Idling

I'm not focusing on anything much this week. My sister's not been well, so I'm a bit preoccupied. Herbie's had something wrong too, a digestive upset, and although he's over it, he's still fragile. Instead I've been reading the Tiny House Blog and thinking maybe I could give up everything except the dogs and live in a small shed somewhere. If it wasn't for the planning laws, I could sell this place and buy a little patch of woodland, and live in a hut in the woods. Somewhere with lots of rabbits for the dogs. Or even a pheasant.

Bad Blogger Award

I've been really slack about writing, the last couple of months. It's the restructure at the office: I come home and don't want to go anywhere near a computer in case more work leaps out of it.

I've also been busy reading Sandra Steingraber's "Living Downstream", about the environmental causes of cancer. It's a great read, if not a little depressing, but it makes it quite clear how many potential carcinogens are out there, and the rise in lymphoma cases both in humans and dogs may well be directly related to the rise in environmental toxins. The author developed bladder cancer at a young age, as did some of the older members of her family - but she's adopted. It meant she could discount genetics or an accumulation of poor lifestyle choices, and looked to the environment. Sometimes you read a book that completely changes the way you think about things, and for me this is one of them.

Herbie is still here, but beginning to look a little frail. I'm having to work to keep the weight on him. It's a problem with elderly sighthounds, they turn scrawny. Holly, on the other hand, needs work to keep her waistline trim. She's always had barrel-shaped ribs that look wide on a small greyhound. I suppose once she's Herbie's age I can stop worrying.

Hommage a Kandinsky

... or anyone else who used a lot of blue. I painted the front door. Herbie decided to kick the paint can against the wall, and then walk in the paint, then run through the house to his bed. As Queen Victoria so famously said, "We are not amused". We now have a new doormat until I can hire something that will sand off Dulux Weathershield 10-year guarantee outdoor gloss.

We Are Eleven

His Royal Herbiness has just celebrated his eleventh birthday. Unlike hobbits, he won't live to see his eleventy-first birthday, but I'm pretty happy with eleven. The Cortaflex HA (with hyaluronic acid) seems to have given him a bit more flexibility, and he's no longer pushing his hips into my hands, saying "Rub my rear", so I'm assuming it's doing something.

Happy Birthday, old white-faced dog.

April At Last

... and Herbie's still here. I've been offline for a couple of weeks, trouble with my broadband and my PC, but I've patched up something and can finally get my net addiction fed again. It's only when you can't view anything online that the twitching sets in... Holly is looking sleek and glossy on her new diet. I finally realised she is somewhat allergic to chicken, and since I cut chicken out of her diet completely, her fur has become incredibly silky. I can't believe it took me so long to realise. It's been a dry spring, but even so, Herbie is creaking a bit, so he's on a double dose of Cortaflex to see if that helps at all. He's an old boy now. Which is what I always wanted to see.

Where do the weeks go?

I can hardly believe how long it is since I last posted. Herbie has recovered from yet another injury, but has lost his nerve when it comes to tackling stairs. He will jump in and out of the car, but steps are a problem. I need to take some more pictures of him. He's become even whiter-faced this winter.

Holly is going all out for Peskiest Greyhound in the West. She has a low boredom threshold, and wants to be entertained all the time. Still, we're all here, and the snowdrops are too - which shows what a late spring it is, snowdrops in mid-March.

I have a job

Fortunately I survived the cull, but some of my friends didn't. No real celebrations possible. It was a tough weekend, because Herbie ruptured a lymph node in his groin overnight. I have no idea how it happened, but it was an emergency trip to the vets on Saturday afternoon. He wouldn't eat, and I couldn't get antibiotics into him, so another trip first thing Monday, for an antiobiotic injection. The vet drained a load of fluid out of him, but he's still got a tangerine-sized mass. It's shrinking slowly, but it's not a good thing to happen.

He's still an invalid, and being waited on hand and foot. Nationwide chicken sales have rocketed, in order to tempt His Herbiness to eat. He wouldn't touch anything for a couple of days, but he's eating again. It's just the walking, and the stairs, but I hope he'll be able to manage them soon.

Herbie Says

...thanks for all the kind thoughts on behalf of my sister. He's sending all his magic green-eyed healing power too.

Yesterday I had to interview for what used to be my job, or something a little similar. It wasn't good. I wittered. Obviously, if they need someone who witters on, I'm top of the list. Otherwise... I'm going to take the "Be here now" advice, and think about this next week.

First day

... of chemo for my sister. She's having a lot of different types all at once, since her lymphoma is moving fast, but in the end they decided to hold one type over until tomorrow - methotrexate. It's one Herbie didn't have, but all the other names have come flooding back, bad memories I'd pushed to the back of the vault.

She's being very brave, telling me how the "wig and scarf consultant" will come and see her tomorrow while she's having her chemo. She had her hair cut really short last week, in preparation for the inevitable hair loss. I picked her up from the hospital this evening, and will again tomorrow.

There isn't really anything particularly good to say, especially as I decided not to pass on to her the one trying-to-be-cheerful thought the vet told me when Herbie had chemo: at least you won't need to worry about worms for a bit.

Temperature's Rising

It's been above freezing all week! Wet, mind, but no slipping, no ice, no extra time to de-ice the car. Can't tell you how much better my mood is, despite a week or so of difficult happenings.

First off - my sister's been diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. First Herbie, now... Ever feel the universe is trying to tell you something, to batter it into your thick skull with a brick, but you're still not getting it? Maybe there is no message, maybe weird coincidence, events do sometimes cluster, but... I don't know. She's going back for further tests.

Next, a colleague at work is in hospital with viral meningitis. She's off the danger list now, but was pretty ill. We received a memo assuring us that her office would be disinfected, but, umm, horse - stable door- bolted? The symptoms seem to be very similar to being at work, tired, stiff neck, in need of a lie down. It's brought out the latent hypochondria in all of us.

And finally, next week we get letters to tell us we're "At Risk" of redundancy, prior to interviews for our jobs. At least I still have the dogs.

Happy New Year!

Well, we made it. 2011 is a new start. The roads are free of snow, and the dogs have been to some of their favourite walks again. Today feels a bit "last day of the school holidays", because in fact it is. I only went into work one day between Christmas and New Year, the rest of the time I've been at home, curled up in front of the fire mostly.

Holly is much calmer when I'm home all the time, and much more capable of going off upstairs by herself. Herbie's always been independent, and has always taken himself off to his (or my) bed if I don't look as though I'm doing anything interesting. Holly, aged six and a quarter, is finally learning this too.

The papers at the weekend were full of predictions about how horrible this year is going to be, and how the "phoney war" in economic terms is over, and we're now facing real austerity. Given that my current employer revised its redundancy numbers upwards just before Christmas, I think this is probably the case. Already the leaving drinks are happening, and there's no way we can shed one third of staff, in a relatively small city, without a huge impact all round. I'm so glad I did a reiki course, I keep murmuring, "Just for today, do not worry, do not anger." My motto for the year.

Good King Wenceslas Looked Out

... and thought, "Enough with the snow already".

Merry Christmas, everyone. May you and your loved ones enjoy the festive season.

Three Years

It was three years ago this week that Herbie had his last chemo treatment. When we went back after Christmas, I explained that the tumour had in fact grown, and this rescue protocol, his second, was losing its effect. The vet said the only thing we hadn't tried was potentially risky, and given that Herbie had suffered side effects from his last chemo, he wasn't sure it was safe.

It was such a shock to be told that we were out of options. The vet didn't mention survival times without treatment, but the books I had weren't optimistic. Still, three years later, the boy is still here, still eating and running around, just with a lot of tumours. I sometimes think that if he had a shorter nose, the tumours would have outgrown his head, but fortunately he's a greyhound. I've tried to do the right things with his diet, even though he is now standing by the bookcase which has the dog-biscuit tin on top, with what I call his "Bohemian Rhapsody" expression ("I'm just a poor boy from a poor family"), trying to convey to me that he could in fact die of starvation only half an hour after his evening meal if not given an immediate biscuit. Nice try.

He might be lumpy, but he's still here.

Worst. Winter. Ever.

Snowed in for a week, roads not ploughed, two feet of snow, nothing gritted. Finally got out at the weekend. Thank the Lord I have remote access to the office computer system, so could work from home, but even so, cabin fever was setting in.

Now it's starting to melt, everything's icy so the dogs won't walk, it hurts their paws and they slide everywhere. Holly's bouncing off the walls with boredom. The river Ouse in York is frozen over (and it's a big, fast-flowing river). I never thought I'd say this, but I might want to live in a town again.

Snovember

Worst November in - oh, lots of years. Six inches in two days. I've come off the road twice. I want my own hovercraft.

Unreliable Blogging

It's the naughty step for me, for not blogging at least weekly as I'd promised myself. It's been another awkward couple of weeks, major repairs to car, leaking tap, winter vomiting bug (norovirus) courtesy of my co-workers, and just the general run of worries. It's OK now.

Herbie is wrapped in his duvet like a little greyhound parcel while Holly lies in the yellow cardboard wreckage of a biscuit box. We recycle - when we reach the end of a box of bone-shaped biscuits, she shreds the box into little pieces, then I gather up the pieces and put them in the fire. I just haven't got round to the gathering bit yet.

I've entered lots of competitions, and today I won a whole pound (£1) from my toilet paper - as a get rich quick scheme, it's not entirely working...

Fixed

This week my leaking roof has been fixed, and the leaking kitchen tap has been fixed. I can now close the bathroom door properly too. (When you live on your own, you stop worrying about things like the bathroom door not being quite private enough, but you worry more about roofs and things.) Money can buy you happiness, whatever anyone says.

Herbie is lying at a weird angle, his body wrapped up in his bedding but his neck halfway across the floor so that he can stare into the stove. (The TV means nothing to him, but the fire is worth watching.) Holly has scraped her bed into a lump and is trying to bury her head inside it. Someone I work with joked about having ordered his box full of straw, and at the weekend he would climb into it and stay there till spring. I think the dogs are almost ready to do the same.

Antibiotics Again

Herbie's picked up yet another respiratory infection. His paws and ears go all cold, and the tiniest bit of exertion makes him pant like a steam train. Fortunately the antibiotics kick in fast, and after two days of not eating, he's back to wolfing his meals down.

I've caught the comping bug, and have been glued to the competitions forum at moneysavingexpert.com. It stops me doing anything less/more productive, so this may or may not be a good thing. So far I've won £20 courtesy of Walkers' crisps (I now own enough bags of crisps to see me through to Christmas). Is it because I is bored? Probably.

Cold cold cold

... and we are all snuggled up in front of the cast iron stove. A leak in the roof means that Steve the builder is going to come and take part of the roof off to fix it. Not looking forward to that bit, but we need to be dry this winter. Herbie has just rummaged through my bag to find the remains of my lunch, still in its little Tupperware box. I have let him have the equivalent of a couple of spoonfuls of rice, and he is so proud of himself for scavenging it, rather than being given it in his foodbowl.

Half Past Ten

On Saturday, Herbie reached the grand old age of ten and a half exactly (or 10.30, as an elderly, and now more than a little absent-minded, neighbour described him). He's slowed down a lot over the last couple of months, and doesn't want to walk far in the mornings, but for a dog who's 10.30, he's doing OK.