End of a long hard week

... so Herbie is having yet another lie-down. He's not been very well, perhaps because it's turned warm. Last week I was scraping ice off the windscreen every morning before driving off to work, this week I'm in a T-shirt and sandals (oh, and trousers as well, I'm going out fully dressed). (In case anyone was wondering!)

I've just started studying physiology and anatomy, so that I can get onto a canine massage course. I dropped biology a long time ago, so now to get onto this course, I'm having to do a pre-qualifying course and both my brain cells have had to stretch a bit. I'm doing it for the challenge, and it certainly has been so far. I'm going to be great at Scrabble after this, though - just learnt that the xiphoid is a lump at the bottom of the breastbone.

Elections and Rhododendrons

First we had an election, but nobody won. Then we had a weekend, and went to Nawton Towers to look at their rhododendrons. They only open for half a dozen weekends a year, mostly in spring, because they have a fabulous collection of rhododendrons in every colour - I'd never seen blue or yellow rhodies before, and the yellow ones have a beautiful scent.

In the car park/ field, there were some stumps of wood, and I was careful not to park right on top of them, but there was one that was shaped very much like a rabbit. As I got out of the car, I was thinking, it's a very similar brown, but so obviously a dead tree. Then Herbie got out of the car, and the "dead tree" bolted for the fence. Herbie got all the exercise he needed right there in the car park.

And then, a few days later, we got a prime minister. And his new friend. Coalitions, eh?

Now I Know...

... what to do with surplus dog hair:

http://matteroftrust.org/programs/natural.html

Admittedly greyhounds don't shed vast amounts, unless they're losing their kennel coat when they go from being kennelled to being indoor dogs, but if I had a lot of spare hair, I'd be sending it to Louisiana or wherever right now.

If it's Spring...

... it must be time to paint something - in this case the upstairs landing, where the leaky roof left water stains down one wall, and the bits of my bedroom I didn't get to before I moved in. The roof was fixed in November, but I haven't been able to face painting before now.

There was an interesting piece in the Telegraph on Saturday, about Prozac slowing tumour growth in people with lymphoma. It ties in with what I've suspected about emotions and cancer being linked - improve the mood and slow the progress of cancer. I still feel guilty that Herbie developed cancer about four months after we moved house. He was a nervous, traumatised dog when he came to me, and he felt safe in that tiny little house with low ceilings, and upstairs windows almost at floor level. I was tired of hitting my head on the beams and having to duck every time I went downstairs, and wanted somewhere bigger. But for Herbie, that house was somewhere he had come to trust, and feel safe, and I took him away from it.

There's no going back, though.

Ten Today

His Royal Herbiness has reached the grand old age of ten. To celebrate, he has just spat rice all over the carpet, then wiped his face on my ironing pile. Happy Birthday, old boy.

(Another favourite recycled picture.)

Happy hounds

Herbie has seen his old friend Guinness several times this week. She is 13 ,but she still manages to run towards him with a fair turn of speed, and I find it touching to see two older dogs rushing up to each other to say hello and sniff, their creaky joints forgotten.

I've been reading an online dog magazine, or rather the free copy they have online, at Dogs Naturally. Plenty of interesting articles, including one on the increase in cancer cases.

I am working hard at the moment, coming home scrambled every evening, to face a Holly who wants to play. It's the longstanding dilemma of dog-owners, staying employed while also being a good dog-parent. I haven't come up with a solution yet.

Now Easter's over...

... it's election time. I think I am going to get a box set of DVDs and not watch any TV for a month, in order to avoid the next few weeks of improbable claims and promises.

Are any of the parties going to do anything to help dogs? I should cocoa, as my grandmother used to say, with both eyebrows raised. Free dog-biscuits? Dogs allowed in shops? There are six million dog-owning households in the UK.

In the meantime, I've discovered a handy site full of hints on dog nutrition and health, Dogaware. Much more interesting and useful than party political broadcasts.

Snow on the Way

... again. We are not amused. Herbie has been to the vets for his three-monthly check, and he has put on a whole pound! The vet looked worried when we first came in, and I'm sure she was thinking, "Is this the day I have to say it's time?" but after she'd listened to his heart, she smiled and said "He's OK, considering." That last word covers multitudes.

So we skipped off home, and I had taken the day off work, so we could go to the arboretum, and then we curled up on the bed for the afternoon. Apart from the vets, it was a perfect day.

Then and Now

Three years ago (almost) I was worried about a small lump. I'm still worried.

White Faced

Herbie had a black face, once upon a time, but he has become a venerable snowy-faced old boy. I was asked how I keep his face so clean, and had to say "Oh, he does all that himself."

There is a reason why I have blankets over much of the furniture, and a reason why I mostly wear old jeans at home. After each meal, Herbie will walk the length of the sofa one way, sliding his face along the surface, then turn and wipe the other side of his face, again along the entire length of the sofa. If I am standing up, he will then come and wipe his face against the back of my legs. I've learned to change out of my work clothes fast.

Holly, despite being a dainty girl, is much less bothered, and going out with legs covered in tomato sauce is normal for her.

Still here

Older, more tired, as messy as ever... but we're still here. Thanks to all for the good thoughts - they really help.

Frailer now

Herbie's been unwell over the weekend. I think it was another respiratory bug, but he didn't eat for 48 hours (apart from one blueberry yoghurt, and he spat out all the blueberries, so his bed had purple spots). The vet had given me some emergency antibiotics, which I used, and he's recovering now, but he goes downhill so quickly, and he's lost weight.

I'm not sure either of us can survive much more of this.

Bound to Get Better

Apparently after 40, life gets better and better until you're 74. So there is something to look forward to, after all.

The first snowdrops are out, but it's going to be a very late spring - this time last year they were over. There's no sign of the tulips I planted, but since there was more snow last weekend, they may well be lying low. There was still ice across the lake at the arboretum today. I decided to work from home, and I'm glad I did. It's been grey and dank the whole time, and the ground is waterlogged. Herbie's not too interested in going out much, but he's very interested in the thought that there may be some ham in the kitchen. If he needs more exercise, I'll just hide some ham around the house.

Recycling

... and that includes photos. Herbie looks exactly the same as he's done for months, so this is a photo from before Christmas.

It's been a busy week. Nigel's baby, William Thomas, arrived in the early hours of last Wednesday - needless to say, the car had iced over at the point when Mel realised she needed to go to the hospital NOW, so poor Nigel was frantically scraping ice off the windscreen at 2 in the morning... at least they got there, unlike this poor couple.

Then another member of the team at work left to join the NHS. And another person at work who left suddenly on Friday looks uncannily like the picture of an Irish woman suspected of being a hitwoman in Dubai. Now we're all going to be wondering... (Actually we think she was here at the time the murders were carrried out, but fiction is so more gossip-worthy than the truth.)

And finally, to add to all the excitement, I took the day off so I could get the chimney swept.

Missing Coal

Feeling a bit vulnerable tonight, got home to discover a fair bit of coal missing. I'd filled up the coal bucket last night when I got home, and used the entire bucket during the course of the evening. I didn't have time this morning to re-fill before work, and when I went out to the coalshed this evening, there were only half a dozen lumps of loose coal left. Fortunately there are still a couple of plastic bags of e-coal (a supposedly ecological alternative to coal) but I'm annoyed that while I've been out someone's come into my back garden, gone round the back of the house and stolen several buckets of coal.

I know it's been a hard winter, I know many of my neighbours don't have much money, but hey, I don't either. I've been trying to be careful with my fuel, which is no use when someone else is siphoning it off (wrong metaphor, but can't think of the right one). I used a couple of months' worth in three weeks over Christmas and early January, so my winter fuel budget has not quite worked out, but I don't wait till my neighbours are out and then go steal theirs.

This blog wasn't meant to be a rant about anything, it was supposed to be about Herbie, but tonight it's about me, and I'm cross. I can start padlocking the shed, but I can't stay home all day, I have to work. Where I used to live, it was safe to leave coal in an unlocked container. I want to move again.

Happy Candlemas

One of those old pagan festivals that we've lost is Candlemas, the first of February, when at dusk the lady of the house was supposed to light a candle in every window. I get home from work somewhat after dusk, but I've lit some candles tonight in recognition of the fact that the light is returning. It may be cold, but there is more light than at midwinter.

Herbie is clutching a marrowbone to his chest, while Holly has both a bone and a vegetarian dog chew in the shape of an alligator, which was a present from my sister. I'm not entirely sure why they need vegetarian chews, given the amount of meat I feed them, but it has kept Holly happy for a long while.

A friend at work is waiting for his first baby to arrive. His wife wanted a whole new kitchen installing in the fortnight before the baby was due, so we are taking bets on which is ready first, the baby or the new kitchen.

Plodding

... through the endless wastes of January and then February. This is always a bleak time of the year, and my mood will lift when the daylight returns. One thing that lifted me before then was reading Susan Chernak McElroy's blog here. I've admired her books for a long time, so it was wonderful (and somehow strange) to find the author in person.

Someone who's off my "admired" list, though, is Dara o'Briain, whose greyhound was euthanased after she broke a leg in a race. It's a fixable injury, and there's a charity in the US, Greytlegs, that specifically pays for surgery for racing dogs who break a leg, so that they're not killed for an injury that would be treated in a domestic pet. Shame there isn't a branch in Ireland, but then the aforementioned comic, who is never off the TV, can't be so short of money he couldn't afford a vet bill. Particularly not after just appearing in a happy little programme showing him travelling across Ireland with the aforementioned greyhound, Snip Nua, and two friends. Unfortunately I now have to boycott one of my favourite TV programmes, "Mock the Week". Such is the price of principles.

Sighs of Relief

The snow has almost gone, and the temperature is now a balmy 7 degrees centigrade. I feel human again, a human no longer under siege. Parts of the North Yorkshire moors are still difficult to reach, but here in the foothills, normal life has resumed. I feel tired, though. My grandmother used to speak of people she knew as "won't last another winter", and I know how that feels right now.

Apparently today is Blue Monday (3rd Monday in January is the time when most people will feel terrible) but I was vastly cheered by the kind comments. I've had to put comment moderation on again, due to receiving weird Chinese spam - thanks again to Lesley for pointing out what they might mean in translation. Somebody's trying to improve their search engine rankings the bad way.

And finally, although his owner died, Gollum the Italian greyhound found his way back home. My thoughts are with Gollum and Andrea's family.

Bad Weather Blues

It's been four weeks now since the first snowfall, so I wasn't best pleased to find another inch fell overnight last night. While I haven't yet had to crawl across the road, the last couple of days have been ludicrously icy, and I've been driving to work at 10 miles an hour until I reach the main road.

I am tired of this now, and my patience with the dogs is at a low. They are sliding around on the ice, and Herbie isn't too happy, but Holly doesn't care if she pulls me over every time she sees a cat. I am thinking "treadmill" for Holly, and wondering if Herbie should be walked at all. I would just like to be able to go for a walk and get to the shops without skidding. Just for a few days, at least.

Snow Day - Again

Once more unto the snow shovels, dear friends, once more...

A gloomy old man in the village told me that the long hard winter of 1962 started like this. "It were bad before Christmas, and it stayed bad till March." Oh great. People keep ringing to tell me where they've been stuck, how long it took to get out or be rescued, where they came off the road, where they had to spend the night, etc.

I've taken today off work because the local radio announced that my route in, the only gritted route, was blocked. It's not the day for back-roads driving. We've had snow cover now for almost three weeks, which is rare for these parts.

Herbie had an emergency visit to the vets on New Year's Eve because he started coughing and wouldn't eat. One lot of antibiotics (Noroclav) later, and he's back to normal. However I'm starting him on Tramadol, a painkiller, because he seems to be a little brighter on them. The snow is not kind to old bones.