I’ve been downstairs at the cottage most of the evening struggling with the Downstairs Laptop. (Peter played bridge tonight so I came back here from Almost Sacred Wednesday Bell Practise*). I don’t feel it has any call to be as tiresome as it has chosen to be tonight, but I have one or two moral imperatives left and one of them says that you don’t eat dinner at your desk. Breakfast, yes. Lunch, yes.** Infinite numbers of cups of tea, yes. Chocolate, yes.*** Dinner, no. So it’s been the laptop, which keeps crashing. I’m so tired I’m barely breathing—brooding will do that to you—and given the highly guessable† topic of said brooding, I thought I’d do an entry of spirits-lifting dog links . . . whereupon my laptop decided to be possessed by demons and crash every two minutes. Arrrrgh. The next blow fate has in store is that the links I did manage to extract from the wreckage won’t work.
We’re also about to have a frost any minute—again: you just stay tucked up out there, you magnolia buds—I have to go fetch the marmoraria indoors before that minute is up. But I wish to report that my new system of hanging a blanket over a purpose-built railing just inside the front door works a treat. Except for the complaining about the fact that this means I have two layers of insulation over the door—blanket and curtain—and this is the south of England and mid April.
Hellhounds appear to be in the pink of condition. I rang up to order their new regime of enzyme supplements the minute I got home yesterday and, hallelujah, the large brown bottle arrived today.†† And furthermore the enzyme powder is purple, and sort of glittery. Mark told me to mix the powder in with the food, so I pulled the rather extremely green capsules apart and . . . I’m not sure I approve of ingestibles that look like they belong scattered over a sequined cardigan. I was also braced for the enzymes to Taste Funny and myself then be the object of the Look of Outrage more common, in my experience, in cats: the Are You Trying to Poison Me With This Stuff? look. But no: the enzymes either don’t taste, or they taste of something fabulously celestial: fortnight-dead rabbit, say, or fresh herbivore faecal matter.††† Anyway, the stuff went down with what, for hellhounds, is a reasonable amount of food . . . and we just happen to be in a hiatus from the Yellow Squirts, so it’s been a quiet day, except for the brooding. And the yelling at the laptop.
I used to lead the way upstairs but especially since they reached their full height the fundamental hellhound desire to get between my legs and then hold revels became a trifle more death-defying, on these stairs, than I was entirely happy with, especially either late at night or when I’m carrying knapsacks, books, cups of hot tea and/or chocolate. So I now encourage them to go up ahead of me, which Darkness does willingly enough—but then he has a Master Plan—while Chaos hangs around hoping I don’t mean it, can’t we go up together, pleeeeeease? Sometimes he wins, and then I either have to leave something behind and go back for it, or cling to the railing with my teeth. Chaos is beginning to catch on to Darkness’ Master Plan, however, which is that they wait at the top of the stairs for me to see if anything I’m carrying is interesting. Ah, well, almost everything in this house has had a dog nose on it some time or other.
Thank you for all your supportive comments after yesterday’s entry. Make that Thank you. Critters really are members of your family and you can’t help reacting accordingly.‡ I didn’t quite manage to ruin a beautiful day for a country walk today by borrowing trouble but I had a good old try at it. Sigh. And while we were walking around town later on we had a couple of people—as we very often do—come up and say, oh, aren’t they beautiful, and I did not say, they have Pancreatic Insufficiency Syndrome! I’ll cope, really I will, it’s just right at the moment, it’s One More Thing. One more thing on top of lingering/returning stomach flu and ME. Gah.
Anyway, here, I hope, are a few links to amuse you:
Is there anyone (anyone who hangs around on the web, anyway), who doesn’t know this one yet?
Probably not, but it reminds me that one of the things I’m tempted to run another competition for is Best Kitchen Magnet Slogan, since I happen to have it on a kitchen magnet, and it’s in my top ten.
And then there’s:
I’m still hoping to find on the web somewhere my favourite George Booth cartoon which lives on my wall in its original, brown and crumbly round the edges and serially scotch taped to several walls condition, George Booth cartoon. But I haven’t found it yet. . . . Oh, gods, and do I need a George Booth umbrella??
This is another famous one, but worth revisiting, for anyone who likes dogs and/or doesn’t like lawyers:
I hesitate to send you to the notorious:
. . . because you’ll either bail on first glance at the opening page or cruise its backlist for the rest of your life. Or are presently making AVERT signs at your computer screen. I do recommend clicking on ‘pups’ . . . but then I would, wouldn’t I? My favourite is the second one down, which is also here:
And for those of you either too strong or too weak to risk clicking over to cuteoverload at all, I also recommend today’s header, which is also here:
Which sums it up nicely, although I think it might have been puppies.
~If dogs could talk, it would take a lot of the fun out of owning one. -Andrew A. Rooney
. . . .is maybe the best, but this has some other good quotes:
AND THIS IS ME:
And Snowball stands in for the hellhounds, although they are far more distinguished looking hyperactive fruit loops:
And, sadly, this explains a lot:
And now, well dogged, I’m going to bed, with some hope of a brain tomorrow. . . .
* I did not ring well. But I rang less badly than I might have. This was partly because one of the other ringers was definitely ringing worse, which sort of took the heat off the rest of us.
** Although I prefer not to. Have you ever noticed the way lettuce leaves lob salad dressing over a wide range?
*** As, for example, right now. Although this may just be for the abstruse pleasure of eating chocolate with a fork. I don’t like a sticky keyboard.
† . . . to anyone who read yesterday’s entry
†† I will attempt not to say anything snarky about the Royal Mail for at least twenty-four hours. It will be difficult, but I am strong and brave.
††† If the latter, that would explain why they come in capsules, since these are human pills. Mark says the enzymes are the same thing, and the dog version costs—literally—about ten times more. It what? So it’s like okay, wait, let me make the intelligent decision here. . .
‡ Well. Show me the person who takes it in their stride and I’ll show you a person I don’t want to have over for dinner any time soon.