and a half and he'd been failing for some time, so not unexpected.

Being dogless was a whole new dreadful feeling, quite separately from the grief and loss. It was like trying to walk and finding your legs unexpectedly missing. If there's one thing that defines me, it's my dog-person-ness and I was lost without a dog. It would have been indecent to try and find a new dog before Scampi died, but I was phoning the Dogs Trust for an application form the day after, and I went to visit their nearest rehoming centre (Salisbury) within the week.

They have a fairly complex procedure for adopting dogs, which is as it should be. They need you to think hard about the sort of dog you want to share your life with - they're in the business of making rehoming work out for everyone concerned. So I filled in a long form about my circumstances and the sort of dog I was looking for. I was living with my mother and her cat, so I had to have a cat-friendly dog (I never anticipated quite how cat-friendly he'd be). I had no job, no friends and no life, so I wanted a dog that needed a lot of time and attention, one that would force me to be active and get out of the house as much as possible.

...Good lord, it's quarter past. Better hit submit and make this a two-parter...
mmm, a quick cold bath.

...where was I? Ah yes. I told the rehoming centre I wanted a collie-type or gundog or mix thereof, gender immaterial, but had to be cat-friendly and under two years old. I'm all for adopting elderly dogs - Scampi was thirteen when I took him on and we had four great years together. But I knew I couldn't cope with doing it twice in a row, and I also didn't want a young puppy. Baby animals are cute, but I honestly don't find them all that interesting when they're very small and have tiny brains and need teaching where to pee. I love them best in the leggy teenage stage when you can start doing interesting stuff with them.

It took six weeks. I took the bus up to the rehoming centre once or twice a week; hung out with the staff, asked annoying questions, brought toys and treats and walked dogs. There were so many beautiful dogs, but there was alway some reason why they weren't mine - the creamy white German Shepherd was eight years old, the cheerful brown collie/lab cross had bad hips and needed a sedentary life, the Dalmatian wanted to kill cats.

Fast forward to the end of April. I've been there a couple of hours, taken two dogs out for walks. I'm hanging out with the girl at the reception desk, watching an adorable litter of mongrel puppies go home with their new families. She looks up at me and says "Did anyone show you Rebel? He's not out on display because he's got stitches in, but he fits all the conditions on your list."

So she went to get him for me. She disappeared into the back room and came out with a whirling, bouncing black and white blur in a cone collar on the end of the leash. As soon as he was out of the door, he wrenched the leash out of her hand and ran for it. She called his name and he stopped, whirled round and bounced right back to her. He had mad bright eyes, a "HEEEEEERE'S JOHNNY" psycho hose beast grin, one ear up and one ear down. He was terrifying, but he was mine.
mmm, a quick cold bath.

...where was I? Ah yes. I told the rehoming centre I wanted a collie-type or gundog or mix thereof, gender immaterial, but had to be cat-friendly and under two years old. I'm all for adopting elderly dogs - Scampi was thirteen when I took him on and we had four great years together. But I knew I couldn't cope with doing it twice in a row, and I also didn't want a young puppy. Baby animals are cute, but I honestly don't find them all that interesting when they're very small and have tiny brains and need teaching where to pee. I love them best in the leggy teenage stage when you can start doing interesting stuff with them.

It took six weeks. I took the bus up to the rehoming centre once or twice a week; hung out with the staff, asked annoying questions, brought toys and treats and walked dogs. There were so many beautiful dogs, but there was alway some reason why they weren't mine - the creamy white German Shepherd was eight years old, the cheerful brown collie/lab cross had bad hips and needed a sedentary life, the Dalmatian wanted to kill cats.

Fast forward to the end of April. I've been there a couple of hours, taken two dogs out for walks. I'm hanging out with the girl at the reception desk, watching an adorable litter of mongrel puppies go home with their new families. She looks up at me and says "Did anyone show you Rebel? He's not out on display because he's got stitches in, but he fits all the conditions on your list."

So she went to get him for me. She disappeared into the back room and came out with a whirling, bouncing black and white blur in a cone collar on the end of the leash. As soon as he was out of the door, he wrenched the leash out of her hand and ran for it. She called his name and he stopped, whirled round and bounced right back to her. He had mad bright eyes, a "HEEEEEERE'S JOHNNY" psycho hose beast grin, one ear up and one ear down. He was terrifying, but he was mine.
ExpandI heard mewing so I snuck up with my camera )

Thank goodness for kittens...

For my next entry, has anyone got any questions they've always wanted to ask me? Or if not, can you think of one?
ExpandI heard mewing so I snuck up with my camera )

Thank goodness for kittens...

For my next entry, has anyone got any questions they've always wanted to ask me? Or if not, can you think of one?
For [livejournal.com profile] bloolark:

How old are you? - Thirty-nine; I'll be forty in September.

Tell us your life history in 30 words or less - Born in Indiana, moved here, boarding school is hell, Dungeons and Dragons, falconry, ferrets, love, marriage, drugs, death, rebirth, dogs, LiveJournal, Blogathon.

What do you like about living in the UK? - The National Health Service, the welfare state, the people, the climate, the landscape, the history and the architecture.

How far do you live from London? About 90 miles south of London.

What's your favorite scent? Grapefruit peel, fresh sex, elderflowers, patchouli, wet dog, autumn forest floor, snow, ferrets, fresh coffee.

How do you like your coffee? Black, a quarter-spoon of sugar.

Do you like coffee or tea better? Coffee. Can't abide tea.

For [livejournal.com profile] ramona:

I was fascinated with birds generally and birds of prey in particular from very early childhood. In 1985 I found a magazine article about the British School Of Falconry - it was like being struck by lightning. Until I saw the article I'd assumed that falconry was a historical thing that no-one did any more - the minute I learned different I couldn't rest till I was doing it myself. I nagged my parents into paying for one of their beginner's courses for my next birthday, and then I saved up to buy my first hawk, which was a European buzzard I named Morgan. I had her for three years, and although she was a pleasure to be around and I taught her tricks, she never killed anything bigger than a mouse (she seemed to be frightened of rabbits) and I started yearning for a real hunting bird. I started saving again, and when I had enough for a redtail I gave Morgan to another beginner who I met through the British Falconer's Club and bought Camilla.

Camilla was a much pleasanter bird than Morgan, though never as cuddly, and she showed me what it was really all about. I had her for eight years and I never had to buy meat the whole time, though I did have to learn a thousand and one ways to cook rabbit. She had a sense of humour and liked to knock people's hats off in the field.

In 1995 my mother's house got repossessed and everything fell apart. John and I had to move out in a huge hurry, all our animals had to be boarded out as the only place we could find to live on short notice was a one room bedsit. I boarded Camilla with a friend in the New Fporest falconry club and I never got her back. I was told she'd died from eating a poisoned rat that had broken into her aviary. This year I met someone else who'd known me and the person who took Camilla then, and he said that it was a lie and that she'd been stolen. I hope that's the truth. It makes no difference to me one way or another, but it's a far better outcome for her.
For [livejournal.com profile] bloolark:

How old are you? - Thirty-nine; I'll be forty in September.

Tell us your life history in 30 words or less - Born in Indiana, moved here, boarding school is hell, Dungeons and Dragons, falconry, ferrets, love, marriage, drugs, death, rebirth, dogs, LiveJournal, Blogathon.

What do you like about living in the UK? - The National Health Service, the welfare state, the people, the climate, the landscape, the history and the architecture.

How far do you live from London? About 90 miles south of London.

What's your favorite scent? Grapefruit peel, fresh sex, elderflowers, patchouli, wet dog, autumn forest floor, snow, ferrets, fresh coffee.

How do you like your coffee? Black, a quarter-spoon of sugar.

Do you like coffee or tea better? Coffee. Can't abide tea.

For [livejournal.com profile] ramona:

I was fascinated with birds generally and birds of prey in particular from very early childhood. In 1985 I found a magazine article about the British School Of Falconry - it was like being struck by lightning. Until I saw the article I'd assumed that falconry was a historical thing that no-one did any more - the minute I learned different I couldn't rest till I was doing it myself. I nagged my parents into paying for one of their beginner's courses for my next birthday, and then I saved up to buy my first hawk, which was a European buzzard I named Morgan. I had her for three years, and although she was a pleasure to be around and I taught her tricks, she never killed anything bigger than a mouse (she seemed to be frightened of rabbits) and I started yearning for a real hunting bird. I started saving again, and when I had enough for a redtail I gave Morgan to another beginner who I met through the British Falconer's Club and bought Camilla.

Camilla was a much pleasanter bird than Morgan, though never as cuddly, and she showed me what it was really all about. I had her for eight years and I never had to buy meat the whole time, though I did have to learn a thousand and one ways to cook rabbit. She had a sense of humour and liked to knock people's hats off in the field.

In 1995 my mother's house got repossessed and everything fell apart. John and I had to move out in a huge hurry, all our animals had to be boarded out as the only place we could find to live on short notice was a one room bedsit. I boarded Camilla with a friend in the New Fporest falconry club and I never got her back. I was told she'd died from eating a poisoned rat that had broken into her aviary. This year I met someone else who'd known me and the person who took Camilla then, and he said that it was a lie and that she'd been stolen. I hope that's the truth. It makes no difference to me one way or another, but it's a far better outcome for her.
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