#1 son sent me photos of his cheesecake yesterday and I have to say it’s damned impressive for a first try. If her ladyship doesn’t appreciate his efforts I’ll go over there and help him eat it myself. 😀
Today, I will be cleaning the kitchen floor, having spent last night sticking to it with every step. That’s way too much for my highly sensitive germophobia to take. The damned floor is gummy from dog slobber and pee and God only knows what else. The little fuzzbutt walks across his potty pad on his way out of the back door, despite the potty pad being nowhere near his usual route and walks his previous wee all over the floor. I’m certain he does it deliberately.
How Bear can stand to walk around barefoot I don’t know, the very idea makes me feel nauseous. So the disinfectant is coming out and that floor’s getting a bloody good scrub. Usually I’d use bleach because I’m obsessive about hygiene and cleanliness, but it’s toxic to the doggo, so I can’t. Disinfectant will have to do and I’ll have to keep fingers crossed that the fuzzball doesn’t find the smell enticing enough to start licking the floor once it’s cleaned, like he did with the window.
Never using vinegar again.! While it cuts through the revolting dried on slobber beautifully, it also encourages doggo to continue licking the damned windows, like a special boy, because he likes the sour taste. He also likes the taste of Windowlene, which is toxic to him, the dumb ass. I used to use it before he came, but no more as he took to licking the windows and frames at every opportunity. Now I have to use hot water and a little lemon juice.
I’m betting he still licks the windows, Bear says he won’t. We’ll see.
Yesterday and today are Bear’s days off. Yesterday, nothing got done because of college work. Today, nothing’s getting done because of politics. At some point around 8pm, he’ll be disappearing off upstairs to partake in what I’ve been informed is a political committee meeting… if I hear laughter, like I did during a ‘conference call’ last week, there’ll be trouble. He spends enough time every day glued to political debates, chat forums, messenger chat groups etc. etc., without taking up the only time I get to spend with him on that stuff as well. Even when we do sit down together to watch something, he’s got his phone or iPad to hand and it’s starting to piss me off… again.!
Last night #1 son called just as Bear was deciding whether he needed an extra few minutes to finish whatever was so important he had to still be doing it at 9pm. I was glad he called and grateful for the distraction from my rapidly rising temper and spent 3 hours chatting to him, while he was trying to multi-task with making a cheesecake for his distant fiancee. He finally got to see her two weeks ago… but hasn’t seen her since, then two days ago she agreed to come by and see him, so he’s making dessert for her, because she loves cheesecake apparently. I had to ask if she knew about the cheesecake before or after she’d agreed to honour him with her valuable time. He said he’d decided to make it after she’d agreed. Clever boy.
Well, sort of following it. He made sure he had everything measured out first and some idea of what he was supposed to do with it and then didn’t bother looking at the recipe again until I’d asked him for the eighth time what the recipe said to do… by this time he’d put the syrup in a pan with the sugar and was then left with 150g of frozen butter that needed melting before going in the pan, so he puts it in the pan, where it separates and looks stringy, but he doesn’t have a whisk… Oh my life… so in steps Mum with a suggestion to use two forks face to face and see how that works. Apparently really well, because said butter once properly melted and beaten, incorporated into the syrup mixture perfectly… now for the rolled oats mix *rolls eyes*.
Does he have to chop the chopped fruit smaller.? He didn’t use the mixed fruit the recipe recommended because his fiancee doesn’t like raisins, so he used cranberries and apricots instead, should he lessen or add more than the recipe says.? How do you roll oats.? This is a 25 year old grown man whose worked in busy restaurants and easily passed three levels of college courses on cake baking and confectionery. Which is strange because he hates cooking with a passion. I won’t describe the cheesecake mix itself, suffice to say he used a fat-free cream and cream cheese instead of the full-fat versions the recipe recommended. I’ll wait until later to find out how it went…
Before #1 son’s call last night I was looking for an appropriate toy for my grandson’s 2nd birthday on Tuesday. This morning I started looking for a summer outfit instead, as I was duly informed that #2 son had asked for clothes instead of toys. He and his fiancee live in a tiny two-bedroom flat and don’t have the storage space needed for all of their son’s toys. So I found a gorgeous dinosaur patterned shorts and shirt set and a pair of bright orange monster clog-sandals that he’ll look adorable in.
The problems started when I went to pay. It was a UK clothing store (website) that apparently only delivers to the UK, which is totally fine as it means they deliver within a decent time frame, unlike European stores shipping to the UK, but because that’s the case they don’t accept European phone numbers or addresses, which makes it damned difficult to buy anything for someone living in the UK if the buyer doesn’t. Which I don’t. So after trying our address twice and being refused, I tried my eldest son’s… still refused. Huh.? He lives in the UK, so what gives.? So then I tried my parent’s address and it was accepted.
Bugger.! So then I had to message my mother and let her know I’d used her address as a billing address and given her mobile number, so there was every chance she’d receive delivery times and dates via text next week. For fuck sake.!! After that I then had to put my youngest son’s address in twice before it would accept it and finally managed to pay. Had I had more time I would have looked elsewhere and not put up with all that buggering around. I hate online shopping.
It now looks like I’m going to have to make a list of all the awesome English foodstuffs that can’t be found over here so that we can get them when we go back to England in October, like Scotch eggs, sausage rolls, crumpets, chicken kiev, Eccles cakes, sausages… mmmmm.! making me hungry just thinking about it. 😀
Yesterday evening the kids were taken home and peace and quiet once again reigned, as much as it can with a nutty puppy racing around, barking at nothing. He has a little perch at the end of the sofa where there’s no back rest, so that he can lie in the sun in the mornings and see the world outside at the front of the house. Which he barks at, constantly, even when there’s no-one around and nothing going on. The breeze moves the leaves on the wisteria above the window, he barks… a magpie lands on the opposite neighbour’s front steps, he barks… a bug walks across the front path, so tiny I can barely see it, he barks… any movement of any sort by anything and he barks at it.
This morning he’s out on the patio barking at the noise of the refuse lorries, the sparrows and the Police helicopter doing an overhead patrol. Like he has any kind of effect on these things… even the pigeons ignore him and the wind couldn’t care less if it makes him feel threatened. He’s not the bravest little soul in the world and introducing him to other dogs is going to be an uphill struggle. He was terrified by the big dog at The Mommy’s over the weekend and ran yelping from the French Bulldog next door that he met up with on Sunday on his way back from a walk with Bear. He was okay with the neighbour’s dog coming up to him and being nose to nose with him, but as soon as it started to snuffle, he leapt up and tried to pull himself from his lead.
Funnily enough later that evening, in the garden, with a fence between them, he was all bravado and barked at it like a mad thing. At some point they’re going to meet again, but hopefully he’ll have had a few lessons at the puppy trainers and met a few other dogs first and won’t be so defensive. He’s even scared of the tiny chihuahua a colleague of Bear’s owns. He met her once and she started yipping at him, she’s less than half his size and he backed off whimpering and tried to hide behind Bear’s legs. I’m only grateful he’s not a rottweiler or a bull terrier… that would be embarrassing for him, and us.! 😀
I’ve been trying to teach him to take his toys and blankets out of a cardboard box. It all started because there was an empty cardboard box on the dining area floor that terrified the hell out of him. Every time he went near it, he’d yelp and run. I sat on the floor with it, moving it around the floor and telling him it was okay until he came over and began sniffing it. Slowly but surely he’s gotten used to it and tried to chew on it a few times. Bear throws his toys in there to see if he’ll go get them, so far he’s only brave enough to take them out of the box when I hold the box open for him. Otherwise he’ll leave the toys there and find something else to play with.
As expected I lugged the heavy boxes down two flights of stairs, along with a suitcase that was stuffed to bursting, three other boxes and two bags. I went through what was left of the kids’ toys and sorted out the remaining cupboards in their rooms. All the tasks Bear said he would do. Two weeks ago. Not that I actually expected him to do them, that would be stupid, getting Bear to do mundane tasks is like trying to get blood out of a stone. Seriously, he’s 52 going on 16… anything not interesting or rewarding and there isn’t a cat in hell’s chance of him doing it. It’s why he lives on the Internet, reality isn’t even half as exciting as kitty meme’s and political debates with complete strangers.
He introduced me to his Twitter bubble a few weeks ago, as if I was likely to become a part of it… yeah, no chance mate, I like to know what’s going on under my own nose thanks and I don’t need to live and breathe Twitter to know what’s going on in the world. Especially as he tells me everything going on in the USA on a daily basis anyway, whether I want to know or not. The results of said lugging meant that for the past few days I’ve had damn near unbearable pain in my left hip and lower back as well as in my knees and shoulders. Bear’s answer is to go see the doc and let him harpoon me again… yeah, like fuck. I’d rather self-medicate.
It’s painless and controlled, unlike the harpooning sadist, who you can read about here if it interests you enough. Damned if I’m going back for more of that. Unfortunately the only half decent anti-inflammatory I can get without going OTC and alerting the sadist is Ibuprofen, in 200mg tabs which is like throwing stones at a tsunami. Chronic pain is a real bitch… always. I once had a bone scan to check for the spread of fibromyalgia. They found that I didn’t have fibromyalgia but couldn’t tell me what was wrong as I wasn’t presenting with the usual signs of arthritis or rheumatism or anything recognisable, although they did agree that something was wrong with my joints.
Exercise is always the advised treatment, but let me tell you something you only find out after you’ve been to a physio and spent weeks on end in agony… exercise doesn’t do shit for chronic pain but make it worse. Physio does nothing because no-one knows what’s wrong with you, so they have no treatment for it, so they put you through a range of exercises designed for people with rheumatism and osteo-arthritis and arthritis, but as you don’t have those, it does nothing but cause you more pain. Exercise makes the pain worse because you’re moving your joints in a way they’re not used to and they’re rubbing against tendons and ligaments in a way they wouldn’t usually.
Walking exacerbates the pain. Every doctor and physio I’ve ever seen said to go walking. I walked. I walked for 10 minutes every day for a month. Then I walked for 10 minutes twice a day for another month. Every day I’d dose myself up on anti-inflammatory’s and painkillers and walk. Every night I’d cry from the agonising pain in my hips and lower back that stopped me sleeping and made me more and more depressed because of the pain and the constant pressure to walk, being told it would get better. It didn’t. I spent six months walking and am now in a worse state than I was before I started. Now my knees are screwed too and I have to wear lightweight shoes, because anything too heavy causes pain in my ankles and knees.
Puppy’s Perch… for to bark at everything and nothing…
Today we went to The Mommy’s after she informed Bear that she’d made chippies, meatballs and strawberry cake especially for us… how can you turn down an invitation with a guilt trip like that.? She doesn’t seem to have understood that while family gatherings are allowed, she still has to observe the social distancing and regular hand washing regulations. I’m not sure what has to happen for her to finally register that she’s not out of danger. Bear has talked to her, his brother has talked to her, their step-sister has talked to her.
Still it goes completely over her head. She has a face mask and has been told it’s not to protect her, but to protect others from her, but she still thinks she’s safe because she has one. Her husband went to the garden centre last week and they’ve been shopping. I totally get that she wants to get back to normal, wants to see her family and her grandchildren again and that she doesn’t see why she can’t. She doesn’t have the virus, we don’t have the virus so what’s the problem.? Trying to explain that her going shopping, to her local supermarket, like so many other people have done means she still could get infected and thus pass it on.
Her husband going to the garden centre, albeit with his mask on, doesn’t mean he won’t get it from touching something someone else has and not washing his hands until he gets home. She doesn’t understand about germs and their longevity and transferal, and is starting to feel it’s all a massive drama over very little. We took pup with us in his travel crate, in which he puked again. He was a real pain to get in the thing as he knows the crate means the car, and he’s now none too keen on that mode of transport. Eventually Bear got him in and he immediately started to yawn and pant and drool. Poor little guy.
He was happy to see Bear’s Mom and her husband, remembering them from his first visit and tail wagged and licked and accepted belly tickles and strokes happily, while I cleaned up his crate, until they had an unexpected visitor with a huge dog in tow. It was a beautiful Australian Shepherd, only 13 months old but calm and well behaved, but it was massive. Poor pup was terrified and tried valiantly to escape under the patio lounger, somewhat unsuccessfully, and just lay there yelping and whimpering until it was taken away (which it was, very quickly). It’s definitely not going to be easy socialising the little guy.
He was even terrified of the people who came with it. The man came over to see him and he yelped and cried and tried to climb over Bear’s shoulder to get away. I think it might have been because he smelt of his dog, although pup isn’t great with human strangers either. He was better with the woman, whom he allowed to stroke him and he licked her hand. They left it a little while and the man came over again to see him and was allowed to stroke him, but got his thumb bitten for his efforts. Then we found out the dog’s name is Loki… which explains everything… pup’s name is Drax. In a MCU fight, Loki would win. 😀
When the big dog and his owners had gone, pup was placated with thin slices of pork sausage and chunks of fresh strawberries. (I checked to make sure the pork sausage didn’t contain garlic or onion or anything that would make him ill first). They seemed to do the trick, although he was more intent on getting himself some spare ribs and chippies but Bear doesn’t share. Human food is alright in moderation, but how do you get a 13 week old puppy to understand moderation.? There’s gorgeous smells coming from the kitchen and they’re nowhere near his food bowl… the sheer unfairness of it… and then he has to sit and watch humans stuff their faces with gorgeous smelling meats and fruit and nice smelling liquids… while he gets the same old kibble and water.! Damned if I’d want to be a dog.
On the homeward journey, we decided not to put pup in the travel crate. Although I’d cleaned it as much as possible, it still stank of puke and fear and I knew it would be damned near impossible to get him back in it without a fight and why stress the poor little pup out more than he’d already been.? So he sat on my lap with his paws on my shoulders and cuddled me all the way home, panting in my ear and drooling on me, but nowhere near as much as he had in the travel crate. Maybe it’s better that he does it that way for short trips and goes in the crate for the long-haul journeys. Maybe he’ll get used to the movement and be less stressed when he gets to his destination, wherever that may be.
This afternoon, Bear brought home a new toy for the pup… the most fucking annoying high-pitched squeaky ball ever.!!! And of course, the dog LOVES it.! He wasn’t sure at first because the squeak made even him jump, but he soon got used to it and decided it had to be heard all across the neighbourhood and has since obliged. I’m pretty sure my neighbours now hate us every bit as much as I hate them. He’s completely totalled his squeaky bear, ripping holes in it and pulling out the stuffing. I tried to repair it but he wasn’t having it and ripped more holes in it. Poor little bear.
Pup hurt his back paw earlier this afternoon, no idea how, but I’m thinking he got it caught under one of the vertical planks on the new gate and grazed the back of his metatarsal pad. I couldn’t see anything at the time and he didn’t flinch when I checked him over but it started to bleed tonight after he’d been running around the patio and living room like a lunatic, smearing blood all over the place. I cleaned it as much as possible, but there was nothing I could put on it that he wouldn’t have chewed off, so he went in his crate to calm down and rest for a while. It looks like quite a nasty graze and he flinches a lot when I touch it, but he still walks on it okay.
The children are here for the weekend, staying until Tuesday evening. Bear has early shifts on Monday and Tuesday, so they’ll be at my mercy for most of the day. Already the girl child has done all her homework so she doesn’t have to do any schooling on Monday or Tuesday. The boy child’s not so prepared, but now there are desks and chairs in their bedrooms he can go upstairs to do his in peace… or as much peace as you can get while a lunatic dog races around barking and squeaking alternately the entire day. Good luck to him.
The girl child however, will be at the dog’s mercy too… and so far she’s none too chuffed with the amount of slobber the new squeaky ball can hold, having had pup rest it against her bare arm to make it squeak and having it come away looking like something out of Alien… gross.! 😀 The boy child thought it was hilarious until pup decided the boy child had to play with him and thrust said slobbered on ball into his hands, making him shriek like a girl.! 😀 To be fair, it was pretty revolting. I’m clever enough by now to keep out of pup’s radar unless there’s food involved. I’m happy to be the tug of war player and the provider of food and treats… but the slobber can be Bear’s reward… he bought the ball after all.
Bear had a conference call this afternoon and right there is a whole load of bullshit… conference call my ass, there were three women showing on his screen and they discussed whatever the hell was relevant to the call for about five minutes and then spent the remaining 50 minutes on a social hang-out giggling and shooting the shit. So this is conference calling is it.? Hanging out chatting with your work/college/study buddies and calling it work.?
Like it actually means something gets done. Sod all has gotten done by Bear this morning, when he said he’d go through his clothing and bring the stuff that’s been dumped in the girl child’s room down to the cellar to put in storage. They’re going to be here Friday and he has today, tomorrow and Wednesday off. Guess who’s going to be lugging heavy boxes down two flights of stairs on their own.? Yeah, not Bear. So far he’s gone through his t-shirts…
I went through a cupboard that’s usually kept locked in the boy child’s room. It’s been some time since the stuff in there has seen the light of day, so I figure it can go down into the cellar as well. Bear’s not interested in kink and the BD side of BDSM anymore, 😦 the damned Internet has taken all his attention again. You pay out a small fortune on leather corsets, collars, restraints and latex clothing and a decent Dominant’s kit and it gets used a few times and then left in a cupboard.
We used to be so much more active in the scene. It used to be a major part of my lifestyle before I met Bear. I’d been trained and had trained others in both Dominant and submissive roles and had a very respectful following and then Bear happened and it all got left behind because he felt insecure and unable to explain that he was more interested in the sex than the learning. Didn’t take me long to figure it out though and decide I wasn’t going down that road.
I’m a 100% or 0% kind of girl. There’s no 98% with me. So it went away and the dull, monotonous vanilla life of routines and sex in the dark took over… yawn.! Am I resentful.? Well, actually yes, I am. I spent 20 years in the lifestyle and was bloody good at what I did and when I met Bear he was all about BDSM and learning and gaining experience and then just decides after five years of dabbling, on a whim, that he doesn’t want the rules and etiquette’s and lessons, just the kinky sex… so yes, I’m resentful, but I hide it well.
20 years is hard to leave behind, but he’s more important to me than pretty much everything else (my children excepted) so I’ll follow him and store our stuff until such time as he decides he wants to partake again, if ever, and I’ll be grateful for the time he gives me in whichever role he chooses. For now, we’re down to living La Vida Loca, which can get a little exciting, but not too much; too much excitement is exhausting these days.
The natural aroma oil didn’t work. The smell faded by the following morning, so doggo took his chance to have a chew on my house shoes and got a nasty taste of lemon oil… which also duly faded by the time he decided to have another crack at them a couple of hours later. So much for that idea.! Bear decided to go with the water pistol solution, something he seems to be enjoying just a little too much. So far he’s only soaked pup twice with his Super Soaker and pup has indeed learned to keep a safe distance away from the fence post, he’s a bright little fella really.
I refused to allow it to be used in the house, much to Bear’s consternation, and suggested a spray bottle, like you have for misting plants. Far preferable to my mind than Mr. wannabe Rambo and his gleeful dispensing of watery deterrent all over my living room.! I think he’s a bit miffed that pup learnt the second time. 😀 The spray bottle seems to be an effective deterrent. I only had to mist pup’s face four times before he learnt that the spray bottle was to be avoided. Now I only have to show it to him for him to stop doing whatever offending activity he’s currently engaged in.
Having spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon being an absolute angel yesterday (the pup), Bear came home from grocery shopping with probably the most awesome dog chews ever.! Certainly in pup’s opinion. Real rolled beef skin with layers of chicken wrapped around it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier puppy than the little doggo with this bloody huge bone-like chew between his teeth, trotting off to his comfy bed on the patio to eat it… it took him a good hour to eat the chicken and two more to finish chewing all the goodness out of the beef skin and leaving it in a gooey mess for me to deal with. Thanks buddy…
Once he was done Bear took him for a walk where he met other dogs, other people and was treated and fussed over and generally tired out. He’s happily snoozing under the dining table right now… bliss.! I’ve managed to get his bedding and some of his toys washed and dried, so he’s all set for bedtime tonight. I’ve decided to try him with a blanket covering his crate, so he’s not overwhelmed by light and outside noise in the morning when it gets light at 4am and the damn birds start screaming and shouting all across the neighbourhood.
He’s a very easily excitable puppy but not so easily subdued, so giving him a darker, less stimulating place to rest and calm down when he needs a time-out might be beneficial to him. Obviously the front of the crate isn’t covered, just the top and the left side of the crate that’s open to the dining area and kitchen. His crate is positioned against the wall and the side of the sofa, so the back and right side are already covered. We’ll see how he likes it. If he doesn’t, I’ll remove it and try again in a few weeks.
Yesterday, I decided to try the English scones recipe I found online again. I made some scones with that recipe three days ago, but did it by hand and did them plain, instead of with fruit. They were hard, chewy and not very appetising. Yesterday’s were much better. I made the dough in the food processor and added sultanas. They rose beautifully and were soft, crumbly and really good with strawberry jam. The only issue I have with foreign recipes for English scones is the insistence that you add cream first, then jam when serving and you dust them with powdered sugar. NO.!!!
I’m all for experimentation when it comes to food, but DO NOT go telling people how the English traditionally eat their scones when you are not English.! NEVER have we EVER dusted our scones with powdered sugar. NEVER.! Not only am I English, I am Cornish and it deeply offends me when people change English traditions to suit themselves and make out that they know what they’re on about, when clearly they don’t.! It is pronounced SCOWN, not SCON. Northerners call them scons and the recipe is not the same as the proper Cornish recipe.
When you have a proper English Cream Tea, you slice the scone in half, you add a teaspoon of STRAWBERRY jam first, and then a heaped teaspoon of clotted cream and then you put the top half gently back on top of the cream. You eat them with your fingers… not like some genteel old lady who uses a dessert fork or a spoon. FINGERS people. If you’re going to do it, do it RIGHT.! You don’t have to add the fruit to the recipe if you don’t want to, plain scones are also correct. Adding cream first and then jam will get you stared at (or glared at) in every proper English tearoom and snubbed like the barbarian you are.
I have even known a Japanese couple be asked to leave a Tearoom in Swanage, Dorset back in the early 90’s for adding butter and then raspberry jam to their scones. True story. The staff were absolutely horrified at the carnage to their Cream Tea and asked them to leave their establishment immediately upon finishing their afternoon tea. You might think that was a bit harsh, but we English take our Cream- and High Tea’s VERY seriously. You never put milk in Earl Grey, and you never add milk or sugar to your teacup before you pour the tea.
Obviously these days the barbarianism has taken over and people are doing whatever the hell they like with their tea and scones, being all rebellious and shit and thinking they’re cool or hip, or some such nonsense, but down south, where people still care about the proper traditions of their nation and the etiquette and elegance of their Cream and High Tea’s, you can still find an Olde English Tearoom that does it right and insists on it being done right, but shamefully they’re hard to find.
I didn’t want to write this until I was sure everything was okay and today I got the thumbs up. 😀 My best friend Al and his housemate Ffion caught the Corona Virus in late March. Ffion is a part-time care worker who helps the elderly in the evenings, baths them and gets them safely into bed. On all occasions she’s worn PPE since the end of February. On April 6th Ffion was admitted to hospital with a fever and breathlessness. On April 11th Al was admitted with a fever and an inability to breathe on his own. Both were put on antibiotics and isolated, Al was ventilated, both were being watched 24/7.
Ffion was luckier than Al, she recovered and was well enough to be released on April 17th. She has since gone back to her care work taking many more precautions to protect her clients. Al stayed in hospital, ventilated and isolated, while his mother and Ffion sent him messages of love and support, passing on messages from his friends and family through WhatsApp messages to one of his carers, who had given Al’s mother and Ffion his number and told them he would pass on every message they sent for Al. He did. What an absolute star.! Thanks to him Al received messages of love, support and encouragement, letting him know his friends and family were there for him, that he would never be alone, even in isolation.
After 8 days on a ventilator, he was well enough to breathe by himself, albeit slowly and painfully. He was very weak, had lost a lot of weight and was dehydrated, despite his drip. On May 4th he was well enough to be released into the care of his mother and Ffion and allowed home. He’s still very weak and Ffion says he sounds like a chain-smoking asthmatic but otherwise he’s doing much better. Al has massive scarring on his lungs and will wheeze and whistle when he breathes for a long time to come, but he’s alive and he’s back in his own home and eternally grateful to be there.
As am I. Life without that guy would be bleak. He is a fabulous silver unicorn in a rainbow world and without him every rainbow would be grey. Today he had the strength to email me and show himself on Facebook, just for a few minutes… but those few minutes were the best few minutes of my entire past month.!
Having spent the past five weeks being driven nuts by the pup chewing on bloody everything, tonight I finally thought of the natural aroma oils I have in my baking cupboard that I use for cookies and cakes. They are small vials of sunflower oil mixed with natural oils from the citrus peel, so there’s no chemicals in them to harm him and they’re really strong, you’re only supposed to use 2-3 drops of them in cakes. I have lemon, orange, rum, bitter almond and bitter vanilla. Why the hell I didn’t think of these earlier I don’t know… it’s not like I haven’t read that dogs hate the smell of citrus and pup balks when Bear is eating a Minneola and lets him smell the peel, which he backs away from. D’oh.!
The great thing is pup HATES the smell of the lemon oil so I’ve used some of it to rub into my house shoes that he loves to chew on and the bookshelves after he ripped and ate the cover from the spine of a book this evening. I’m SO happy… finally there will be an end to his destructive chewing and it won’t harm him in any way, which obviously had to be a consideration. He might be driving me bat shit crazy but there’s no need to be mean. I did try him with a little sniff of bleach earlier this evening as I read that dogs hate ammonia, which he really does, but as it’s also toxic and can cause eye, nose and throat issues I didn’t use it. I was thinking of cleaning the floor with it, but I’ll find something else.
Bear and I have decided to use a water pistol for the fence post issues. Nothing else seems to be working and he’s visibly damaged one of the fence posts already. He got a taste of that this evening, having gone back to the fence post for the fiftieth time today to chew it and got a blast of cold water on his haunch… he yelped in surprise and came and hid under my feet. He’ll learn fairly quickly as Bear is a pretty good shot. Finally things are starting to look up. I can rub the oil onto my bike’s brake cables that he’s constantly trying to chew and onto Bear’s bike tyres. With any luck I won’t constantly have to watch him like a hawk when he’s outside anymore. Especially as the bikes are under cover so the oil won’t wash off in the rain.
UPDATE: Perhaps a little premature celebration… this morning doggo decided to give my house shoes a chew… I nearly cried, but it was only a temporary thing, once he got a taste of strong lemon he left them alone. Unfortunately the smell fades, but hopefully the taste won’t. I’m going to try it on the bikes anyway and see if it helps deter his constant chewing on them. Keeping fingers crossed.
I was a bit more productive today having sorted through the piles of clothing stacked on the shelving unit in my bedroom and in the suitcase in the girl child’s room. I’ll be glad to see the back of that thing, I’ve been sorting through it for the past decade, thinking I should really do something about it and all the clothes in it that I don’t wear, won’t wear and can’t get my ass into… well, I can get my ass into a lot of them now, but now I wouldn’t wear them. My clothing style changes with my mood.
There were shirts in that suitcase that I haven’t worn in more than 15 years and 3 ball gowns I forgot I had. Not that I’m ever going to be going to a ball, but gorgeous dresses like that do not deserve to be dumped in a bin, so they’ve been carefully washed and hung up to dry. I’m pleased to say I can get into all of them. Yay.! I may sell them, if I can bear to part with them, but then again I could keep them and try them on every now and again and make myself feel good.
God knows I need it at the moment, after finding that all the colour in my hair has washed out, in a month.!! I asked Bear to take a photo of it for me, because every time I washed my hair, colour came out and I was getting a bit concerned, and justifiably so judging by the difference in colour after only 6 washes. I don’t blame my stylist, it’s my hair, over the past decade it’s become harder and harder to keep colour in it. The last colour I had before I moved to the Netherlands was a blue black and it was gone within 4 months. Since then any colour I put in comes out within weeks… I guess it’s time to stop dying my hair.
18th March 2020 to 19th April 2020
Bear and I now have a huge pile of stuff to be gotten rid of after sorting through and clearing out the cellar, the children’s rooms and our own bedroom. It’s been a long time in coming and will be the third time we’ve culled the rubbish that’s been hoarded over the past seven years. Slowly but surely our home is being dwindled down to the stuff we own and the stuff Bear has shipped from house to house that mostly used to belong to one ex- or another is being dumped. Can’t say I’m sorry, I’ve been sick of his constant attachment to crap that once belonged to someone he’s been vehemently denying ever having feelings for, for the past ten years.
Not that I can talk. I went through an old box of memories that I kept on top of my wardrobe and found a packet of old blueys my ex- had sent me from when he was in Bosnia, back in 1997. They went in the bin pretty quickly after I read three, all filled with demands for me to send him sweets and cookies and pervy photographic stuff and telling me about the fun he was having, the parties he was going to, the tan he was getting and the ass-licking and sucking up to hierarchy he was doing to gain favour. Not one word about our boys or me, or any concern or interest. Those memories I don’t want. I deserved better and so did my boys.
I also rediscovered a wealth of letters my beloved grandmother sent to me from the age of 18 to 30 when she used to write to me every month. I spent a few hours re-reading some, with a smile. It didn’t help me get any work done but they did make me feel better. I also found stuff my children had made for me and the birthday cards my eldest had drawn himself. So many bittersweet memories. Things like that can never be replaced and are so precious when life kicks you in the cojones and takes everything away that ever meant anything. 😦
Bear has yet to go through all his clothing, which is currently taking over the shelving unit in our bedroom. He’s lost so much weight in recent months that he can get back into clothes he had when he was in his twenties and has recently found old t-shirts he used to wear. I hope he doesn’t keep them all, I’m pretty certain 80’s chic is not a thing and I don’t need him starting a retro trend, it’s bad enough that Hammer pants have made a comeback here in the Netherlands.
Pup continues to drive me nuts. Yesterday I had to repair his squeaky bear and his rattly bunny as he’d ripped holes in them, and repair a huge rent in his bed, as he’d ripped it open and was caught eating the stuffing. This morning I was up at 3.30am because he was whimpering and whining, having an issue with his bed. I found him lying underneath it so took it out of the crate. He was happier then and wanted to go back to sleep, but at that time in the morning I decided he was to go to the toilet, as I wasn’t getting up again at 5am just for him to pee. Eventually he did go and we both went back to bed.
Bear was surprised to find him in his crate sans bed at 8am, but when he saw the state of it, it was obvious that sooner or later it would have had to be removed as Pup uses it as a chew toy, stress reliever and to exert his dominance over, it’ll be a gooey, pile of ripped stuffing in weeks. So he’s down to blankets in his crate, but it does give him more room to spread out. Doesn’t do a damned thing for his attitude though. He insists on chewing on my bike and the new fence posts, regardless the amount of times I tell him no and give him distraction toys or play with him, as soon as he decides he’s had enough entertainment back he goes to the bike and fence post.! Grr.!
Dear Diary... 
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