Not having a holiday

Do mothers ever get holidays? I'm not sure.
I'm here in a static caravan on a receding cliff on the Welsh coast with two energetic boys, a blind and somewhat deaf jack russell and a whippet that has serious separation issues and despite everyone else enduring a heat wave all we have on the horizon is rain, rain and more rain.
I'm trying to look on the bright side at least my boys don't care about getting wet so there are plenty of things for us to do most of which would involve them getting wet anyway such as boogie boarding, crossing the river (a favourite past time whenever we venture west which involve lots of broad flat stones and a river that is luckily nevermore than a large stream at best), rock pooling, and sea challenging which involves paddling in the sea in your clothes and challenging the surf to see how long you can stay dry before a rogue wave gets you and you get soaking wet.
The dogs quite like getting wet too, well perhaps not Tattie my whippet, but Tigger adores it and he is rather hairy. Every time the boys venture near the sea he is with them splashing about barking and digging up the sand.
Tattie ping pongs from me sitting well above the water line to them in the surf bravely plunging in then hurtling back to check that I am where she last left me and then shaking all the water off so by the time we return back to the caravan we are all rather wet and sandy.
I do a lot of cleaning in Wales.
Probably more cleaning than I ever do at home.
I also do a lot more ordering about in Wales trying to get the boys to think a bit before they charge about in their wet and muddy gear. I seem to be on a permanent look out lest the place gets wrecked!
But despite that I don't feel I am getting much of a holiday clearing, cleaning, cooking and minding, I do love it. Lying in bed at night listening to the waves crash down on the shore as I did as a child when we stayed here, I wonder if my mum got much of a holiday back then or did she too remember her childhood sojourns in this magical place?
For my boys are the fourth generation to come here for our holidays perhaps they too will bring their children in time and enjoy not having a holiday too...

The Trouble with Whippets or rather MY whippets is…

…that they get away with sheer murder.

OK, maybe not quite murder, but they do take the food from my children’s mouths given half a chance.

Take yesterday for example.

In the few brief hours of sunshine afforded we all trotted outside to eat supper al-fresco and so did the dogs milling around us like sharks under a lifeboat - eventually one is likely to drop. And they are waiting for just such a moment.

But nothing showing…

Now whippets are not blessed with big brains. I mean, come off it, have you seen how big their eyes are in comparison to their heads? There isn’t enough room for both optical nerves and brain in there. But what they may not have in IQ they certainly have in sheer effrontery and native cunning.

Tattie - her that has cost me a minor fortune in Vet bills this year after nearly dying on me a couple of months ago - takes it into her noggin to leap upon the table and make a bid for youngest son’s food.

This, of course, causes much hysteria and screams of laughter, then just screams and guess what? She achieves her aim.

And I let her.

In fact I do more than that - I actually photograph her doing it.

Tattie Whippet On The Table Sharking It...

Somewhere along the line our lives have become slightly skewed and the dogs are getting downright spoilt.

Maybe it is because they are whippets; for I can tell you having a Labrador on the table would really have pissed me off. For starters, Labradors tend to be clumsier than whippets especially on tables, they wag their tails and glasses go tumbling, crockery crashing and cutlery clattering. Whippets delicately negotiate their way around such obstacles like cats. And when whippets leap up they do it cleanly without any unnecessary scrabbling and hefting.

And they don’t drool.

I hasten to add I have nothing against Labradors; I’m just stating that I very much doubt that any Labrador owner would ever condone such behaviour from their dog for the reasons stated and the fact that a Labrador is just too intelligent and well-behaved to even consider such appalling conduct in the first place.

But as I have said a whippet doesn’t have much of a brain so I suppose that is why I tend to indulge them and any show of cleverness even if it is purely driven by its instinct for scavenging rather than any premeditated planning of its own.

Not quite sure what my boys think – but it’s good for them to realise that it’s a dog eat dog world out there and that if you don’t get on with your food there is always someone else who’ll snatch it from your plate when you aren’t looking…

Tattie Whippet On The Table Going In For The Kill...

 ... or even when you are!

The Veneer of Domesticity

Tattie Whippet

The veneer of domesticity is exactly that when it comes to dogs. You have to remember that they are 99 per cent wolf, not 99 per cent pajama case one percent adorable but animals that could so easily survive and thrive without us, though probably not quite so comfortably.
What I saw on Tuesday night I would have expected from a pit bull or doberman not a whippet. Not a mild mannered though somewhat naughty whippet. I should have been prepared to head off the incident for certainly the signs were there that any decent owner of dogs could have seen coming. But I was distracted with boys and schools and headmasters and missed them.
It's cost me nigh on £500.
And it has made me re-evaluate my dogs and how I treat them.
To all intents and purposes the fight was kicked off by a bowl of food that was left out. Tattie, my Empress (whose reign as Alpha Female has been on the wane for sometime now) was having a good old chomp, I remember thinking damn me I should have picked it up because there goes a fat whippet and it was as I thought about it that Sassy, the EBJ (Evil Black Job aka The Wickedest Whippet), came up to have a look see.
Tattie swung herself round so that Sassy couldn't get at the bowl. Blocking her from the food.
Sassy  tried again.
Tattie growled.
Sassy growled.
Then suddenly they kicked off. At first I thought it would just be a spat over as quickly as it began but it wasn't. This was a full on challenge and Sassy was never going to back down. In fact she won quite quickly and Tattie was trying to get away but that wasn't enough for Sassy while her blood was up.
It was vicious.
It was terrifying.
tattie was cringing away but sassy kept on coming. She would not stop. I waded in with feet bashing at sassy to get her to release her hold but I fear I only made it worse she let go then went straight back in again. Tattie was yelping. I was hollering God knows what.
I broke them up  and shoved sassy outside into the garden and turned to look for Tattie who had shot under the table. She wouldn't budge so I opened the door out to the hall and she bolted  there and up the stairs.
I let Sassy back inside, she was cut on her shoulder which I thought served her right and she had a small nick on her nose. Nothing untoward.
Then I went in search of Tattie. She was sitting at the top of the stairs, her eyes bulging and breathing rapidly through her mouth in puffs making her muzzle look pinched and thin. She was covered in blood.
I approached and she turned from me and that is when I saw the extent of the damage: a four inch  piece of skin was seemingly missing on her shoulder with a deep puncture wound welling up with dark blood in the middle. She was obviously in shock.
Strange as it may seem I know the vets' number by heart and I called it immediately knowing that if you get a wound like this to the vet within the first four hours they can literally work miracles.
Both dogs were bundled in the car, though I hasten to add, separately. And I rushed them down, not thinking it was too bad: I was just kidding myself. All of us were shocked, me and the dogs.
Tattie's wounds were far worse than was immediately apparent as were Sassy's. This had been a fight for stakes far higher than a mere bowl of dog food.
Both dogs were whisked away for stitches. Sassy returning with me that night while Tattie underwent a general anaesthetic and surgery for her extensive injuries. I could not sleep that night and tossed and turned right through finally giving up the battle at three in the morning and reading until it was time to get the boys up.
As I waited I thought long and hard about it. If a whippet could do so much damage to another dog what sort of damage could they do to a child, a toddler or even a baby? What sort of damage could  a larger heavier dog do?
I thought I knew my dogs, thought I could trust them but I know now that I cannot, not totally.
Tattie is OK. The vets' are miracle workers. It was touch and go. She will be scarred but I knew that and she is still My Empress though perhaps not in the eyes of the rest of the pack. It is something I will have to be careful of for a while until I can work out how the land lies.
We have DAP for dogs  pumping its calming influence around the house. It's helping.But all I can think about is how thin the veneer of domesticity.

The Wickedest Whippet has a problem…

The Wickedest Whippet: soulful or just plain guilty?

The Wickedest Whippet (aka EBJ – evil black job – aka Sassy) has a problem. Or let’s say I have a problem with the wickedest whippet.

She’s decided to hole herself up in Bog Boy’s room behind a chair on top of a whole load of dirty washing and she’s not coming out.

Every time I try to force her to get out she looks balefully at me then digs her feet in and won’t budge.

My boys call me cruel for dragging her by her collar so that I can get her outside to go to the loo. I have said that as soon as she uses the loo in the bathroom she can stay inside for as long as she likes. The boys look at me blankly. “You just wait until you tread on the proverbial as you get up in the morning,” I snarl as explanation.

The dog sighs and while I am busy haranguing the boys about why dogs do not use toilets (a word I hate) she trots back to her hidey hole and buries herself more deeply under some smelly socks.

I have got her downstairs but she’s a wily creature and as soon as she gets an opening she shoots back upstairs again. I warn the boys NOT to leave doors open and for a while there is progress. I manage to clear away the clothes and get them to the washing machine and I rescue a variety of goodies ranging from a couple of my shoes, a teddy bear, a biro and a pair of my husband’s running shorts. There is also a quantity of ripped up newspaper or at least what I think is newspaper, it could be an Economist…

However, she’s there again now. Someone left the window in the downstairs loo open and she’s leapt through it and ensconced herself yet again. I can see I am going to have to get professional help. I do believe she’s in the grip of a phantom pregnancy as it is the only thing that makes sense.

I have just been to see her again and she does look ever so pathetic.

Oh maybe not just heard thunderous roars from downstairs I think the whippet has just eaten all the newly made bread painstakingly made by husband. So maybe she was just looking guilty….she really is the wickedest whippet!

Children or dogs which are the worst?

Which are worse children or dogs? I guess it is a toss up as to which will embarrass you most when you go out visiting.
You know you get the invite and you really want to go but you can't get a babysitter so your lovely new acquaintances whom you really like and would like to know better, say: "Do please bring the children, they can sleep in the spare room."
Sleep, my eye, the horrid little toads cause absolute mayhem, run screaming up and down the corridors, jump on the beds and land up sitting on your lap at the dining room table with everyone saying: "No, really don't worry, no bother at all!" But you know they don't mean or else going they say things like: "Aren't they cute!" which you know will only make the horrors worse. You leave said dinner party early with tail between legs and hope of ever returning totally dashed.
But it is worse when you land up taking your dogs, much worse when one of your dogs is an evil black job called Sassy with a penchant for stealing, running off and ignoring you when there are other more exciting things to do. Normally she doesn't do all three, this time she did and she is grounded forever!
Friends of ours (at least I hope they are still friends) bought a new house not far away from us, it is stunning with flint-faced facade, double aspect drawing room, library, billiard room, stunning gardens, just a perfect family home and like all new homeowners my friends were keen to show off . Me, being as nosey as I am, couldn't wait to assist with this excellent plan BUT the dogs had to come to due to builders at home.
Delighted said friend who didn't know my dogs as well as she might.
So off we all went, I had some doubts but boys and husband pooh-poohed me. What can go wrong?
Well, a lot.
Everything was fine to begin with and I got lulled into a false sense of security. The dogs ran about outside, they couldn't get out of the garden everything was fine and dandy, until someone left the back door into the kitchen open...
She got in, at first all she did was run about the house trying to find me. "No problem," said unsuspecting friend. Not so much of a problem then when a few moments later said friends' daughter came screaming and sobbing that my dog had nicked her rabbit teddy and run away with it. I shot off in hot pursuit and found a slightly damp rabbit ted just outside the kitchen, on picking it up I heard a clatter in the kitchen, my blood ran cold. "Oh god no not lunch!" Flinging open the door I was just able to see the dog nimbly leaping off the sideboard and dashing into the garden, or what I took for the garden.
There was definitely something missing, but on the whole not too much damage. Nothing broken. I rectified what little mess there was and took the rabbit ted back to it's grateful owner. I am afraid I said nothing about what had happened in the kitchen.
Lunch was being served when it was thought best that we shoudl take the dogs back to the car. But horrors! The wickedest whippet was not there and could not be found. We got the remainder of the pack, two whippets and a Jack Russell back in the car and I set about trying to find Sassy.
I looked everywhere, high and low. Husband hassled me saying lunch was being served and that I needed to sit down for it. I said I had to find the dog. I called and called. No dog.
I apologised to friends and said carry on with lunch not noting the strong looks, I dashed outside again and started to look elsewhere round the property. Over by the stables, over by the cottage, over by the paddock. Then I saw the style. I went over, then I saw the woods and the sign. No entry. And I knew she was there where she shouldn't be. I called and called. Nothing.
I screwed up my courage and went into the forbidden wood calling all the while. I was calling for ages. Then I spotted her sniffing about a pile of logs. Relief. I shouted at her to get back here. But the bloody dog ignored me. I called again. Deliberate ignoring. I know she heard me because she looked up and wagged her tail but she stayed exactly where she was. I started to approach her, but she trotted off. I stopped. She stopped. I called again. She lay down and rolled. I stepped forward. She started up. It was useless
Husband caught up with me.
"For God's sake lunch is nearly over!"
"But I have got to catch her!" I wailed.
"Fat chance." he said
"Why?"
"She ate the lunch."
"What!"
"She stole the cold roast chicken..."
I groaned This day could not get worse...
But it did while we were talking she had disappeared again, then our friends turned up.
"Oh my god she can't be in there our neighbours will go ballistic! They've got pheasant pens in that wood!"
My heart sank.
We started to hunt her down. I could hear the sound of traffic nearby. No, she couldn't go towards that she hates cars. I heard the sound of an angry horn.
"Oh God get the car I think she's on the road!"
I ran toward the road then spotted her on th side as cool as you please sniffing something quite disgusting.
I calmly walked towards her. She sloped off up the road. I followed behind calling out to her encouragingly: "Come here Sassy!". We did this for 20 minutes getting further and further away from my friends' house.
I frantically waved at cars to slow down. A smart sports car drove by and sweetly slowed forcing the traffic behind it to slow as well. Sassy was getting further from me. The sports car drew up beside her. They opened the doors and she just jumped in. The car drove off leaving me dumbfounded on the side of the road. They'd stolen my dog!
I lost sight of them so turned back running pell mell I had to call the police. What seemed like hours later I saw my friends' house and dashed up the drive. "The dog's been stolen!" I hollered running inside and grabbing the phone to dial 999.
"The dog is fine and in the car."
I looked blankly.
"That was your husband who picked her up."
I looked at my friend sheepishly.
"Thank you," I said
"No problem." she smiled sweetly
But I know she didn't mean it...