Pants to 2013 - or is it?

Sitting here freezing cold because HE is on an economy drive (I forgot to fill up the oil tank before Christmas) and all I can think is it’s been a PANTS 2013.

Blogging wise I may as well have  got a monkey to do it for all the sense I have made or actually not done anything at all – it’s not been a stellar undertaking.

I had such high hopes!

It was meant to be my year and… actually it wasn’t. Things just sort of got on top of me and then I decided to do something about it and then things REALLY got on top of me and yet there is a chink of light at the end of the tunnel as long as I keep digging, as long as I keep on going - perhaps 2014 could be better.

It’s not as if 2013 was ALL bad. It was just a bit like a curates egg; bad in parts which tends to make the whole thing rather off putting.

Bad in parts: well I had several visitations from the Black Dog cumulating with a massive appearance over Christmas coupled with mountains of work, too little time and a 10 year old boy with teenage attitude problems.

Hey – what can I say

All of that was over shadowed by the fact that HIS  company came up for sale at the beginning of the year and it was rather touch and go for the rest of it as to whether he would A) keep his job; B) like his new bosses; C) stay in  his job…

We are still out on C but at least he HAS a job and so do I – for the moment and that cannot be a bad thing.

But with all the uncertainty comes stress; a low lying thrumming stress and that has lead too many Black Dog visitations and hence my belief that 2013 was PANTS.

So as an exercise I will catalogue the good and bthe bad and if I am right then 2013 WAS pants and if I am wrong…well I’ll get my arse into gear and prove 2014 is  going to be even better…

January

Sassy Whippet aka wickedest whippet gets pregnant on purpose - good

Hubbie’s work up for sale. Will he still have a job at the end of all this?– bad

Boy passes LAMDA exam – good

I take back the reins and go horse riding after 20 years – good

Hubbie celebrates one year of weekly commuting: I miss him – bad

Boy gives up piano: no battles as I try forcing him to practice - good

Bog Boy (youngest)  takes up piano: now have to FORCE him to practice - bad

February

Got invited out for Valentines night – good

Drowned car – bad

Missed Valentines night  out – bad

Got new car – good

Used up all holiday money to buy new car – bad

March

Had puppies – good

Good mate had massive heartattack – bad

April

But survived – good

May

Boy off epilepsy drugs – good

Sold puppies - good

But fell in love with one puppy and still had to sell it - bad

June

Mums 70^th she is still alive and kicking! - good

I get amazing article to do – good

Having written article get amazing opportunity – good

July

Boy wins school prize - good

College mate dies of cursed cancer – bad

August

Had staycation – surprisingly good!

Article published and everyone thinks it’s – good!

September

Boy takes up trombone: WHAT more practice battles!!!!– bad

Bog Boy takes up recorder – bugger…

Boy gets girlfriend – good

Boy gets dumped – bad

Mate tries to kill themself – very bad

October

Keep getting work opportunities – good

Had amazing birthday party – good!

Boy gets girlfriend back – good

Boy gets dumped again – bad

Boy gets cool haircut – good

Boy gets girlfriend back again - good

November

Have amazing trip for work – good

Meet extraordinary people – good

December

Best friend gets annoyed with Boys flicky fringe and cuts it while I am away – bad

Get back from trip too close to Christmas – bad

Boy gets dumped by girlfriend yet again as not cool with dodgy fringe - bad

Boy pisses off mother on virtually daily basis with severe teenage attitude problems - bad

Fail to write Christmas cards – bad

Major major major crisis of confidence (I can’t do all this! I am going to fail!!) – bad

Manage to meet work deadlines so far – good

Plucking up courage to write all about trip – good

Feeling fragile but hopeful – bad and good

Good: 27  Bad:  20

Roll on 2014….

Selling Puppies And Having The Courage To Say No

Sable - a wicked whippet saved!

Selling puppies and having the courage to say no are two things I hate doing. But do them I must.

Sometimes it’s easy, such as when the person on the other end of the telephone line or e-mail is asking for what you haven’t got, such as: “Do you have any Blue whippets?”

Er no the advert actually said: “Two black whippet puppies for sale” but no one said that the prospective owners’ had to be bright!

Gauging someone just via telephone is a difficult art and trying to work out what they are like via e-mail or on-line is virtually impossible. You have to go with your gut. Even though that is the most difficult thing in the world to do for a nicely brought up “middle class gel” – we are hard wired to always say yes!

I just feel so guilty about saying no!

But I remember the narrow escape I had the last time we had a litter of wicked whippets to sell and that nice sounding old lady on the other end of the telephone line who said all the right things and seemed to be a match made in heaven turned out to be an old harridan who clearly should never have a puppy, let alone a dog.

But back then it wasn’t me who decided to say no even though my gut was screaming at me to turn her away; it was her – Thank God.

So this time, I am determined to follow that gut wherever it leads, even if I land up with a few more wicked whippets that I originally anticipated!

Today my gut was roiling.

Going overtime in fact.

I get a call from a very smart sounding lady (why is it the posh ones lull us into such a false sense of security?). She wants to buy one of my puppies. At first she’s after the girl, but I tell her the girl’s gone and almost before I suggest it myself she says the boy will do.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise a bit.

I ask the usual things to get a sounding as I call it and with each answer my sense of unease mounts. They have a one acre garden, they go on long walks they have dogs and cats and horses - it sounds idyllic but she’s not had whippets before, she’s not going to puppy training; she doesn’t need to. She tells me she can’t see me tomorrow but will come round on round on Wednesday.

My hackles are straight up!

I tell her I am not about on either Wednesday or Thursday because of the local county show. I can tell she’s non-plussed. Maybe she can hear the reticence in my voice. Maybe my quiet forcefulness makes her think for a moment so she suddenly changes tack and she asks me if we know each other. I say no I don’t think so. I don’t recognise her name but the county is small so we may have crossed socially so to speak – I too can have a very posh voice when I want.

She tries to place me, build those social bridges that will make her acceptable to me so that she can have her way and so despite me being very uneasy we agree for her to come round on the Wednesday evening.

I twitch after I put the telephone down. I do NOT want her to have this puppy.

So I Google her and find her on Facebook and that alarmingly we have several connections in common – it always comes as a shock that.

So I call one of our mutual friends up and boy am I glad that I did! I got a very interesting low down and it makes the decision to call her up and say no thank you very easy to do indeed.

I wait an hour then call and lie like mad.There is no point being rude and saying it like it is but I think she knows I lie. She says through gritted teeth that she was willing to take the puppy that very evening, intimating that I am the one who has lost out on an easy sale. Even though I had said the puppy was now promosed to a very old family friend! I fear she hates to be thwarted.

And everything falls into place, my gut instinct was right!.

I say firmly and terribly politley as well, that I let no one take my puppies away straight away. I can tell she is more than shocked, she’s totally fazed. From her point of view it must be an anathema. Someone has got something to sell and she can’t have it immediately.

I explain that a 24 hour resting period between viewing a puppy and taking it home is a minimum. It’s not just that the new owner has to be sure that the puppy is the right one for them, the breeder, I say sweetly, has got to be sure that the prospective owner is suitable too.