Black Doggerel

Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.

First thing to break was my teeth. The great thing about artificial teeth is it only takes a careful wash and dry and a bit of Superglue - but this is the second time. A call to the dentist may be in order before they break beyond my powers of fixing.

The second thing was my own stupid lazy fault. I remember saying in one of the comments on Spike's harness that I wasn't going to leave it on him all day this time round. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results - well, colour me insane. Or, more likely, just an idiot.

Luckily he bit through the new one at a point on the webbing where I've been able to fix it. I cut a piece from the old webbing, sealed all the frayed edges with fire and sewed it as firmly as I can over the broken place.

Putting the harness on him and taking it off again six or seven times a day is going to be a pain, because he always wants to play tug with the damn thing, but less of a pain than this. Slap me with a wet fish if you catch me doing that again.

The third thing - don't these things always come in threes? - well, I'm going to do an orac_zen and say nothing. But it doesn't look mendable.

One ten minute after-supper dog walk containing three cats and two strange dogs: free.

One reactive 'splodey collie: £75

One yappy gundog sidekick: Also free.

One Halti harness: worth its weight in gold.

Expression on cat number two's face when Spike demonstrated that his spot on top of this wall wasn't as unreachable as he thought: priceless.

Am haunted and melancholy at the news that a friend has lost her mother. Her pain is a raw, palpable thing across the Internet and I am, once again, utterly powerless to make any of it go away. All I can do is send love.

*love love love to Mia*

I'm also uncomfortably conscious that one day that will be me. Mum is sixty-four now and she's in the midst of a bad flu (I'm afraid it's the one I brought back from London, so I feel guilty as well). That day is drawing closer. I can't think of it. But I'll be giving her an extra hug when I see her today.

...the dogs and the cat continue to provide a bouncy counterpoint. Spike is being exceptionally obnoxious even by his standards. Recently I've been carrying a tug toy in my coat pocket, to help him let off steam and reduce wear and tear on his leash (which is a fancy-ass double-ended training leash that I'd rather not have to replace just yet). The letting-off of steam is a thing we both enjoy, and I'm also using the opportunity to practise his tugmonster on/off switch. Tugmonster!Spike is an impressive and scary sight. He doesn't do a steady grab-tug, he bounces, shifts his feet, shifts his grip, does sudden wrenches sideways, plays keep-away at breakneck snake-striking speed - and it's even more impressive to see him drop out of that into an alert excited sit on a word. So I don't want to stop the tug games. The trouble is that it's brought out his pushy side, and every time I pause for conversation he tries to pick my pocket or starts bouncing and barking in my face.

I know what I need to do. Calming signals, gentle firmness and more bloody exercise. I've let my arm and Squish's issues (try saying that five times fast) turn into an excuse for being lazy and it's time to stop. When I first got him I discovered he needed at least an hour's running and ball playing a day to be capable of civilised behaviour for the other twenty-three. He's calmer generally now than he was then but his essential nature hasn't changed, and I've been making him bottle it up too long. Time to pull my finger out before it turns into a serious problem.

...but not today, because I'm on my way to the Magistrate's Court to deal with this piece of stupidity.

Ow ow ow. An unfortunate series of events involving a late-night dog walk, an outdoor calico cat, a maniac collie with the strength of ten who no longer has a no-pull harness, his fifty pound gundog sidekick and a week of heavy rain has left me with a twisted ankle, a bashed elbow (the BAD one) and mud all over my clothes.

could've done without that.

The Evil Bugger is on a flat collar again because he chewed through the chest-strap of his nice harness yesterday. Arsehole.

I still feel like shit. I'm just recovered enough to feel frustrated and restless and still sick enough to fall over every time I try and do anything. Also coughing worse than ever. (This is partly because I feel well enough to want to smoke again. Hey, I never said I wasn't an idiot.)

oh, and it's too fucking hot. GAH.

Remember that black eye Squish gave me just before the Greenwich meet-up?

Looks like we have a new meet-up tradition. This time it was Spike. He put one of his toenails in my eye when he woke me up. Not a black eye but the white's all red and weepy. Ow.

things to do today: print out coach ticket at library, make sure everything I'm wearing tomorrow is clean... anything else?

they're mowing the lawn outside today. on the one hand, the crop of daisies I was really enjoying is going; on the other hand, the scent of cut grass is wafting through my windows.

Still way too bloody hot, too.

stress, running late, need a bath, couldn't sleep last night, flat looks like a shithole, arm is particularly painful and Spike is being a psycho hosebeast from hell (I know he's only like that because I'm wound up. Doesn't always help to know that).


BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAATHE!!!!

Spike is being an arsehole today. It's not entirely his fault. These flats now have five different dogs living in them and there are only two that Spike doesn't hate - and one of those two is Squish.

Downstairs neighbours have just adopted a thirteen-month-old male corgi?/collie/spaniel? cross. We had a brief look at him last night and he looks like a miniature dingo - reddish-tan coloured, big pricky bat ears and an intelligent expression. His new owners were bringing him out for a late night walk just as we were coming back from ours. Spike had just been prevented from shouting at a Rottie in Woodbury Avenue so he was already wound up as hell. I tried to retreat away from the front door so they could get New Dog out of the house without being Spiked, but the damn silly woman followed me - "oh, he's good with other dogs!". That's as may be, lady, but I've told you before mine ISN'T! So the huge barking match I'd been hoping to avoid happened at midnight right outside the fucking front door, and my chances of persuading Spike and New Dog to ever put up with each other took a sharp turn for the worse.

Anyway, New Dog's owners have gone shopping without him and he's objecting noisily to being left alone. I never realised just how soundproof these flats are, because I can't hear him at all from up here, I only know he's barking because we passed their front door on our way back in. Unfortunately, Brown Bully with Balls two doors along from us can hear him just fine, and it's setting him off - and that's what's setting Spike off.

I take solace in the fact that if anyone complains, at least my dog didn't start it and isn't the only one barking - though he is by far the loudest. I don't know how the hell he produces that enormous bellowing bark out of that little narrow ribcage. Squish outweighs him by a good ten pounds, but Squish can't come close in the noise stakes.

Mind you, we only need two more dogs to outnumber the non-dog-owners in this building!

I'm supposed to be going to Grimmauld Place today to help my mother change her sheets. I've been supposed to be going there since Thursday but I've kept putting it off because I hate going there so much. Don't ask why Mum can't change her own sheets. It's too hard or something, like the washing-up. I'm still getting the guilt-tripping phone calls every few days asking if my arm's up to doing her cleaning yet. She's pissed off at me because my sister E was down on Friday night and Mum said E would kill her if the sheets hadn't been changed yet. I didn't bother asking why she couldn't have got E, who has two functioning arms, to help her with the fucking sheets. Probably because she isn't a guilt-susceptible sucker like I am.

The good news is I've just thought of a great excuse to put it off till tomorrow!

It's been wild and windy here today, and for some reason that tends to make Spike even more batshit insane than usual. Another thing that makes him especially excitable is the walk to One Stop and back - I've no idea what set up that particular association in his mind but he's noticeably more explosive on those walks than any other. Put the two together and you get something frankly scary. Running up trees, dancing on the end of the leash like a hooked marlin, attracting attention all round... I love that dog so damn much.


I know I rave about him more than I do about Squish. I don't love Squish any less; Squish is my adorable little boy - but Spike is my equal, my alter ego, my confidant. Squish is there to be cherished and looked after. Spike and I look after each other and Squish as well - it's more like being in love than just loving.

( See Spike under the cut )

How the hell did I forget all about Turid Rugaas?

( Cut for rambling about dog behaviour )

x-posted to badtrainers

Edit: also at TrekBBS, I'm disappointed to find someone I had a high opinion of advocating declawing cats. Luckily the majority are in disagreement.