My Name is Kerry…..

And I am a West Highland White Terrier.  My pedigree is perfect and I am pretty perfect too.  I have a very responsible job and that includes looking after my sister (who is a liability in her own right), our brother and also our mum (Mary) because she spends a lot of time on her own as our daddy is away a lot of the time. Well, obviously she is not entirely on her own now as she has us.

I may be small, but don't mess with me!

This is our second home, that is me and my sister Candy.  We had a lovely mummy and daddy before, Lynne and James.  I loved them to bits, especially my James-daddy, I am a real daddy's girl that's for sure.  In fact I was named after his first Westie which makes me very proud.  Apparently his family always kept Westies.  Unfortunately he was away a lot of the time too, but unlike Mary, Lynne usually went with him, so we used to go and stay with another family.  They were very nice and good to us too, in fact they used to let us sleep on the bed sometimes, which we weren’t allowed to do at home, but it just wasn't the same.

One day last spring, when the weather was starting to get nice again after the winter, our Lynne and James came home from a trip.  We were both delighted to see them again and rushed up to welcome them.  Of course I had to tell them about all the naughty things that Candy had been doing while they were away.  She can be a real handful that girl, but I love her because of course she is my sister.  So I was busy listing out all my gripes while we both gave them lots of cuddles and kisses too.  Then they told us that we were going for a long drive the next day so we were to get to bed early and be rested for an exciting new adventure.  We both love going in the car, it usually means a lovely walk on the beach or in the countryside.  So the next morning we got up and had some breakfast.  I was too excited to eat, so Candy finished mine off.  Then we all bundled into the back of the car.  Lynne and James also put in all our cushions and towels and blankets and feeding bowls which was not unusual as we used to take a lot of kit with us whenever we stayed with the other family, so we just assumed we were off for a short holiday again.

Candy is a liability

We drove and drove for what seemed like days and finally we arrived at a new place we had never been before.  As we circled slowly around what looked like a park we noticed a couple of happy-looking people waving us.  At their feet was another West Highland Terrier.  He looked very handsome.  We drove up to where they were and stopped and we were let out.  Well do you know that naughty boy-Westie took a quick sniff and then tried to get the leg over.  First me and then Candy!  I can tell you I very quickly told him where to get off and so did Candy.  She can look after herself that way alright.  He had another go a little bit later on, but soon got the message that neither of us was interested.  We have been neutered after all!  Apart from that introductory episode he seemed to be ok.

Then Lynne and our new dad, Victor, me and Candy and our new brother, Looki, all walked up a steep hill together until we came to the front door of the house that we now call home.  I am not proud of this, but I had to have a poo on some stone steps on the way and we left it behind as nobody had a poo-bag with them! 

The new house was strange to us, long and thin with horrible open steps, which we did not trust for quite sometime, though now Candy and myself run up and down them with not a care in the world.  Lynne and James did not stay very long.  James drove the car up under Mary's direction, offloaded all our clobber, did a quick inspection of the house, to make sure it was suitable and then they were off.  We expected them to come for us after a week or two, but they never did.  I really missed them for a long, long time.  Whenever I saw a car like ours I would perk up, or sometimes I would see a person walking on the other side of the road and for a moment I would mistake them for Lynne or James and go rushing over.  But it was never them.

For the first couple of weeks we stayed downstairs, on account of those terrible steps, and outside in our new garden, which is quite exciting.  Often there are cats to chase and we do like a good cat hunt.  There are lots of places for cats to hide and we go down every morning to do an inspection.  We have flushed out quite a few invaders.  They don't hang about and go over the walls in any direction.  We like to keep our territory clear. 

During the summer months there was lots of banging and dust as another terrifying set of stairs was erected up to the roof.  We couldn't quite see the point of it all as it made it very difficult to get around the house for a while, but slowly it all eased off and the nice builders went away again.  I missed them as I am a real socialite, but it was nice to have a peaceful house again.  And bit by bit, first Looki, who is not frightened of anything, and then Candy and finally me, went up the stairs to the roof.  Well!  What a vista!  Up there you can see cats for miles and miles!  It is one of my favourite places now.

When we first arrived and I had put Looki in his place I assumed that he was a total pushover.  How wrong was I!  For a couple of weeks he gave in to my nips and growls and I figured I was on to a winner.  Not only was I the boss of Candy, who can be soooooo irritating by the way, but also now in charge of a big boy like Looki.  However, after his initial bowing to my will, suddenly one day he decided he had had enough and what do you know!  He turned on me, bared his teeth and growled right back at me.  I was shocked!  I had him down for such a wuss, but he wasn't.  I have since discovered that he is just a very placid kind of a guy.  He had a really rough life before coming to live here so though he is not in-your-face aggressive he can, on the other hand, stand up for himself and is no pushover.  So now I just have to keep Candy in line.  She is a total flake and everybody thinks she is so cute with her little limp paw trick.  However, she is irritatingly much slimmer and more athletic than I am, so when there is a cat in the offing she can always get there quicker than me.  This really gets up my nose so I snip at her before she can get off out of the starting blocks to give me a chance to get there first, but I never will unless I can lose this spare tyre that I have.  It's really not fair.  Candy can eat all she wants and never puts on an ounce but I just have to look at a slice of bacon and it immediately hits me in the middle! 

As you can see I have my work cut out with the two clowns on the left.  Why can't they just behave like proper terriers?

Last week we all went to the vet for our vaccinations and a check up.  I heard the dreaded words:  "Too fat" and "Diet" and knew I was in for a bumpy ride for the next few weeks and now I am simply starving all the time.  I will admit that I am taking it out on that slim little madam too.  She doesn't deserve to be so slim when she can eat like a horse.  On the other hand she will also spend half the afternoon chasing her tail around like a nutcase!  Doesn't she realize it's attached to her own body and a) she'll never catch it and b) if she does it will really hurt!  I am much more sedate and ladylike and don't really like to break a sweat.  I told you, I have a pedigree as long as your arm.  It still irks me that Candy and I both have the same biological father, but I believe her mother was a bit common.  I heard stories about her in the kennels.   I could tell you a thing or two over a couple of rawhide chews.  Looki is the surprise really, a bit of a rough diamond.  I laugh sometimes when he kisses our Mary on the chin and she says "Ouch! stop biting me Looki!"  But on the other hand, he would not knowingly harm a fly.

So why am I writing this blog post today?  Well Mary is terribly busy at the moment.  She teaches here in the village from Monday to Thursday, but it does not stop there as she is also an artist and coin designer.  Some nights she stays up until way past midnight working on some design or other and right now she has another design on the boil.  There is another thing….now I feel a bit disloyal saying this….but she also has a rather nasty IKEA habit.  Whenever she can get there she is off like a whippet and comes back with all these large brown boxes.  She starts unwrapping them and then she goes to get her screwdrivers and hammer.  I can't understand it.  She seems happy enough for the most part but every so often when something does not go quite right she says words that would make a sailor shudder in his bellbottoms.

Mine is a responsible job.  Pictured here guarding my favourite people's smalls.

So at this very moment, while I am writing this, Looki and Candy are panned out on Vic's Axe-cushion in the office and Mary is in the spare bedroom hammering and swearing.  Vic is due home this week thank goodness, I miss him and I need another adult to help me keep control of everything, but for now I'm gnawing on a slim-line dog biscuit and my nails and hoping that I will hit the deadline!

Affection Seeking Westies

It occurs to me that even with the best of intentions life sometimes gets in the way of planning.  I vowed to myself to write a blog episode at least every other week but sometimes it is simply impossible as life takes its own twists and turns and takes decisions out of your hands.  Take the last few weeks for example:

On the 25^th of September an email dropped into my box, from a numismatic friend of mine.  He did not know if I had heard about the open competition to design the new British pound coin, but thought that I should enter a design or two.  I was delighted and started researching and scribbling straight away.  I did not have absolutely oodles of time, as the deadline was the 30^th of October and obviously I had to hold down my teaching job in the meantime too, but I had enough time to let my mind wander and to do some serious drawing as well.

I was getting some exciting designs together in my head and some interesting sketches on paper and enjoying the whole process.  I even asked my colleagues at the school to fill out a fun little survey for me on what Britishness meant to them.  The results gave me some very nice little avenues of exploration which I was following up on until, on the 10^th of October, I got another email in my inbox.  This one was from the Central Bank of Ireland.  I had been shortlisted for the design of one of their new coins.  As this was a shortlist and as I have designed for the CBOI successfully on several occasions I was forced to drop the pound coin challenge and apply myself to the new brief, which scarily had a deadline of the 31^st.  From experience I have found it is impossible to work on more than one design at the same time.  Everything gets watered down and concepts get confused and you usually end up with two messes, so I had to expunge all my British coin ideas from my head and go for the new design hammer and tong.  Which I was doing until my daughter Kate arrived for a visit on the morning of 16^th of October, followed later that evening by Victor.  I had promised that I would not do any work on the coin while they were there.  On the whole I did keep to this promise, though I did manage to slip away for a couple of hours on one of the days when we were all just doing our own thing. 

Kate left on the Sunday and Vic was with me until the Wednesday, obviously I had to teach as well from Monday to Thursday and was understandably knackered also.  Come Friday the 24^th I had to give myself over completely to drawing, designing and thinking and trying to get my last, and I think best, design into serious shape for my presentation.  It was a seriously large feat and I had to have my submission in the post on the Monday, by express courier at that, if I was to get it in on time.  And still in the back of my head the pound coin was lingering.

My Irish coin was finished by Saturday lunchtime and I tweaked and printed it and finished writing my concept, covering letter etc and had it all packed up and ready to go.  This was to leave me free to concentrate the remainder of the weekend on the British coin.  However by this time I was tired and having reached one deadline it was hard to rise again to tackle the second one.  My drawings were not going the way I wanted them to and my mind was awkward and numb with the euphoria of reaching one deadline.  So I poured myself a vodka and sat down with the dogs and watched rubbish telly.

On Sunday morning I sent an email to my ever-loving Victor, and told him that I thought I should throw in the towel.  I was depressed and uninspired and I had been rudely woken by the alarm when I was just negotiating terms of fidelity with George (yes, Clooney) and when I came to I of course remembered that he was now married.  A further let down!  Though for some reason my own relationship with Vic did not enter into the discussion.  Vic was wonderfully supportive about it all, though perhaps less about my 'friendship' with Mr C.  I just felt overwhelmed.  It was all too much and I had lesson plans to write and some neglected housework to catch up, not to mention a duty to rub a few Westie bellies, which brings me to the subject of this episode:  Those dogs will do anything to get one's affection, and keep it!

It's useful to have a bit of help

Or you can end up covered in dogs!

They all have their own special ways about them.  Some more subtle than others, well, none of them really subtle.  Dogs don't do subtle that well really.

As you will know by now Kerry is the vocal one so when she thinks she is being neglected she will come right out and tell me.  She will stand full square with her roly-poly body on her very short slightly bowed legs, look at me with her serious little face, tip her head back and gargle.  I usually find this so endearing that I gargle back at her, which of course means she has to reply to me.  This can go on for several back and forths and she gets more and more strident with every response.  She also starts shuffling towards me ominously every time she speaks to me.  So of course by the time her gargles have reached a pitch of fever she is at my feet and it is all rubs and cuddles. 

Of all the dogs she is the one who uses her teeth the most as well and not just for eating.  Sometimes she gets so absorbed in the loving that she nibbles your arm, but the nibbling does not hurt, in fact it is the cutest thing, done with her tiny little front teeth, it reminds me of a swan when you see them nibbling at waterweed.  She nibbles her toenails sometimes too, very endearing, and of course loves nibbling her own little dolly.  Once, when I had shorts on, she nibbled my bare leg.  Ouch!  That hurt, as she got me on a rather sensitive bit of skin, but it is clearly a nurturing nibble.  She is not hungry

When I am cooking in the kitchen it can become very dangerous with dog paws and tails underfoot, not to mention boiling pots and spitting frying pans, so I have to tell the doggies to get out or, as we have now established some ground rules, I order them to go under the cupboards. Looki is the only one who fully understands this command and does comply.  The other two sort of slouch back a step or two and sit or lie down again.   We have a fitted kitchen on legs, without a kickboard, I prefer it for cleaning and for the dogs it has become a perfect sanctuary.  When they are stressed they sometimes retreat there and, as I have just said, when I am cooking and flying about the kitchen with sharp knives and boiling water I send them under.  Well, lately, when I have sent him under Looki has developed a fake snore.  I know it is fake.  It does not sound like his usual rhythmic snoring, rather it takes the form of a sudden rather wild intake of breath, more like a snort than a snore.  I know that this is only to make sure that I remember that he is under the cupboard.  How could I forget!  I also know he is not asleep because if I drop the slightest crumb his nose and forepaws creep out immediately to see if it is something tasty.

They can all be quite in-your-face at times. If he thinks my love for him is diminishing Looki has been known to launch himself in one move from floor to couch and spread himself proprietorially across my lap, but Candy has to be the queen of direct affection.  She is the one who literally walks up you, whether you are lying in bed or slumped on the couch.  She walks directly up your body with her piercing little claws making painful indentations in your flesh the whole way up until she reaches your head.  Then, if you are not quick enough, she licks your mouth and will continue to make as much face to face contact with you at this time in order to get you to stroke her.

Another way she gets your attention is with her nose.  You might be standing in the kitchen, or sitting at your desk or on the couch and out of nowhere you get a quick double nudge in your calf.  It is quite a hard nudge with a very cold wet nose.  Bonk, bonk.  And if you ignore it, again bonk, bonk.  It is ridiculously cute and of course you are impelled to pick her up and give her a special cuddle. 

Candy also does the toe-licking thing.  I rather like it to be honest, though Vic is not partial.  She has a nice raspy tongue and I have always enjoyed a pedicure, it is rather like having your own home beautician.  And if she really needs to turn on the charm she just looks at you like an injured Bambi and lifts one forepaw up, as if to say, look at how defenceless and cute I am.  Love me!  And you do.  Oddly in recent weeks Looki seems to be learning this habit from her too, though he has yet to perfect the injured deer look.  He is still quite cute.

All of them can fall to the floor and do a full submissive roll at the drop of a hat.  Rather like those fainting goats.  Sometimes all I have to do is start bending down to tie my shoelace and they go over like dominoes.  Now having two able-bodied hands.  I can rub two bellies at one time no problem, but three takes a bit of juggling and they do get impatient waiting for their turn, so you get gargled at, nudged or snored at if you are too slow.

And all this has to be fitted in around lesson planning, coin designing, familial visits and of course blogging.  Is it any wonder I get distracted!

And so, after a bit of toe licking and tummy rubbing on that final Sunday, not to mention the housework and a spot of gardening, I took a shower, and while under the hot water, washing all thought of George out of my hair, I suddenly got an idea.  I dried myself off, got dressed and went into the office to find a drawing block.  Downstairs at the dining table I sharpened my pencils and got to work and within a couple of good working hours I had a design which was not too bad, it worked and was symbolic and to my mind beautiful.  Upstairs to the computer, I loaded it on and tweaked it and popped it into the coin template.  "Bob's your uncle!" I said.  That will do.

Me as an internationally acclaimed coin designer, showing off my last successful coin design at the Marine Institute in Oranmore, Co Galway.  Photo credit: Michael Alexander LBMRC. Thank you Michael!

Into the Abyss

I awoke this morning staring straight into a hairy arsehole. Luckily it was clean and the sphincter was firmly closed. I knew it wasn't Vic's as he is still away and it was a bit too close to know exactly which one it was, but I took a random guess and said "Oh Kerry!"  She just snuggled in tighter. I just sighed. I supposed it was time to get up anyway.

The night before had been one of those restless ones. Thunder had been in the air for several days.  Everybody was complaining of headaches and I was no exception. That was the night it came. The thunder was mild but the rain heavy. Still it did not matter how mild the thunder, our little preciousnesses were sensitive to the slightest bang, rattle or crash. I was asleep for the first rumble, but was woken by one quivering dog trying to embed herself into my armpit and another burrowing into the side of my head. We all struggled for survival for a good while and finally they settled. Kerry was on my shoulder and Candy on my head. As I lay, helplessly trapped in a sort of strange 'S' shape I could hear gentle snoring from underneath the bed. Good old Looki, he never really gets his knickers in a twist. I tried to drift off but that was when the rain came crashing down and the wind whipped the curtain up and out of the patio door. It was quite exciting, but I figured rest was going to be difficult that night and so it was. The girls milled around the bed, up and down it, back and forth, off it and back on it!  In and out the flapping curtain they went. Flickering flashes of lightening were followed by rumbles of growling thunder. All this action to the rhythmic ghrrrrrr, ghrrrrrr, of Looki's gentle purring.

Looki never gets his knickers in too much of a twist

All I could do really was give myself up to it and hope that the following day would not be too taxing.....

I awoke to....well, you know what.  I knew it wasn't going to be a great day, I didn't realize then how awful it was in fact going to be. Bleary-eyed I staggered to the bathroom, everything was done on autopilot including the rubbing of Looki's ears. Downstairs, open the backdoor, The Charge of the Light Brigade went one way and I groped my way back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. I heard the familiar trotting toes on the tiles.  He looked at me with his head tipped quizzically to one side "Hello there mum, are we having a cup of tea then?" and in the same breath  "Are we not going for a walk this morning?" These dogs were born to make me feel guilty.  "No. We're not going for a wall, ok? I just don't have the energy today and I'm not making tea either.  It's a large pot of coffee for ME!"  Guilt, guilt, guilt.  But then being born an Irish Catholic I do guilt very well, I've had plenty of practice.

Luckily for me it was a Saturday and guilt notwithstanding we could just slouch around the house for most of the day. 

Candy does 'slouching' pretty well

The ring at the doorbell said otherwise!  How could I have forgotten?  The electrician was coming to finish off the electrics in the house, finally!  We have only been waiting the best part of five years.  Of course the dogs went bonkers at the first ding dong of the bell and all of them went haring through the house to see who was at the door.  Kerry always seems to lead these expeditions and has the most piercing bark of the three.  At the front of the house we have a front door, not surprisingly.  It leads into a porchway entrance with an iron gate opening onto steps down to the street.  In this vicinity it is essential for security and anyway, living on my own for so much of the time it is great as it means that I can actually open the front door and speak with whoever is there.  Obviously if I know them I let them in, but if it is some random ticket seller, salesman or beggar I can just send them on their way and they never get a foot in the door so to speak.  Now that we have our little furry darlings it is doubly great because it keeps them from running out onto the road.

When I start opening the door fat little Kerry always tries to squeeze through before it is open enough, she is like a tube of toothpaste, squished in the middle, her fat little tummy stopping the flow and she usually has to back up a bit so that I can open the door fully for her.  Then all the dogs welcome whoever is there.  Once the initial greeting is over I have to drive them all back into the house with a stern "back, back" or  "in the house" command.  They are all very good and do as they are told.  Only then can I open the front gate and allow the visitor, in this instance Pepe the electrician, into the 'decompression chamber' of our front porch.  Once the gate is safely locked again I can open the front door and let the jumping, barking, Westie adoration commence.  Of course this is fine if you only have one or two people calling at the same time.  Four can be a bit of a squeeze in the front porch and six, as discovered recently when we had some Irish visitors, can be downright intimate.  Luckily we are old friends.

Pepe is a very pleasant man.  Petite and with a little spiky moustache and goatee.  He is always dressed in a sort of electrician's uniform and makes me think of a miniature army general.  However, while his initial impression is one of brisk efficiency one soon realizes that where Pepe goes, chaos follows.  Whenever he does one thing he invariably manages to break something else or lose a screw or put a switch on upside down, so it all has to be taken apart and done again.  This was his third and final visit.  I had decided that already, finished or not!  He arrived at nine and I will admit I almost threw him out of the door at one.  In between I could do absolutely nothing of my own. 

He is one of those men who demand your full attention while he is working.  He likes to give a running commentary on how the electrics work.  Now I am not averse to this as it helps me understand how the whole house is put together and that is useful as well as interesting to me. However there are limits.  Our previous electrician it appears left quite a lot to be desired though and to be fair Pepe has inherited a right mess of wiring and junction boxes as well as two fuse boxes to navigate his way through.  An outside back porch light became an impossibility when he simply could not find out where the wall tubes for threading the wires led to and the wire he uses to lead the way just went on and on into infinity when he tried to do an exploratory 'dig' on a previous visit.

While Pepe was working I found that as long as I was sitting in his near vicinity, fiddling with my Ipad or rubbing dog bellies he got on more or less quietly with the job.  The minute I wandered off and picked up a broom or had just immersed my hands in dishwater he would call me for some reason or other.  "Go upstairs and turn on the bathroom light."  "Where are the materials that Antonio left for me?" "Go back and turn the bathroom light off."  "Do you have this or do you have that?" Until I really was losing the will to live and whenever I stomped off back up the stairs for yet another thing I found myself clenching my hands into fists, which dearly wanted to punch his lights out.  Now I am not usually a violent person, but there is something about the chaos that Pepe produces that drives me absolutely nuts. 

There are always plenty of bellies to rub

Just to add to the chaos and to make the day even more exhausting Candy also had got wind of a cat and every ten minutes or so, just to liven things up, she would jump up and dart out the back door, Kerry would of course start barking like mad and dart after her and Looki would follow until he got just outside the door and then look bewildered and wander back into the house.  Of course Candy ended up covered in leaves and burrs again with her tongue lolling and her eyes rolling wildly with cat-lust!

I had had no opportunity to even grab a bite for breakfast and only noticed the clock when it was already nearly twelve: dog dinnertime.  My own stomach was gurgling madly as I prepared lunch for the dogs.  Of course Pepe required my assistance halfway though the preparation, which only confused and excited the dogs even more as they could smell their dinner by that time and were also getting hungry.

By one o'clock I had only had one cup of tea.  Pepe finished adapting the latch of the fuse box, which he had managed to break in the final moment as he replaced the plastic cover over the fuses.  He asked me if that was everything crossed off my list.  I lied and said 'yes', while mentally making a note of the little finishings that I could do or Vic could do on his next visit home and I virtually bustled the little man out of the front door with a happy farewell and a wish for a lovely weekend!  I closed the door and silently screamed.  The dogs jumped up and tried to lick me on the mouth.

Back in the living room, where most of the activity had taken place I surveyed the damage.  Scattered wires everywhere, the tiny clippings especially painful if trodden upon in bare feet.  A heavy shelf unit pulled out from the wall.  Pulled out together I would now have to push it back into place by myself.  Torn bits of cardboard where Pepe had opened a box of parts, a few screws which should have gone into the sockets or light switches somewhere but never made it, random bits of rubble and dust and a fusebox door hanging ever so slightly ajar.  Some things would never again be the same. 

At this moment a thought occurred to me.  Waking up beside an arsehole was a whole lot better than having to deal with one for the greater part of my day….

It started with a list

This morning I made a list.  I live my life by lists.  I love them.  If I have one regret it is that I also carefully throw my lists away when they are all crossed off, or at least when the tasks left undone are carried over to a new one.  I wish I had kept every list I had ever made.  It would have made a spectacular piece of art as it would chronicle my daily tasks, done or not done.  The tasks would change, depending on the day and the epoch, but the old dependables would show up time after time giving my life a backdrop of stability.  Wash the dishes, clear the table, do wash, hang wash, fold wash, do shopping (and then there would have to be a shopping list made – a whole other installation), make bed, have shower, go for walk etc etc.  When I am working there are work related tasks of course; write lesson plans 1, 2, and 3, make numbers flashcards, laminate Snakes and Ladders game, seek animals/clothing/food worksheets and so on and so forth.  Since the little Westies came to live with us I have many Westie related chores added also.  Clean bottoms, trim eyes, wash beards, clean Looki's ears, cook chicken, sweep up dust-bunnies beneath the stairs, clean up sick/pee/unidentifiable splodge on carpet, rub tummies. (ok, ok I don't really put that on the list, it just happens naturally)

Today I made a list.  It included the usuals; do white wash, do coloured wash, clean loo, clean up sick in guest room, email Pepe about the stair railings, wash dishes…..

The day did not get off to a good start as this morning, while out for our morning amble, just as I let the little beasts off their leads Candy decided she wanted to chase the biggest black cat I have ever seen.  She is very quick at the best of times and she dived headlong into the thick scrub before I could stop her.  Kerry went in pursuit and Looki brought up the rear.  I actually did fear for the cat to be honest as the three form quite an indomitable pack.  There was nothing I could do about it all anyway as once the girls get the scent they do not hear me or do not wish to and i was not going to venture into an unknown terrain, so I just had to wait for them to come back.  Looki was the first to return and I put him firmly on his lead as his eyes were rolling and his tongue lolling and that is a bad sign for wandering.  Then Kerry trotted back to me, cool as a cucumber.  She is fine, apart from rockets so I just told her to stay with me and knew she would.  I could hear Candy crashing about in the thicket and I could hear a cat hissing and a bit of yelping.  Finally the crashing started coming towards me and Candy emerged from the savannah.  Up a tree in the distance I noted the black silhouette of the, now safe, cat.  He was staying firmly put.  Candy was panting wildly but now also happy to follow me, but what was wrong with her face?  It was all sort of scrunched up on one side.  I took a closer look.  Ah! Burrs!  Well there was another vital chore added to my list and let me tell you deburring is no simple task.

A crazy-eyed Candy with a face full of burrs

 At about four o'clock I finally got round to filling the sink with hot water and suds to wash the dishes.  Three hours later I emptied the sink and not a dish had been washed.  You see I also have a problem with straight lines.  Life does not go in a straight line and neither do I.  It's one of the reasons that we went from no Westies to three within as many months I suppose.  It's why I never figured out how to get pregnant within wedlock, but have two lovely children anyway.  It's why I sometimes do the gardening in my best frock, because I got ready to go out and then lost myself in the garden somehow 'just pulling up a few weeds'.  The bonfire was just a natural trajectory of all the garden waste and needed doing.  If I arrive late with a few smudges of soot on my face/hands/best frock my friends aren't even bothered enough to mention it now.

So today, when I had intended to do the dishes, after several hours of Westie deburring, snipping, hacking and tutting, I decided, for no apparent reason that it was time to wash all the tumblers, glasses, wineglasses and flutes, which were thick with dust and some rubble since the builders left.  In addition, while I had them all off the shelves in the living room it made no sense to put them back again, not there anyhow, as I had decided to move them onto Vic's Whisky shelves in his little Whisky snug beside the kitchen. 

It made more sense.  Every time I want to make a drink or just pour a glass of water I have to traipse all the way into the living room and then back to the kitchen or snug to pour it.  As we have a very long thin house, this can take quite a chunk out of your busy day although it is good exercise both for me and the little doggies, because sure as eggs is eggs if I make the journey from one end of the house to the other at least one if not three little furballs follow me, their little toenails clip clippy clipping on the tiled floors.  It makes me feel like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, but then I am undeniably the leader of the pack. 

I am always amused by the way they operate.  Sometimes, as I say, they just follow me doggedly up and down, literally on my heel.  At other times they seem to lie in wait in the hope that I will pass by and rub a proffered belly, which of course I can never resist and why should I?

Today was no different and as I passed up and down the passageway between kitchen and living room there were dogs positioned in various spots along the way.  Looki alternated between underneath the kitchen units where he lies with just his nose and moustache sticking out to let me know he is there and his dog cage, which is his little sanctuary.  He goes there sometimes when he has had enough of the girls and perhaps of my walking up and down the corridor.  Candy for the most part was lying half in and half out of the toilet doorway looking a bit hacked at to be sure, but delightful all the same, seemingly asleep and yet whenever I came close to her she would automatically roll over to show me her soft, irresistible underbelly for me to rub.  Which of course, I did.  It also gave me a chance to find yet another catchy burr that I had missed.  Kerry is the most self contained of the three and she preferred to spend most of the afternoon on her big cushion on the living room floor with her little dolly held close in her arms.

Kerry having a snooze with her little dolly xx

 I think that they must think I am mad as I trot up and down and up and down.  "Why on earth does she not just sit down all day with us to rub our bellies and ruffle our ears.  Why does she always have to be rushing around?"

By now I had an empty shelf in the living room beside the fireplace.  What would logically work there?  The answer came to me on one of my trips down the passageway.  I passed by the two great CD towers that I had proudly bought from Ikea, which despite their narrowness did not fit any nook or corner in the living room, so instead have found a home on a corner of the passageway.  They actually work quite well there, though it is a bit strange having the CDs in the hall.  Beside the two towers were three other huge stacks of CDs that did not fit on the shelves anyway nor in any other box that we possessed when they arrived on Vic's container well over a year ago now.  And so they have sat, cluttering up the hallway and providing a urinal of sorts for Looki.  That was during the time he was mapping out and marking his territory when he was new here.  I have washed the floor around them many times, but it is never satisfactory and they really needed to be moved.  So my many journeys back and forth now contained not only glasses coming one way, but CDs going the other and all the while a Westie or two happily skipping along at my heel.

Two tall CD towers on a corner in a long thin house

Of course, all the glasses had to be washed and dried first and all the CDs had to be wiped down and some of them inspected more thoroughly for weewee stains.  RIP Bruce and the Rolling Stones.  Sorry Vic! The shelves in the living room had to be washed and wiped and the shelf in the Whisky snug had to be dusted and polished.  And so it was done.  Slowly, but surely the glasses began to sparkle once more and one by one fitted perfectly into the allocated shelf of Vic's Whisky cabinet.  And at the other end of the house the CDs began to mount up on the simple shelves built into the side of the fireplace in the living room.  It seemed to be purpose built as it took exactly four towers of CDs side by side.

Happy but exhausted I finally sank into the sofa cushions and as if from nowhere three happy little Westies sprang onto my lap.  In my own mind I acknowledged that 'washing the dishes' would now slip onto tomorrow's list and as I rubbed three little bellies my fingers caught on just one sticky burr.  That must be Candy I thought as I drifted into a satisfied sleep. 

Back to School and Sleeping Arrangements

It is less than three weeks since the builders departed and slowly but surely our life returns to 'normal'.  I resumed teaching on Monday and after my first day jitters, with the promise of a large G&T when I got home, everything has fallen alarmingly quickly back into place and it almost feels like the summer never was.  I will have a little bit of extra work for the first couple of weeks it is true, a) because books have not yet been allocated and b) because I am still organizing my classroom. 

Last year I started halfway through the year and was sharing a classroom with Rose.  This year I am 'full time' and have my own room so I get to decorate it as and how I wish and stock it with crayons and scissors arranged the way I think best.  Not that there was anything wrong with the way Rose had the room organized, far from it, I think that Rose is a wonderful teacher and wonderfully organized, it is just that everybody has their own individual style and it is important to find that style and use it in your class and in your teaching.

In spite of coping with the new term my life feels deliciously unstressful at present.  Possibly as it is simply calmer now without the dreaded builders cramping my style. 

Of course the doggies do have to get used to our new schedule:

I am here every morning, bar the odd foray out to buy food or stationary supplies.  We rise and go for our walk and on return have our yoghurt.  Then I am pottering around the house, upstairs and downstairs with a fleet of hounds trailing in my wake wherever I go.  When I sit at my desk they arrange themselves somewhere beneath me or around me, depending on their mood, and their gentle snoring fills the air, unless a cat yowls or a child shrieks outside, then it is up and barking like lunatics for a couple of minutes, until they tire of that game and arrange themselves once more and start dreaming peacefully again.

Gentle snoring fills the air,  but where will I put my feet?

This continues throughout the morning and in fact until a quarter to three when I depart the house for school.  Then they give me those long sad faces and slink away into dark places under cupboards or behind wardrobes.  So even though we have been together all day so far and I have stopped my work many times to give them cuddles and tummy rubs on demand, I leave feeling like a complete shit!

Upon my return however, they simply go berserk with happiness.  Looki is by far the best jumper.  In fact he is the only one who actually jumps up and down.  Alarmingly he springs higher and ever higher.  I'm sure one day he will succeed in kissing my face from a standing jump.  Kerry stands right up on her little back legs.  She looks so like a performing dog that all she needs is one black eye and a little ruff around her neck.  Her fat tummy is stuck out proudly in front, her nipples arranged like brass buttons down her waistcoat.  Candy is a total love thug who just scrambles over everybody and everything in order to get to me.  She never waits her turn or cares whose back, head or face she steps on in the process.  In this fashion I push my way back into the house again. 

The evening is usually quiet and sedate with the little fluffy whitenesses never straying far from my ankles, anxious that I should not be temped to leave them all alone again.  We watch a bit of rubbish TV, for Candy of course.  We might write an email or two or at times I have to do a bit of work preparation for the next day's teaching.  However, as the evening draws to a close there is a visible sense of excitement and every time I have to go to the loo or refresh my drink or make a cup of tea or any task that takes me closer to the stairs they swell like a wave and you can almost hear them holding their little Westie breaths.  "Will she, won't she?"  They whisper inaudibly.

A little bit of TV for Candy

Finally they get their reward and I say the magic words "Ok guys, it's time for bed!"

Ah bed!  The minute those words are out of my mouth twelve tippy little feet jump into gear and are up the stairs in a flash.  When I arrive in the bedroom they are already slotting themselves into their early nighttime positions.  Looki is under my mother's old chest of drawers, Candy on the green cushion, which was bought originally for Looki when he was an only-child and Kerry takes a stroll out onto the balcony to survey the demesne for cats. 

I prepare myself for bed.  I go into the ensuite to brush my teeth.  It always makes me smile when I think of when the house was just finished for the first time and Victor saying to me, "I've never had a bathroom in my bedroom before" and I replied "neither have I."  This is the time of night for those very sweet reminiscences.

Candy follows me in and lies down under the wash hand basin while I brush.  I sit on the toilet.  She comes over to me and pokes my leg with her nose.  "Love me" she says.  So I do.  Candy is very needy, but so am I, so we fit together pretty well.  Then I get undressed, turn out the light and pop into bed.  Exhausted, I stretch my legs diagonally across the bed, while I have it to myself.  The room is bright enough with street lights and house lights across the way to see, albeit dimly.  I can easily make out three white forms.  One is on the green cushion, another half in and half out of the chest of drawers, a third lies with her head resting on the door frame of the balcony door.  We all drift into unconsciousness.

They sleep anywhere they fit

I don’t sleep as heavily as I used to and dogs, not ours, wake me an hour or so later.  There has been a change of position.  Now Kerry is magically curled up in my arms like a spoon and Candy is on the throw on the foot of the bed and wedged between my two feet.  The boy is out on the balcony.  I can hear him snoring.  I rub Kerry's tummy and we drift off again.  Those blessed dogs!  I awake once more!  This time it is the same dogs to the back of us barking frantically and there are men shouting too.  Kerry is now lying behind me and Looki is on the green cushion.  Candy is nowhere to be seen, but I suspect she is not far.

Some locations are temporary

Once more we fall back to sleep only to be woken a short time later by a loud bang!  Damnation!  Kerry jumps up alarmed and dives under the bed.  Looki walks briskly across the room and dips under the chest of drawers and Candy starts barking her head off and running around in circles.  I tell her to stop it and come to me for a cuddle.  She jumps onto the bed and I try to put my arms around her but instead she jumps on top of my head and then tries to burrow right into my hair.  Eventually she starts to settle and wants to lick my face.  She firmly sits on my head.  I sigh and she jumps down again, chases her tail a couple of times and then curls up on the green cushion.  Peace reigns again.

Candy does like cushions

I awake to perfect peace.  Kerry is once again in my arms, this time with her bottom in my face, I rub her tummy. "Good morning" I whisper.  Candy is stretched down the back of me and as I roll over and say "good morning" to her Looki pokes his head in through the balcony curtain and smiles at me.  He jumps up onto the bed and creeps toward me with his bottom high in the air.  We have great cuddles and then he starts going bonkers and starts burrowing into the side of my body and burrowing up and down the bed making a right dog's dinner of the bedding.  Egged on by him Kerry starts the same tactic until I have to get up out of bed.  The love is great, but they have very hard heads and the sheets are a mess. 

On my way to the bathroom I tousle Candy's head.  Being the perpetual teenager she is still zonked with sleep, it will take her at least another three minutes to start running around desperately looking for cats.  

A Westie made bed