Day Eight - Appreciative August

Milly

Love Chunks and Sapphire got heartily sick and tired of my rushing up to complete strangers (often quite scary-looking blokes) to pat their dogs and, four years after our blue-heeler Tess died, we decided to adopt another one. When I was chatting to a toothless homeless man and eagerly stroking his muttley dog's rather pongy coat, LC said to Sapph, "I think your Mum needs a dog of her own."

On the designated day, I was told - by my then five year-old daughter and my thirty-six year old husband that I was not to get too excited and pick the first canine my beady greens focussed onto. It was to be a dog that was child-friendly, not too large or energetic for a suburban life, not too crazy nor too timid was not to require any excessive grooming.

Plus - LC waggled his finger in front of my face to stop me interrupting - if the ideal dog was not found that day, then we would go back another time. And another time, if need be. The dog had to be just right for we three Locketts.

I nearly garotted myself on the seatbelt in my eagerness to get out of the car and inside the Sandy Creek Dog Sanctuary. It was smelly, noisy, chaotic and busy, and run by a passionate local family without any government funding.

One hand-painted sign said 'Grown Dogs' and the other said 'Puppies'. "Ooooh, let's look at the puppies first," and before LC could say, "But I thought we were going to see if an older dog needed a better home," he followed - Sapphire was being dragged along beside me.

And there she was. Our Milly. Shaking a little from the deafening barking all around her, but wildly wagging her tail and licking at our fingers through the bars. "This one, LC, this one!" I peered at the card. "Look, it's a female, she loves us and she's about the size of a coffee table! This one!"

With that, all-too-familiar, 'But Kath I Thought We Had Maturely Discussed This Earlier' look, Love Chunks took me aside, reminding me in a furious whisper that we didn't know anything about her background, how she'd behave outside of her enclosure or seen any of the other dogs needing homes yet.

My own invisible tail drooped and hid between my legs. "Oh. Yeah, you're right. Let's do the rounds then." But, like a good pair of shoes or a spouse's Christmas gift, it's always the first one you see, isn't it, but you still tramp up and down the shopping mall 'just in case' and end up right back where you started.

There were fully grown dogs that were all beautiful, but were too large for a suburban home and would be infinitely happier being told to jump up into the ute to get ready for a round of farm work. Others were cowed or nervous and needed a full-time carer to show them that not all people were evil. Still more were anxious, barking endlessly and too eager to jump and dominate. The puppies were all gorgeous. All energetic worker dogs though - kelpies, heelers, shepherds and dodgy mixtures of rottweiler and staffies.

Back to Milly. Again she made a beeline for our fingers, and we called a helper over so that we could meet her outside of the cage. Milly's exuberant tail wagging extended up to her bottom, hips, back and ears and she didn't jump up and scare our five year old child. She willingly sat and let a lead be put on, and we walked her around their garden, dodging the clothes dangling from the Hills Hoist. LC and I said it together, "Yep, she's the one."

Driving home to Trinity Gardens, the new addition didn't make a sound in the back of the station wagon, just looked out at the traffic and back over the seat to us, the three new humans allotted to her guardianship. "Dog, you don't know this yet, but you've just won the lotto", Love Chunks said, winking at me.

It's been the other way around really. She's been my faithful companion during runs, walks, book writing, computer work, reading, gardening, holidays, walks to and from school and at picnics. She's been sang to, danced with, kissed ("But Kath she eats cat shit, licks herself and then you kiss her"), videoed and cuddled. Even LC has held her lovingly in his arms like a newborn baby when he thinks I'm not around.

Milly very patiently endures the costume designs that Sapphire and her playdates inflict upon her but will not tolerate being laughed at or being made to wear her tiny Santa Hat on Christmas Day. She hides on bath day, yet has learned to include Skipper the bunny in her heart and daily rounds of licks and sniffs.

The vet assures me that our dog is a 'smiler' who easily reveals her emotions. She is utterly put out when we drive off somewhere without her and laps up the adoring pats and chats she gets from our neighbours, school children and friends.

She's featured on a few overseas doggy websites and garnered her fair share of online fanmail. She greets the postman, tradies and the Banana Blue man with a wagging tail and a lick of their shoes (and ankles, if there's skin on show) and sometimes - if I'm not paying attention - she'll zoom across the road to chase Andrew and Jill's cat through their garage and up the apricot tree. Andrew never gets angry; he's too busy falling about laughing, "That'll teach Tigga to sit in the driveway looking like a smug little bugger."

Even my parents - who have never been 'dog people' - have fallen for our furry little friend, a Jack Russell Corgi mix we jokingly call a 'Jorgi'. When we stay at their house in Victor Harbor, Milly has her own kennel (made by Dad, painted by Sapphire), lined with two leopard-spot blankets and a selection of chew toys, wooden sticks and tennis balls (some with sound effects when they're bitten into) to play with. She accompanies Mum during her pruning, watering and planting sessions, sitting or sniffing quietly next to her as a silent friend - there, but not demanding. When Dad's returned from fishing, Milly sniffs his sneakers, rods and the detritus left by the back shed after the haul's been gutted and scaled. A visit to Grandma and Grandpa is, indeed, as much fun for Milly as it is for Sapphire.

During my migraines or times of stress and sadness, she is a determined shadow. Sitting on my feet and leaning against my legs so that she's sure to know my next move and I'm assured that she's there and she cares. If migraines send me to bed seeking the darkness and silence, she sleeps for hours at my feet, stirring when I stir, licking my hand just once to remind me I'm not alone.

She's the find of our lives for only eighty dollars.




'Let me inside you meanies!'

"I like Bollocks"

Yep, I said that. Yesterday. Live, on radio.















Thank goodness my folks are caravanning around the North Western side of the continent or I'd have some fast explaining to do - especially if they'd just turned on and heard me utter that provocative sentence without being privy to the necessary leading up to it.

However, this is not the weirdest conversation I've had in the past week. Far from it. I might be married to Love Chunks the meteorologist, but rarely do any of my chats include any pithy remarks about the weather or what the carbon emissions trading scheme actually is about. If I give my grey matter a mental shuffle, this is what the memory cells have dredged up as my typical conversations over the past seven days:

Scene one: My wonderful mate Catherine, her mother Janice and my good self at a cafe in Kensington. All are eating delicious lunches after enjoying the movie 'The Painted Veil' for Catherine's birthday.

Me: "......yeah and it really annoys me when I read about 'Super Mums' or 'CEO and a Mum' kind of articles when they've got paid nannies, cleaners, chefs, personal trainers and PAs to help them. In fact, why would someone like the Queen even need to carry a handbag when she has a lady-in-waiting to deal with her every need?"
Catherine: "Well, even she must have needed a tampon occasionally, in her younger years I mean....."
Janice: "Oh I don't know about that. Tampons wouldn't have been all that common in her era. It was more likely to be a modess pad and surely she'd never have those in her handbag. What if it accidentally popped open at a palace ball when she was busy shaking the hands of dignitaries?"
Me: "Fair point. However it's still hard to imagine the royal hand appearing under the loo door asking 'the help' for a soggy surfboard every month."
















Scene two: Love Chunks, my mate Jill and myself at our kitchen counter, Sunday morning. All three of us are sipping and enjoying the coffees made by LC via the gorgeous Gaggia machine.

Me: "So, are you excited about going to Germany tomorrow? It's such a great idea, flying over to surprise your pen-pal of thirty years at her fortieth birthday."
Jill: "Yeah I am, but I haven't been overseas since 1990 and things seem so much more dodgy now. I've borrowed about a dozen padlocks for all the zippers on my bag and am wondering if I should ask for an aisle seat or a window seat."
Love Chunks: "Forget the locks. If they want to search your bag, they'll just slash it, so don't waste their time. Grab the aisle seat, definitely. I like to pull the tray down, open all of my mini-meal fruit juices, milk triangles, ketchup squeezies and a glass of wine and then loudly sigh, pack up slowly and make the other person feel really bad when they ask to get past me to go to the toilet."
Me: (laughing): "Oh Love Chunks, you're so mean! Surely you don't want their bottoms brushing past your face when you can sit by the window and slump into it for more space?"
Jill: "Yeah the window makes more sense----
Me: "----and Jill you have a rock for a bladder so you won't need to bother an evil bloke like Love Chunks very often----"
Love Chunks: "------and whatever you do, don't accept a drink from a stranger no matter how nice they are to you----"
Me: "------because you could find yourself unable to account for several hours of time only to have a surly customs official inform you at the Singapore stopover that their x-ray just revealed ten condoms of powder up your colon."

Scene three: A freezing alleyway still in the morning shade near the Palace Cinema in Adelaide. A park bench is near the Elephant and Castle pub, with a few half-hearted rays of sunshine making it seem more inviting than hanging about by the wheelie bins and puddles of last night's vindaloo vomit.

Young lady: "Oh, you've reached it first, go for it."
Me: "I'm sure I don't look too weird for you to sit here also."
Young lady (pausing briefly): "Er, no. Do you have a light?"
Me: "I do actually, even though I don't smoke. It lives in my handbag and has been handy sometimes. Well, once, when we went camping three years ago."
Young lady: "I don't normally smoke this early but I'm nervous. And early."
Me: "For what?"
Young lady: "My first day at my new job. Receptionists for an architectural firm. It'll be a change from hospitality I hope. What about you?"
Me: "Oh, just hanging around waiting for the cinema to open so that I can watch a movie and write a review about it; then go home, photograph and eat some chocolate so that I can write about that and then work out what plausible excuse I can come up with to NOT volunteer myself for three days and nights as the 'helper parent' at my daughter's school camp next month, and, hey, wait a second, would you be prepared to let me interview you very quickly for a series of columns I'm developing, about local people from all over the state who---"
Young lady: "------Er right, um, I'd better get going. Don't want to be late on my first day."

Scene four: My eighty-seven year old neighbour has knocked on the back door. Sapphire is playing on her guitar with her friend, Maya, the 'Mamma Mia' soundtrack blaring in the living room. I open the door with Milly the dog at my heels and Skipper the rabbit on my shoulder.

Bob: "G'day Kath (he notices the rabbit). Oh, so this little fellow must be Skipper! (he strokes his ears). Oh yes and hello to you too, Milly (bends down to pat her). We've got some news to tell you."
Me: "Come in Bob. Is everything OK (yelling over my shoulder) - Sapph, can you turn the music down please?"
Bob: "Yes, yes. It's just that we've decided to sell up. This place is too big for us now and we've just bought ourselves a unit in a retirement facility in Leabrook. It's right next to the Chelsea Cinema."
Me: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that Bob. We've been neighbours for eight years and we'll miss you.
Bob: "Yes, well it's time for us to go. We'll miss you three too. Especially your singing and talking."
Me: (blushing in shock) "You can hear me when I sing to Milly? And when I come outside to feed the chooks and call out 'hello girlies'? And my chats to Skipper, calling him (pauses, feeling even more foolish) - 'Spunky buns'?"
Bob: "The whole show. In fact, Jude and I often sit outside under the pergola and get our days' worth of free entertainment from your performances."
Me (weakly): "Oh my dear Lord, I had no idea, none. Oh well, at least now you'll be able to go to the cinema and see the latest releases instead."

And that doesn't include:

• The apology I gave to the seated man on the crowded bus. I was jammed in the aisle, and had to squeeze up against the side of his seat to let a passenger get off and accidentally swiped him in the head with my arse;
• Comparing ailments with Sarah after dropping our kids off at school (period pains, low arches, achilles heels, dodgy runners' knees and adult acne);
• Knowledgeably discussing the pressing issue of re-branding chocolate with the shop owner and the heartfelt disappointment we both feel that Mars can't be bothered making their peanut butter M&Ms here in Australia; and
• Explaining to Milly's admirers - when she's tethered to the school gate waiting for me to pick up Sapphire - that yes, her breath smells as bad as her poos do.

Surely they're all better openers than "It's pretty cold today, isn't it?"

Getting my goat

We've all heard of WC Fields' advice which remains relevant today. He warned us all to 'never work with children or animals' but when you're a parent, the two parties seem to come together like Chaos and Theory; Ripped and Trousers; Poo and Shoe.

Not only do most kids have pets at home but school excursions, fete days, Sunday drives and parties seem to involve animals as well. Notwithstanding the importance of immersing children in nature and teaching them about the circle of life/where milk comes from/that fuzzy roo over there has stuff called 'leather' underneath his fur that most of your school shoes are made from and so forth; there's always the unexpected element when animals are presented 'live' on show to kids.

The giggles when the police horses dump a wheelbarrow load of manure on the street during the Christmas pageant, or the Victor Harbor Clydesdales release a few prisoners during their leisurely tram trek across to Granite Island - these never fail to encourage a few wicked giggles from children.

Goats may not be as commonly selected for keeping civil order or transporting tourists but they are a frequent choice for hobby farms and at petting zoos. This is despite the fact that they are renowned for their unpredictability and willingness to eat everything from paint off gates, the bottom of my jeans and plastic buckets. Goats have eyes that are really widely spaced which can give them a creepy - I could eat you too - kind of blank stare. They also have an ~ahem~ tendency to fornicate instantly when they are startled.

Sadly, I've been witness to this kind of reaction. My father-in-law breeds goats on an isolated property studded with salt-bush, mallee and limestone. His goats have a flock of chickens and half a dozen sheep for company and tend to enjoy a rather carefree life of free range foraging and the option to return to fresh hay and shelter at the end of each day.

During one of our stays with Rob, we were sitting out on his makeshift terrace enjoying a cup of billy tea, watching the sunset and surveying the goats grazing nearby. Something had suddenly spooked them and for the next two minutes we saw an orgy of gang-banging cloven-hoofed beasts bonking at satanic speeds. Even Malcolm, Rob's tame and fully grown sheep decided to participate which didn't look pretty.

The worst thing was that our daughter Sapphire was only four years old at the time and it had all happened so instantaneously and graphically before we could grab her hand and say, "Oh, let's go inside and make some damper," and thus shield her from the baseness of farm life. When the scenes of inter-species depravity ended as quickly as they had begun, we were all silent for a moment, struggling to find a way of explaining it to Sapphire in the most innocent of terms when she piped up with, "Why did they start fighting with each other like that?"

Perhaps having an annual Adelaide/Monarto zoo family membership wasn't the smartest idea for us either. The zebra, pictured here sitting down rather primly, seemed to be overly fond of flashing his, erm, 'dangle twang' every. single. time. we. visited. No joke - his pink fifth leg was always out and would cause Sapphire to double over with laughter and even remark, "Look Mum, it's bigger than a hose!" Er, quite.

Or take these monkeys. One minute they're peacefully hanging around together in earnest monkey conversation and the next they were insolently hanging alongside each other on a large branch, piddling large arcs of yellow rope down into the pond below. The boardwalk rang with peals of delighted, primary-school-aged laughter.

I guess I should be thankful that no dung was flung in our direction.

On the homefront, we've been extraordinarily lucky in our choice of animals. No, I'm not talking about Love Chunks or Sapphire, but Milly the dog, Skipper the rabbit and our three chooks Hermoine, Luna and Ginny.

We get entertainment, loyalty, unconditional love and the occasional warning bark to strangers from Milly; laps around the coffee table, athletic jumps onto the ottomon and soft cuddles from Skipper; and curiosity, contented clucks and eggs from the hens.

A suburban paradise of three humans and five animals is enough for me. Bruce the turtle, Rocky the cat, Winston the guinea pig, Sugar Lips the horse, Arnie the Axolotyl, Barney the budgie, Reggie the rat, Minnie the mouse and the flock of homing pigeons can stay in the homes of Sapphire's school mates.

A tapir might be good for sniffing out a decent rockmelon and packet of coffee beans though.....

Photo Fables

I've spent the day with Sapphire's year 3/4 class at Nirvana Farm in the Adelaide Hills and then on to her classmate Sam's property for cubby house making with wild bamboo, blackberry bushes and gum tree branches. Therefore I'm slightly sunburnt, have very little voice and am dying to sit down, eat more chocolate and have another glass of wine. How her teacher deals with those 29 hopping mice on espresso every day astounds me......

I'm stealing this 'pictorially speaking' idea from Baino. Seems about all I've got the strength for tonight. Sapph's in bed, Milly's snoring in her beanbag at my feet, Love Chunks is watching the Crows Vs Essendon and Skipper's in his hutch eating a late supper of carrot and capsicum and I'm about to eat and review some Lindt 'cookies and cream' balls. All is relatively right in my corner of the world.

What is your first name?




















What is your favourite food?















What high school did you go to?







Kincorth
Academy
Aberdeen
Scotland
1981












Murray
Bridge
High
School
'82-'85










What is your favourite colour?



Blue.
Even better if
chocolate
has something
to do with it.












Who is your celebrity crush?













It's been John Cusack ever since seeing 'The Sure Thing' in 1985; solidified by 'Say Anything' in 1989 and forever sealed with 2000's 'High Fidelity'.



















Favourite drink?



and H2O.











Dream holiday?

















New York - with money no object, then a relaxing recovery at a 5 star beach resort: anywhere with clean sheets, cold drinks and a kids' club.














Favourite dessert?

















What do you want to be when you grow up?

Happy, with a healthy and happy family. Financially OK. Working with dogs, or having a dog work alongside me....



















.... with hopefully some of the spirit, wisdom, kindness, originality, personality, perseverence, genuine interest in others and irreverence that my Grandpa had.


















What do you love most in life?




























What one picture describes you?

Tripping over Tuesday


I know I've written about having an extra day before - Smunday - but can I either swap roles with my dog Milly for the next twenty four hours or skip tomorrow entirely?

Please?

Retiring in her prime

For decades now (in blogging terms at least) I've been writing about my gorgeous little 'Lost Dogs Home' adoptee, Dogadoo, whose real name is actually Milly. According to the vet, she's a cross between a Jack Russell and a Corgi and has been fortunate enough to inherit the best traits from each breed.

She can run faster than a whippet and can turn 180 degrees like the crack of a stockman's whip on a five cent piece. Fellow dog walkers frequently comment on her speedy skills and she barely stops for any congratulatory pats until after our session is completed: after all, there’s running to do NOW and any cutesy touchy-feely stuff can occur afterwards at any time.

For four years she's been my Personal Trainer. She insists that we get up at 6am about three or four mornings a week, trot to the school oval and do our fifteen laps totalling 6km. Well, what's fifteen laps for me is about sixty for Milly if her additional distances criss-crossing to chase magpies, sniff other furry buddies’ butts, roll in old school sandwiches and making sure she leaves her ~ ahem ~ 'Chum Nuggets' in the middle of the cricket pitch are taken into account.

However (and I hate having to write 'however' in Milly's case), she had been starting to limp for the rest of the day after our runs together.

The limping would stop on the second day, so I just assumed she'd pulled a muscle and it would soon go away. Last week, however, she started slipping on the floor when she tried to stand up in the mornings. The problem now seemed a bit more serious, so we trotted down the street to the vet.

The vet isn't Milly's favourite place and she tends to start shaking as soon as we arrive in the waiting room. Conversely I find the reception area hugely entertaining as it is filled with all sorts of dogs and cats of various shapes, sizes, colours and temperaments. Sounds, smells, floating fur and even wet patches make it a potential location for a future blog article.

Once in the examination room it is increasingly clear that Milly considers her vet appointment about as much fun as a mouthful of sugarless carob. For in spite of the vet’s reassuring voice, head pats and liver treats, Milly’s ears immediately flatten when the thermometer is inserted without so much as a "Do you mind if...." beforehand. And who can blame her - each time she there she gets poked up the bum to get her temperature taken; has her skin scraped until blood appears for skin samples, a long needle jab under the collar for protection against various worms and kennel cough and, this time, her hips and legs manipulated until she cried out in pain.

$500 later, she was knocked out for x-rays and taken home with dilated triangles for eyes and a tendency to tip over sideways like a cow in rigor mortis. She was too stoned to do anything more than whimper occasionally, clearly puzzled as to why the room was spinning like a frisbee and we humans were appearing in triplicate.

It was bad news for a four year old in the prime of her running career. Milly has acute arthritis and was no longer allowed to go running. Ever again. In fact, we were informed that she must have two weeks of total rest, which means no walks, no time off the lead in the park or any form of happy laps around the garden when Love Chunks gets home after work.

It also means losing three kilograms of weight to ease the strain on her back knees. Here she is standing by the fridge, hoping that I'll open it again and say, "Oh sorry mate, that tiny handful of 'diet crunchies' I gave you was merely the appetizer. Let me open the magic white door again and give you the bone, bacon rinds, doggy moosh in oily juices and leftovers you so richly require and deserve." No such luck: not only is she bored and puzzled, but she's also hungry; her two favourite activities now being denied her.

The irony is that I still have to keep running on the oval because my knees are too buggered to cope with cement footpaths and bitumen any longer. Milly hears my alarm and whips herself up into a furry frenzy of excitement: 'Kath's up first, so that means we're going RUNNING. Whoo Hoo!' Not any more, my little friend.

On the first day without her, she managed to slip under the side gate and I could hear the ‘clicka clicka clicka’ of her nails on the footpath. I turned around to see her exuberant face, telling me, “It’s OK Kath, everything’s all right. I’ve got the situation in hand. I managed to get out and I’m joining you.” I felt like the scummiest person on the earth when I picked her up in my arms, walked back to the house, locked the gate and saw her confused face behind the bars before I jogged out of the garden into the distance.

In two weeks' time she will – depending on the outcome of her next vet appointment - be allowed to go on two five-minute walks on a lead each day, maybe building it up to ten minutes after a few weeks of seeing how her legs hold out.

In the meantime, I run on my own, saying my usual ‘Morning’ greeting to the other oval regulars such as the owners of Sheba the German Shepherd, Hoover the kelpie, Ben the sheepdog, Rowley the terrier and Izzy the spaniel, calling out, “Not any more, she’s got arthritis” when they invariably call out, “So where’s Milly today?”

I feel glad when the salty sweat trickles into my eyes because it blends in to disguise my tears. It’s just not the same running on my own and not be able to hear the joyful jingling of Milly’s tags as she hoons along beside me.

Please please please let me come too. Please?

It's great to be eight

Redcap has tagged me for an ‘eight things’ meme and, lord knows I haven't been half as revealing lately about myself as I normally am (scoff scoff) so I'll have a crack:

1) Eight things I am passionate about:

Love Chunks

Sapphire

My family

Dogadoo

Words and writing
My mates

Chocolate

Good TV series that I always discover years after everyone else has (Entourage, The Office, Scrubs)

2) Eight things I want to do before I die:

Make some kind of living writing;

Take Love Chunks and Sapphire to France, Italy and Greece;

Spend a Christmas in New York;

Stop worrying about things I have no influence over;

Some meaningful community or charity work that adds value and dignity;

Get a good nights' sleep every night;

Let Sapphire grow, be independent and yet also know that she can rely on me for anything;

Earn enough moolah for Love Chunks to take a year or two from his sensible job in order to do something new, fun, interesting or career-changing

3) Eight things I say often:

Am I made of stone - of course I want some more chocolate!

How come you're not ready yet Sapphire?

Whew-whee, did you just drop one?

I mean that from the heart of my bottom

Thank God I'm no longer a teenager and have to pay attention to what's in fashion any more

Crikey

There are some real shockers in this world, Sapphire

That drop-kick over there throwing his rubbish out of the car window is one of them

4) Eight books I've read recently:

The Bookwoman's Last Fling, John Dunning (dull)

The Art of Happiness at Work, Dalai Lama (worthy)
Play it as it Lays, Joan Didion (striking)
Mr Pip, Lloyd Jones (original)

What Women Want Next, Susan Maushart (not earth-shattering)

Touching the Void, Joe Simpson (fascinating)

The Alchemist, Paul Coelho (underwhelming - or did I just not get what the fuss is all about?)

Disgrace, JM Coetzee (disappointing)

5) Eight songs I could listen to over and over:

Bridge over troubled water - Simon and Garfunkel

Throw your arms around me - Hunters and Collectors
Bittersweet Symphony -The Verve
I useta love her - The Saw Doctors

Just another day - Oingo Boingo

Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green Day
Annie Waits - Ben Folds
Drive all night - Bruce Springsteen

6) But if I were doing a triple CD set, I’d include (8 x 3 = 24)

Mad World, Gary Jules (absolutely heart rending)

Downbound Train, Bruce Springsteen (year 12 memories of yearning for a boy all damn year)

Tunnel of Love, Bruce Springsteen

Empty Sky, Bruce Springsteen
Tenderness - General Public

Eloise - The Damned

Gratitude - Oingo Boingo (best eighties band ever)

Home Again - Oingo Boingo
Echo Beach, Martha and the Muffins (best song to dance to when drunk ever)

Take a chance on me - Abba (best band ever)

The winner takes it all - Abba

Gimme gimme gimme - Abba

I've been waiting for you - Abba

Blue - Eiffel 67 (I used to dance around the house to this with baby Sapphire in my arms, who loved it)

Rock Lobster- B52s (second best song to dance to when drunk)

Take on me - Aha (matriculation memories....)

Baggy Trousers - Madness

Time of our lives - Green Day (great band - melodic for a 'punk' band and good enough to feature in Seinfeld's final season)

Live to tell - Madonna (very rare song with actual feeling)

Best of both worlds - Midnight Oil (the power! the passion!)

Don't wanna be the one - Midnight Oil

One of a kind - V Spy V Spy (great on tape/CD and greater live)

Clarity of mind - V Spy V Spy

Leilani - Hoodoo Gurus (classic)

(ask me tomorrow and the list'll change - I haven't got the Beatles, The Saw Doctors, Van Morrison, Simon and Garfunkel, the Specials, Chris Isaak, Crowded House, Del Amitri, Housemartins...)

7) 8 things that attract me to my friends:
They are all Smart

Kind

Funny
Good listeners

Have interests and traits that I envy

Have opinions worth listening to and understanding

Have been there for me in bad times; and
Believe in me.

8) 8 movies I've watched at least into double figures

The Sure Thing (John Cusack)

Say Anything (John. Cusack.)

When Harry Met Sally - the witty banter - "It's different for men. Charlie Chaplin had kids when he was seventy." - "Yeah but he was too old to pick 'em up."

This is Spinal Tap - "Lick my Love Pump" in "D, the saddest of all keys'"

The Life of Brian - where do you start?

The Princess Bride - sweet, funny

Dead Poets Society - still makes me cry

Donnie Darko - mesmerising, funny, sad, tragic, haunting

Now, to keep the meme going, I'm going to tag Davey, Rosanna, Deep Kick Girl, Franzy, Ashleigh, Fifibelle, Raoul Duke and Man at the Pub. Here's hoping that they all actually read this blog so that they know they're been shoulder-tapped for a meme.

By the way, why are these blogger-chains called 'memes' ?

They're leaving me
Hi there regular readers. It's Dogadoo here, filling in for MillyMoo who is on a detox bender and can no longer sit still enough on the computer chair before her farts raise her butt off the seat like a hovercraft and it starts spinning her around and around like the poor kid in the Exorcist.

At the moment I'm the only person at home who can bear to be in the same room as her. At the first sign of one of her aromatic farts, Sapphire and Love Chunks run to the other end of the house. As for me, I don't think she's ever smelt better. It sure beats that dreadful Chloe perfume and Rexona roll on she coats herself in every morning, let alone that sinister peppermint foam she fills up her mouth with twice a day. My toiletry needs are far simpler - give me a dead seagull to roll in and a ant-infested piece of roadkill to snuffle and I'm a happy little beast.

The first photo shows me in my favourite spot, the beanbag. Actually it's my second favourite: my all time favourite is lying anywhere on my back with a willing human scratching my tummy. Once MillyMoo entered a chatroom posing as me. She said that I was 21 (which is three in human years), had brown eyes, auburn hair, was an outdoor girl who was very affectionate, sporty and loved to make friends. She had to close down her account soon after because as soon as she wrote, "My favourite position is lying on my back in every room of the house". I'm not sure of the reason why, but overheard Love Chunks saying something to her like 'Thanks to you the server's in meltdown mode and who is that weirdo standing outside in the street wearing nothing but a dirty parka and a video camera.'

It's been too easy to digress: today is all about ME. Me and my daily suffering. You see once I overheard MillyMoo on the phone to a friend saying, "Oh dogs are soooo much easier than kids. At least you can leave them outside in the garden all day with a bowl of water and some crunchies."

This was very disappointing to hear, to say the least. Can't she see that by 8.00am I'm already fearing the inevitable departure of my Alpha family by 8.30am, leaving me all alone in the garden with only my old bones and flat tennis balls for company?

No matter how hard I try to work my adorable 'Please don't leave me' face (check me out below - I have built-in black eye liner that MillyMoo would die for), MM's heart is harder than a male Cocker Spaniel after a second in the breeding kennel.
She just pats me on the head and burbles, "See ya later Furry Face," and laughs at her cruel nickname as she shuts the gate in my face. Yes, she laughs. Laughs at my heartbreak, my misery and my sadness.

I'd like to give her something to really laugh about but then I remember that she's also the one who feeds me and takes me for runs around the school oval. Once she even dressed me in a leotard but I'm working on forgiving her for that one.....














By 8:30am, Love Chunks has long since left for work, and MillyMoo and Sapphire are leaving for school together. I make a mad dash to the other side gate and put in a gargantuan effort to silently plead with them to take pity on my impending loneliness and stay with me. Or to take me with them.

MillyMoo has taken me to Sapphire's school a few times for 'Show and Tell.' This is always great fun for me because all the kids are sitting down on the carpet in a circle and so their faces are really easy for me to lick. One time Ben had brought in his two pet rabbits and I nearly chewed through their cane travel basket so that Ms Evelyn had to stand up on a chair with the bunnies on her head. The worst time was when MillyMoo spray painted my back green so that I'd match Sapphire's hair when she left for Sportsday. I hated it when they were laughing at me - it was like Christmas time when I had to wear a poxy little Santa hat or last year when I had a red bone with flashing lights put on my collar.

I've also been to work with MillyMoo a couple of times, but she seems to get really mad when I do a whizzer on the floor inside but don't do one outside when she takes me for a walk around the grounds. What does she expect - drizzling on demand? I got lots of attention and pats on those visits though and one nice lady - Jo I think her name was - also smelled a bit of dog and she played with me for so long her black velvet coat looked orange when she left. Ah, fun times.


Here's the final photo of me trying to shove my whole head through the gate. I tend to throw in a couple of whines to make the entire scene more pitiful but they leave me anyway.

Then I am all alone, the house all to myself, no-one to play with, nothing to do, no-one caring one iota about me. I'm about to let out a howl when ----

What's that - Ooooh, it's a magpie - gotta chase it!

Whoah, there's a few more rotten plums over here - do I eat them or roll in them - decisions decisions---

Hey hey HEY - get out of here you stupid lizard. Don't you dare hiss at me-----oh. That hurt. Let me just say that I'm letting you live and be free out of the goodness of my Good-O heart, scaly brain----

Whoo Hoo - yes MJ, I can hear you through the fence too! Did you owner leave you too? Why don't we----

Oi! Oi you, postman! Get your filthy fingers out of my letterbox you minibike riding mongrel---

Bonus - some old lamb bone from last winter...I'll just drag it over to the door mat and-----

----Well whaddaya know - at least three cats have crapped in this flower bed since last night...

ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz


Yay they're home already! WHOO HOO! I love youse all !!!!!!!