Saturday Evening With A Dog On My Lap

It's X-factor and Strictly Come Dancing night and, as I'm not a fan of either show, I shall be reading blogs with an upside down border collie on my lap.

Well,  I say "on my lap", but he's actually a little too big to be restricted to such a small area of his "daddy".

On top of him (animal welfare people should take this with a pinch of salt) rests my laptop.  Typing is one-handed and therefore a little more difficult than it otherwise would be.

Stay!!!

He's a booful dog but a lousy desk!

A cwtch, for those of you not fluent in Welsh, means an affectionate hug and, as there is no literal English translation, it's often taken to mean a safe place.


So, when my boy Sym wants to flop down on top of me, he drops his chin onto the sofa, looks out of the corner of his big brown eyes at his 'mum' and waits for her to say the word.


"Cwtch!"


Now this is the funny thing ...


... he wants to lie on my lap but he won't actually jump up onto me.  


He jumps up beside me, allows himself to fall sideways onto my legs, then rolls straight over into his back.
And there he will stay ... four legs pointing towards the ceiling and tail curled over to hide his bits.


Nothing will move him now until ... well, until I lose the feeling in my legs or it's time for bed.


Once settled, his favourite pastime is the periodical whacking his 'daddy' in the face with his paw.
It's his way of keeping my attention and guaranteeing that one hand continues to tickle his tum.

We've actually been sitting here for over two hours and, truth be told, my legs are numb and I'm pretty much all done with reading blogs.

I know this wasn't my best post, but I thought the stuff about Sym and his cwtch's was appropriate, especially  as he is still under my laptop at this moment.


Properly trained, a man can be dog's best friend. 
~ Corey Ford, American writer

Alarms, Bladders And Road Rage

For most of us, the day begins with an annoying noise.

Our alarm clocks remind us bluntly that we don't deserve another minute in bed and we should get up or it'll get louder.

The slumber button is always so difficult to find when your eyelids are still pasted shut.

The effort of finding the button and pressing it, finally silencing that ear-piercing din, albeit only for five minutes, is sufficient to get your brain working just enough to register that your bladder is screaming out for attention.

There is a squirming and a wriggling under the quilt as you attempt to find a posture that would give your bladder another couple of cc's capacity and, after realising that No! You ain't gonna have an accident, you settle back down to your slumbers.

The alarm peeps or rings as again.

'That was never five minutes' you think as you waste precious sleeping time struggling to read the time, in stead of just pressing the slumber button again.  I think that everyone does this so they can catch their alarms cheating.

Your bladder is increasing it's pressure for attention.

The slumber button pressed for a second time, you settle back into your warm bed, but by now you are starting to get a little crabby because ... damn it! ... you work hard and need your sleep.

The insistence of your bladder reminding you that you are in desperate need of taking a leek is ... excuse the pun ... pi$$ing you off and, in that special way of 'holding on' that you developed as a child, you begin to jiggle your legs in the hope that sloshing the contents of your by now basketball-sized bladder, will ease the problem.

The alarm peeps or rings as again.

The pressure by now is horrendous and you are faced with a choice: vacate or flood?.

Fuming, you decide against the latter and head for the loo.

Be careful stepping over the remains of your alarm clock, won't you!

After a pee timed at 4  minutes and 13 seconds, during which "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" was sighed several times, you admit to yourself "I shouldn't have waited so long".

From here on in, it's going to be a 'down hill' kind of day.

A shower fails completely to 'pick you up' and dressing (all those straps and things!) is soooooooooo difficult as your eyes, still convinced you should be in bed, are half closed and convinced you are just having a nightmare.

Slouching downstairs  you are determined to strangle anyone with the balls to say "Good morning!" to you.

Cereals don't help either and that smell of bacon and coffee that your other half is preparing just makes you want to vomit.

Eventually you leave for work and you hear radio reports of loads of road-rage incidents happening all along the stretch of road you are travelling on.

Funny that you haven't seen any of them.

Perhaps you would if only .... "Get outta the way you fugging ass hole!  Up yours!" ... those others would drive ... "Ba$tards! I'll kick yer head off'f yer shoulders!" ... more  ...  "Yeah? You and who's army?" ... considerately.

What happened at work?

No! Not today.

Maybe I'll rub your nose in it another time ...

... Erm, you did get to work, didn't you?

Smelly Animals And Well Aired Rooms

One of my dogs has just farted and I swear to you, something must have crawled up it's backside and died!

I have three very ashamed looking animals here at the moment but they are holding firm under intense interrogation and I still don't know which is the guilty party.

Excuse me while I just open all the windows.

Phew!




Addendum:

You guys out in the Bloggi-verse must love smelly dogs.
After this was posted there were over thirty hits within a minute.