HGE

Last weekend my dog, Beau, had to be rushed to the vets and put on a drip. He had HGE or haemorrhagic gastroenteritis.

Luckily, he's ok now but it was a pretty horrible thing to go through. If you have a dog which had bloody diarrhoea, take it to the vets straight away! Beau went in as soon as possible when we noticed something was wrong, and then again when it got worse. Luckily, the drip, a course of antibiotics, canikur paste, and some special food for intestinal problems sorted him out and in a couple of days he was back to his old self.


Now I'm trying to work out what's best to feed him on for his sensitive stomach! He loves meat but it's so expensive and a lot of it gives him the runs... not pleasant when you have a dog as hairy as Beau is... and the dried food he just won't eat.

I'm pondering tripe. Nobody should have to ponder tripe.

The Mind of a Horror Writer

Today I walked the dog around the fields and lanes at the top of the town where I live.

There was nobody else around at all, and as I was walking through the harvested sweetcorn field, which was looking particularly apocalyptic with buzzards wheeling overhead and calling out to one another, I wondered what I would do if a horde of the undead suddenly came towards me across the field.

I figured I'd take photos. And then probably run.

 

Puppy School

I have just completed a six week puppy school. Well, with Beau. Half the time we learnt things that Beau already knew. Sit. Lie down. Then we leant things that I already knew. How to brush your dog. How to check for fleas.

But we did other things too, like 'stay' and walking on a lead and recalls. Beau loved it as he got to meet loads of people, who love him, and lots of other dogs, who he loves.

Plus, it usually tired him out for the evening. Bonus.

Anyway, we passed and have a little rosette and certificate to prove it. Beau is now a good dog citizen, according to the Kennel Club.

Still can't stop the little bugger from sleeping on the sofa though.

Weirdness...

So in the town where I live there's a large reservoir and nature reserve full of meadows and little streams and trees and whatnot.

As it's a Sunday and there's not a lot else to do, me and my mum took the dog for a walk down there. When we parked we saw a large people carrier full of people just sitting there. It looked like they'd been gassed. The two adults in the front were zonked out, two of the older kids in the back looked like they'd zoned out, and the little one was just staring forlornly out of the window.

Me and Mum exchanged glances and moved on. We had a nice walk around and met a gaggle of small children who descended on Beau exclaiming 'Aw midget puppy!' We met a border terrier, a couple of spaniels and a Jack Russell. We discovered that Beau does not like walking across those metal grids they put down over wooden bridges.

Then we headed back. The family were still in the car. The adults in the front were still asleep. The kids in the back looked bored as hell.

Now, is it just me or is that weird?! I wouldn't be sitting in the back of the car like that, I'd be giving the adults a prod and telling them to sleep at home!

I don't think I've seen anything so bizarre since the parrot in the backpack incident in Glastonbury.

How to Talk to Children

I suck at talking to children. I don’t particularly like them and they are, quite possibly, scared of me. I’m also a really bad judge of age. I have no idea how old a kid is just by looking at them.

 

I remember going to a car boot sale with my brother. He was trying to flog some of our old crap to a couple of kids and we got talking to them. They asked us to guess how old they were. I know that children, unlike adults, like you to think they’re older than they actually are. Being kind (I thought) I said seven. I thought these kids had to be about five in reality.

 

They laughed and said no. Turns out they were ten.

 

Yeah. Like I said.

 

So, I’m walking the puppy and we come across a tiny child out with her grandmother. I couldn’t tell you how old she was. See reasons above. But she was tiny. She was scared of Beau. My little midget puppy.

 

I crouched down to her and the puppy’s level and tried to get them to say hello nicely. Beau wanted to get cuddles and I could see the little girl wanted to pet him. Unfortunately she would only touch him when his back was turned and of course, as soon as he felt her touching him, he turned around. So that kinda didn’t work.

 

Her grandmother (I’m presuming here, but I really hope it was her grandmother) asked me what the dog’s name was. I replied. Her response was “Bone?!”

 

“No. Beau.”

 

When they walked away I heard the little girl saying, “I liked Bone.”

 

*sigh*

 

We carried on our way. Around the bend there was two little girls, a westie puppy, and their grandparents all stood outside their house. I stopped to say hello to the cute puppy and let Beau have a sniff.

 

The child, stupid child, holding the westie puppy proceeds to roar and force her dog to come at Beau. He freaks out. Thanks, vile child, for scaring my dog and now making him weary of puppies smaller than him. Her grandparents (again, a presumption) did nothing to stop her.

 

Beau barked. The child said something unintelligible. Me, being rubbish with children and also lacking the ability to patronise them, just asked her outright what she’s just said.

 

She replies in a perfectly normal, understandable voice. Yes, children can talk like normal people! They don’t need to be patronised.

 

The moral of this story? Parents, grandparents, please don’t talk to your kids like they’re idiots or they’ll start to talk and act like idiots. We have enough idiots in the world. Thanks.

General Musings

Beau the psycho pup is being quiet... he's wandered off so technically I should get up and go and see what he's doing, but instead I'm here. Writing about nothing. I should also be working on The Barbarians' Key, the third book in the Power of Malinas trilogy. I should be working on it... but I'm not.

Instead I'm messing about online and pondering my likes and dislikes.

• I like chocolate brownies. Especially home made gooey ones.
• I like frilly tops and shoes with bows on.
• I like biscuits. Any biscuits. Apart from ginger nuts.
• I like gardening.
• I like eating. 
• I like sleeping.
• I like it when Beau is sleeping and I can write nonsensical blog posts which nobody will read.
• I like it when people say my writing is fantastic
• I like rats.
• I like Ben Barnes.
• I like really weird music. The weirder the better. Strange instruments are the best.
• I like Hayao Miyazaki. But not in that way.

 What I do not like:

• Cheese.
• Wine. Well, any alcohol really, but wine especially.
• Drunk people.
• Coriander.
• Baby carrots.
• Babies crying.
• Poor grammar.
• Beau eating my shoes.
• Monobrows.

I'm sure there is a lot more in both categories, but really, I can't be arsed to write any more. I'll finish with my favourite joke.

What's the boss of the hankies called?

The hanky-chief.

Stuff... and that.

I feel like I should be writing. I've had Beau, the pup, for just over a week now. I'm existing on very little sleep. My life revolves around when the pup sleeps. When he sleeps I can get things done.

He's sleeping now.

And I'm not doing anything productive. My head's got that 'writer' thing going on. I can feel it. Half formed sentences and ideas keep drifting into my brain and then drifting out again. I should be working on my third novel. Or a short story. Or a poem even. I should be submitting stories to magazines or chasing things already submitted. I should be doing something.

I'm listening to the radio and getting distracted by songs that aren't even very good. I'm dancing as there's nobody home.

It's possible that I've gone a bit mad.

In other news, I went to Hampton Court Palace flower show on Sunday and someone stole my camera. I hope they're very happy with it.

Actually, I hope they take a self portrait and the camera steals their soul.