Saturday, 9 February 2013

Well, I'm popping my blogging cherry...

Blink, blink, blink.

The little cursor line is winking away at me like someone impatiently tapping their foot.  Its hard to know what to write for two reasons.

1) I don't know what to write

2) my firstborn child, most often called Noo, is rolling around on the sofa next to me showing me for the fourteenth time that she can fit three My Little Pony toys and one Barbie shoe into her plastic saucepan and the lid will still fit on it.  Mind blowing stuff when you're 4 years old.

Noo is short for her age but stocky.  She has wispy white blonde hair, a laugh that a pervy old hag would be proud of and a constant air of confidence and mischief that makes you paranoid that she knows something you don't know.  Never was this certain je ne sais quoi more apparent than a few weekends ago when we were at the beach.

My husband, our two year old identical twin girls, Thing 1 and Thing 2 and Noo took our manky old dog, a miniature Schnauzer called Bree, to the beach.  Bree is only 10 years of age but has been incontinent for over a year.  Not the kind of incontinent where she leaves a small damp patch in her bed after her afternoon nap.  Oh no.  Bree is unashamedly pissing all over our house at will.  After spending a fortune at the vets trying to find a cure for her new habit and fearing the worst kind of bladder problems that our poor little pooch may be suffering from, it transpires that there is nothing physically wrong with her.  She just hates us.  And our house.  And the smell of anything that isn't doused in urine.  Anyway I digress, back to the beach...

We all arrived at the beach, taking an age to unload our offspring from the car.  A walk always begins very similar to this:

  • Park car to cheers from the kids when you respond "yes" to the umpteenth "are we there yet?" question.
  • Get out of the car whilst trying to stop manky dog from leaping out of the car and bounding off into the distance.
  • Get kids out of the car.
  • Tell dog to stop barking and stop scrabbling at the windows.
  • Put wellies on kids.
  • Realise at least one welly is on the wrong kid.
  • Rectify mistake.
  • Realise at least one child has two left boots on.
  • Rectify mistake.
  • Tell dog to stop barking and stop scrabbling at the windows.
  • Put coats on kids.
  • Thing 1 will cry and want to wear the coat that thing 2 is wearing or vise-versa.
  • Explain to crying child that the coats are all the same.
  • Listen to more crying.
  • Give up and change the coats over.
  • In rush, accidentally zip up coat too fast and zip child's neck skin into the zip.
  • Console crying child and hope there is no bruise that will make nursery suspect you of child abuse.
  • Let dog out of car and watch her run off into distance and hope she gets lost.
  • Start walking.
  • Realise you've forgotten your own coat and are freezing.
  • Consider returning to car to retreive coat.
  • Decide you can't be arsed.
  • Carry on walking whilst shivering.
So after doing all of this and making it onto the beach we were stopped by a woman walking an impeccably behaved, beautifully groomed schnauzer.  Bree, who never lost her floaty puppy fur and looks like a sheep in desperate need of shearing, looked ridiculous next to this Crufts-worthy specimen. 

The woman came over to us and started talking to us about our perceived common interest in schnauzers.  She cast her eye in the direction of Bree who had been running around in circles trying to engage a bit of fishing net in a game and was now rolling in a dead seagull and commented on how you can't expect all dogs to be clever and obedient.  As she continued to tell us about her dog and how exceptionally clever and brilliant he was, Noo said in her sweetest little angel voice "ahem, excuse me lady but your dog is weeing on your shoes"

Reader, it was so utterly comically timed that I almost weed on my shoes.  The dog was standing nonchalantly with his leg cocked against the woman's tall chestnut uggs and was pissing all over them with such vigour that it was splashing up off her boots and onto her jeans.  The woman was aghast and scolded the dog who looked like he really couldn't give a tiny rats buttock what she was saying.  She told us that he is usually so well trained and has never had an 'accident' of a similar nature.

Well, Bree doesn't have accidents either (she is bloody deliberate in her urine-based attacks).  She stinks.  She chews her legs until they are a big ball of matted fur that take hours the brush.  She eats cat food and sicks it up.  She rips open bin bags and eats rubbish then sicks it up.  She drinks your tea if you leave it on the floor (even if its really hot) and she is the best dog in the world.  Fact.

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