Hot Dogs.

It's hot…. and bit by bit we are getting into summer mode.

Kerry gets into summer mode

First it began by leaving the bathroom window open at night.  Next the over-quilt on the bed was washed, folded neatly and stored in the wardrobe.  Then the duvet was packed away.  One by one the dogs began sleeping under the bed, under the chest of drawers or on the cool floor by the bed.  They only come onto the bed now for a goodnight cuddle, but quickly hop off and find somewhere cooler to sleep.  I have no complaints, I get to stretch out delightfully under my single sheet and drift off to the sound of gypsy guitars wafted in on a slightly cooler night-breeze.  Not that I ever get a full night's sleep during the summer months.  With the window open every bang or cat yowl sets the dogs off.  Kerry starts the barking first, followed by Candy doing her lunatic kangaroo hopping and finally Looki joins in with his deep booming bark.  A bark that is much too big for his little body.

Speaking of his body….

Just lately, and I think it may be the heat too, he has become noticeably more aggressive towards some male dogs.  Generally I have found him to be easy-going enough with all the dogs we meet on our walks, but have just noticed this slight change in his behaviour over the past two weeks.  So I did a bit of reading:  first of all I am making efforts to reestablish my place as pack leader, just in case he is getting a bit too big for his little Westie boots.  He has to sit and stay now more often, for example for food and when I go up the stairs.  He is very good really, so I don’t think that is the problem.  Perhaps there is a bitch in season somewhere, perhaps he is feeling sexually frustrated, perhaps he is too hot, perhaps he is just getting older and turning into a grumpy old man.  Whatever the reason, I finally googled "castration for the older dog" and have discovered that though it may only reduce his ardour and aggression it will certainly be beneficial for his testicular/prostate situation in later years.  So I spoke to one of our lovely vets and she thought it a good idea too, especially as he is now 9 years old and if I leave it too late there will of course be more risk involved in the actual operation. 

Looki looking less than aggressive -  cooling down on the tiles

So I took the plunge and he is booked in for his op on the 20^th of July.  I was nearly in tears when I left the vets.  Looki has not yet twigged and whenever I look into his lovely brown eyes this joke keeps running through my brain.

This is one of my all-time favourite jokes from that Master of the Far-Side, Gary Larson

And during the day the dogs are visibly hotter.  They pant a lot more and even though we go for our walk early in the morning when it is at its coolest, they drag on the way home and flop onto the cool tile floor the minute we step through the front gate.  Their water bowl has become their constant companion and they lie around a lot more during the day…. more than usual.  These dogs are not exactly Border Collies but I do expect a little bit of activity.

They lie around all over the place

When they venture into the garden they seem very relieved to come back inside again and they seek out the strangest (coolest) little corners of the house.  The couch and the cushions are largely ignored.  Looki's favourite spot is beneath the second couch on the bare tiles, all you can see is his nose and bristly moustache sticking out sometimes, though he does do a bit of fake snoring if he thinks he is being neglected.

This afternoon I was on the couch, which is always my personal favourite place of choice winter or summer, reading the paper and Kerry was under the fireplace, a very nice cool cave where they all take turns, Looki was under his couch and Candy was wedged between the floor cushion, the wall column, the back wall and the tv.  It must have been cool, but I did not think she looked that comfy.

under the fireplace

As well as being hot it is also very dusty and so I decided it was time to give them all a bath.  Well, it was Looki who started it all off as he had had a runny bottom and was a bit messy around his rear-end as well as being dusty.  I started the shower.  Usually they all come running to watch the crazy lady douse herself with water.  They all have their places in the bathroom too.  Looki on the bath mat, Candy under the sink on the dog towel and Kerry, always erring on the side of caution under the chest of drawers….er…..  just outside the bathroom door.  This day they must have sensed something and I had to drag Looki up the stairs and into the bathroom.  Candy followed us and I closed the door.

They all behave as if I am dragging them into an acid bath instead of nice, mildly warm water, where they will get their bodies soaked and then rubbed and stroked and generally taken care of.  They get their little furry bottoms washed and Looki even gets his balls rubbed.  Though the next time may well be the last time for that pleasure. 

So Looki stands there, trying to edge away the whole time.  I wet him thoroughly and he stands with his head hanging down with sufferance written in the downward tilt of his ears.  Dirt flows off him and then I reach for his own, specially medicated shampoo, as he is slightly prone to Westie skin.  I lather him up, clean his bum and rub his balls.  He stares at the drain hole looking as if he wishes it would suck him away from this terrible place.  It is only a five minute affair, I rinse him and then I put the shower-head down and I tell him to have a good shake.  He does not really need to be bidden.  Then it is frenetic rubbing along the bathmat and the towels I have lined up on the floor, plus I rub him dry from the top.  From there he is let out of the bathroom to rub at will, along the bedroom carpet, around the skirt of the bed, along the tiled floor, which must hurt and can't dry very much.  Then I close the bathroom door again just as Candy thinks she is going to make her escape. 

Same scenario for dog number two minus the balls and I'm exhausted.  Kerry is nowhere to be seen so I call it a day.  Besides my back is killing me.  I have never found a really comfortable position for washing dogs.  Which is probably why I don't do it as often as I should.  Though I sort of hold to the Geldof notion of natural oils, especially for dogs.  In fact, only for dogs.

It was two days later that I finally had an opening in my busy schedule; remember the gardening, home-improvements and legalisation of said home.  In addition I have also enrolled for the summer onto a language exchange programme.  It's very jolly actually and I am already getting to know a whole new swathe of people who inhabit these same few square miles as I do. 

But I digress, something I do regularly and with glee.

Two days later I finally got round to bathing Kerry.  It was high time as she has been even more prone to rolling in the yellow sand in the park than usual…it must be the heat.  So I had been walking two lovely sparkling white dogs and one bright yellow one.  She looked even more yellow because the other two were so clean.

I turned on the shower and organized towels and shampoo and then went on the hunt for Kerry.  She hid.  I managed to entice her upstairs eventually with a biscuit, but she craftily managed to get herself wedged under the bathroom shelves.  Not only was she wedged, but Candy, who one never thinks has any sort of feelings towards her sister as she is a rather self indulgent kind of creature, crept under the shelves with her and curled herself around Kerry so that I could not drag the two of them out.  She even put her little head over Kerry's back and looked at me as if to say "you're not pouring acid over my sister too".

I had to laugh of course, before I manfully told Candy to leave the room and then pretended I was not looking so that Kerry, thinking it was safe, crept out from her safe place too, only to be nabbed by me and  steered towards the water.  I managed to give her a lovely bath and could literally see the whole park streaming off her fur when I rinsed her.  Once washed she went through the whole drying ritual and then got her biscuit.

Mind you I don't really know why I bother as now they all have filthy, sticky moustaches again.  Really filthy!  I think they do it on purpose. They must wipe their little Westie faces in dark mud just to get that clean feel off them.  I wouldn't mind except for the fact that they all, given the chance, love to lick me full on the mouth!  I don’t give them opportunity very often, though Candy, who has the longest tongue you ever saw has got me right on the smacker once or twice. Mind you she usually has to pin me onto the couch first, something she is quite happy to do.

Fancy that, I got through a whole blog without mentioning that I finally managed to clear the back-log of shredding and produced 21 large buckets of mulch/compost.  Oh fancy that, I just managed to get it in after all.  Happy summer!

Lovely Looki, oblivious to his impending doom!

Zig-zag

Nothing in my life ever moves in a straight line.  Every time I think I've ironed it out and am steering a straight course for my goal something comes up.  It's not a complaint, just an observation. 

Take the last couple of weeks for example.  There I was gaily motoring though the gardening and looking forward to the summer holidays when I will really get a chance to get stuck in, not to mention all the art and poetry I am going to make while I am about it. (Yes I know, I do set myself impossible goals!)  When all of a sudden I had to drop it all and shoot off to Ireland.  Not that it wasn't planned, but I kept trying to push the travel date away as I am not the keenest of flyers and anyway I wanted to get all the garden shredding done first. 

On the other hand it was a very nice visit.  The occasion was the launch of my WB Yeats coin by the Central Bank of Ireland at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin.  I went with some trepidation as I had not seen the finished coin and there were some minor hiccoughs along the way with the making of the design.  When I saw the coin I was absolutely delighted.  It has turned out beautifully and I felt very proud to be the centre of attention at the party.  I had to give a little speech and even though I had written it on the plane in a bit of a rush I was quite pleased with it and it was well received by the people attending.  It was a lovely affair, with poetry readings, speeches and songs.  There was food and wine in abundance and I met some old acquaintances and made some new ones.

I was very pleased with the result

Not wasting a moment after the launch, I had a lift to Cork with some dear friends of mine who had taken the time to come up and support me.  So after a 6.00am wake-up call and a long day flying and launching I arrived in Cork at around 11.30 at night.  Of course I could not go straight to bed, instead I had to share a glass of wine with my daughter, Kate, AKA 'the couch potato', Looki's best friend.

We spent the next few days gaily chatting, shopping, cooking, chatting, eating, receiving visitors and chatting and on Sunday I was once again speeding back home to write my usual weekly lesson plans and pick up where I had left off.  It has taken me the whole week to get somewhat back on track.  It is always the same, once you are knocked off course it is very hard to get back onto it as there are always a million and one other little things to attend to before you are cruising again. 

On arrival the Westies had to be received of course.  This time they had stayed with the lovely Lourdes and her husband Rob.  Before this they have gone to Posh Pets, where, I hasten to say, they are very well looked after, but Lourdes and Rob mind them in their own home and they get to sleep on sofas in the house, which is of course what my pampered pooches are used to.  Lesson plans had to be written as I mentioned, emails caught up on, unpacking and washing of clothes, stowing away of items and supplies purchased in Ireland - the important things like poo bags and selfie sticks.  The latter was a gift from Kate.  I still have not used it, nor even worked out how to, but that is something that I can do in my own time, no rush.  I don’t really have time for any navel gazing right now.  When will I ever?

Not that they are hard done by at Posh Pets - this was their last grooming day and the two girls seem right at home!

Inevitably the Westies needed and still need lots and lots of cuddles to make up for my absence.  It was plain that they had had a lovely time though.  Lourdes and Rob lost their two Westies earlier this year.  They were quite old, but it was a bit of a shock for them both to go so close together.  I think that they enjoyed having my naughty crew.  They took photos of them and kept seeing things that their two, Merlin and Chloe, used to do.  They could all have been cast from the same mould, except for Candy of course, luckily they threw away the mould when they made her. 

One of Lourdes' photos - They seem quite happy in their home-from-home

She is a one off for sure and I don’t think the world could take another Candy.  She is always causing some ruckus or other.  Today for example she had a tummy upset.  She did not eat this morning and all day long her tummy was making ominous gurglings.  Without going into too much detail, she managed to expel whatever it was finally and had a late lunch.  Just before my Irish trip she had managed to hurt her foot.  I don’t know if she had a thorn stuck in it (I could see nothing) or had twisted it, but she was quite lame and licking at it all the time.  One morning I even left her at home while I walked the other two as she was so bad, but after a couple of days, just when I thought I may have to take her to the vet, she was right as rain again.  The day after I returned she managed to fall from the upper garden level (perhaps a height of two to three metres), probably chasing that darned rat.  Luckily she slithered all the way down, rather than falling and as I was below, picking up poo as it happens, I managed to extricate her from the ledge she became wedged on.  Nothing was broken.

Candy, they broke the mould!  At Lourdes' and Rob's

In spite of all the extra-curricular stuff in my life I seem to have got the gardening somewhat back on track.  Of course now I have to attack the weeds again as suddenly they are up to my knees once more.  But at least I seem to have got the hang of the shredder in spite of my initial fears.  In fact it was not as horrific as I had thought at all.  You do have to be patient and careful not to overfeed it.  It is also a good idea to have a bit of a mixture of stuff, grasses and thicker twigs and branches.  If it seems to have a bit of trouble digesting a hard twig for example a bit of dry grass helps it go through and vice versa.  Nothing happens quickly but on the other hand I suddenly have, as if from nowhere, 17 large, builder-size, buckets of mulch and my new flowerbed is fast filling with a nice layer of humus.  Topsoil is ordered and next weekend may indeed see me filling the new bed with the little trees and cuttings that are waiting in line.

A bucket of mulch

With a bit of luck we may also be free of fiestas next weekend.  Not that I don't enjoy them but it’s the darned rockets that go off every hour on the hour.  This weekend has been 'Día de Jesús.'  Jesus' Day.  We have already had one Día de Jesús this year, but that was organized by the Green Church.  This one was organized by the Purple Church.  (There are three churches in our town, a topic for another day I think.) Jesus' Day can last between three to five days!!  If the Greens let off rockets every two hours, starting at nine in the morning, the Purples have to let theirs off every hour, starting at half past seven!  The Greens finished their 'day' with a full firework display if I remember rightly, so tonight we may be in store for some of the same.*  The two churches are always in competition with each other.  If one fires ten rockets the other has to fire twenty. 

Luckily we get up early for our walk this weather because once the rockets start, Kerry takes to the downstairs loo where she spend all day squished between the side-wall and the pedestal.   When I stop in passing to say hello she looks at me with haunted little eyes and a pinched face as if to say "when will this all be over mum?"  It is starting to smell like a zoo in there.  Candy does her maniacal running up and down the house, barking and bouncing on her two back legs at every rocket.  Yesterday she even did a poo in the hall from a combination of sheer fright and violent bouncing.  She must be exhausted from it.  Looki goes under the couch if I am on it, the bed if I am in it or under the kitchen cabinets if I am cooking.  He also looks at me with his big soulful eyes more often and extricates from me lots of extra cuddles.  They are all good at that though.

And through it all I weed and I shred, I blog and I try to write some poetry.  The perpetual lesson plans have to be written of course and bingo games made for the kiddies, though gleefully this is our last week before we break up for our summer hols which means eleven glorious weeks of garden time, Westie time and creative time.  But do you know something? In spite of all the great lurches and sideswipes and ups and downs of this life, every day I wake up with a smile on my face.  My life is good and I am happier than I have ever been.  But then who would not be happy if the first thing they saw every morning was a grinning Westie face just before it tries to burrow into your side and push you out of bed.  Happy days!

*and yes indeed!  We got a magnificent and noisy firework display after two in the morning!  At least after that everything went blissfully quiet and we all got some sleep.

My very first Agapanthus flower.  Just waiting for its bucket of mulch

Shredding the Night Away

I'm staking out the great big compost heap, which has been there for a year at least and never seems to diminish, it only grows bigger and ever bigger. Looki is staking me out.  I look up and he is at the top of the galvanized metal steps staring at me intently.  As I work he occasionally trots towards me as if to say "Isn't it time for dinner mum?" Looki is always on the make.  Candy is staking out some creature inside the heap.  It moves about a fair bit whatever it is.  I hear ominous rustling from time to time. From her lofty vantage point on the living room terrace Kerry stakes out Candy… and Looki …and me.  She is also staking out every cat within the boundaries of her vision – which is quite far.

The compost heap is the bane of my existence at the moment.  Nothing sees to rot quickly in spite of the heat.  I think it is the lack of moisture.  In Ireland I had the opposite problem.  The lack of heat and copious rain led to a disgusting heap of vile smelling sludge whenever I tried to compost.  To be fair, I think that composting has been the bane of my existence always!  Composting is an art and one I have yet to master. 

Ominous heap (dead centre of picture)

So last year we bought a garden shredder/chipper.  I was all set to shred everything as it came off the trees and shrubs so that I could use the chippings as a mulch.  However there are always a million and one other jobs to do and if the truth be known I am a bit afraid of the shredder. Some years ago I watched the film 'Fargo' and the chipper scene has had rather a lasting effect on me.  Vic did try it out once (the shredder that is, not a scene reenactment!), the last time he was here.  He found it quite difficult to master and advised stout boots, heavy gloves, overalls and a full face-mask.  Needless to say, the shredding did not get very far on that occasion and when I do gird my loins finally it's going to be quite a palaver.

So I have put it off and off until yesterday when I began the big bed clearance.  The compost heap is on the exact spot that I am building another large flowerbed.  It is strategically placed to form a link between the lower and the upper gardens.  I already have little saplings and shrubs and cuttings to put into it, but they are all waiting in buckets and pots or corners of flowerbeds until the bed is cleared and filled with earth.  So now that I have finally finished the lower level terracing (yes, I have!) there is nothing standing in my way of clearing and finishing the bed and getting it planted…except the shredder and the vivid memory of snow and blood.

Lower level terracing complete!  Looks lovely!

Looki has moved to a shady spot close behind me where he lies forlornly in the sand and rubble. He tries to look hungry and I have to look before stepping back so as not to tread on a paw.  Candy has moved to his former spot at the top of the steps and has her head wedged between the top step and the earth, peering intently through a mound of sticky weeds which I will spend the rest of the evening pulling off her fur.  She will still go to bed with a goodly sprinkling of sticky burrs, which will torment her and me the whole night through.  The creature that is now inside the steps teases and tantalises her.  Kerry has disappeared.  I imagine her like the queen bee lying in the coolness of the house on her big floor cushion, snoring gently with her little dolly between her front paws.

Looki puts on his 'hungry' face

Nothing has happened easily in this house, nor the garden and as I peel back layer after layer of dusty, partly decomposed vegetation I get speared and pranged, stung and bitten.  Everything then has to be carried up the steps to the upper part of the garden where the shredder is.  I am taking the opportunity to separate the softer stuff from the branches as there are two functions on our marvelous, state-of-the-art shredder, one for shredding and one for chipping.  I have another reason to be a bit nervous.  The wood which once was supple is now so dry that it is hard as a rock and I am certain that I will blunt the blades on the first go and probably burn the motor out in the process.  But we will have to see.  Perhaps I am only imagining the worst-case scenario to protect me from the slow and tedious work that lies before me.

"Baby steps" I keep reminding myself.  "Slow but sure wins the race" I tell myself. "Just keep on moving forward, one foot in front of the other."  I have all those promotional posters and sayings taped up on the inside of my brain.  My mantras for dealing with the stings and the scratches, the bruised calves and the aching muscles.  I am doggedly determined though and I know I will get there…eventually.

You've got to break eggs to make omelettes.  Things got a bit messy for a while.

Suddenly there is a scuffle and a yelping up top.  I can't see, but know Looki's voice and I know what has happened.  The dog next door started to bark and Kerry has come out all guns blazing.  The other two have also rushed towards the garage door to get closer to the bark and Kerry has thrown her snippy weight about and given Looki a nip and probably Candy too.  I yell from down the bottom and rush up the stairs three at a time.  They are all panicking on the Astroturf lawn and Looki is about to slink away into the house.  I call him kindly.  "Looki, Looki come here."  He starts to come and then shies away and then comes again.  When he is near me I start to tell Kerry off and he starts to shy again, so I have to ignore Kerry and hunker down to give him a good rubbing behind the ears and a firm body stroke.  All the while I am telling him that he is an exceptionally good boy.  Then he goes beserk for a few seconds.  We used to call it his mad five minutes, but it is more like 5 seconds of him rushing around like some mad bat out of hell, up and down the Astroturf taking sharp corners, skidding to a halt, round the column of the old, ruined building and sometimes even jumping up and nipping my sleeve or the bottom of my t-shirt or jumper.  All the while he has that mad, mischievous look in his eye.  It is lovely to see him letting off this energy and every time he lets loose like that I encourage him to find his inner puppy.  I think he is doing it right now because he is a bit embarrassed by the scuffle thing.  Perhaps he wanted to fight Kerry back, but knew that it would be wrong, but now he has to let off that steam in some way?  Dog psychologist me!

Terracing clear again and bed, to the left awaits soil and shredded compost.

And as quickly as it began the storm is passed.  We are all laughing and all friends again.  Nobody bears a grudge in our house.  Life is too short and besides there is still a compost heap to be shredded.

…and candy gets the last word, as always

The Saga of the House Continues….

I look into Looki's eyes sometimes and it takes my breath away when I see the love in them.  It was not always there.  When he first came to live with us he hardly looked me in the eye at all.  He had to learn to trust me first, I guess.  As I rumple his ears I often find myself gazing deep into those lovely brown eyes and saying to him "How did you exist in that yard all on your own for so long?"  I am amazed that he has come out so unscathed.  He was pretty nervous when he first moved in, but over the months and years since we got him he has blossomed into a very chilled, very loving, responsive and usually obedient dog.  I say usually, because there are times that his nose does get the better of him and he will do anything to follow that alluring scent.  There are also times I think that he does not quite understand a command and because my voice sounds angry to him he slinks off under the table or into his little den.  If I move towards him in what he considers to be a menacing manner he goes all submissive and rolls over onto his back.  Usually I am only approaching him with my arms out because I want to pick him up and give him a good cuddle.  If he rolls over I just rub his tummy instead.  I don't mind really.  I just want to make contact and so does he. 

They are all pretty chilled individuals

The girls love me too but I think that they are more self-assured as they came from a loving home.  Candy often looks at me like there is nobody really home at all, bless her little heart, and Kerry has the look of a patient adult, trying to understand her unruly siblings…and me at times too.  Still. I understand that of course they had another mummy and daddy who they loved to bits before and who loved them back.  They do not have the total need in them that Looki has.  Nonetheless, we all have our little moments together, when each of them looks at me and into me and I into them.  Don't tell me that dogs don't have feelings, or a soul.

Of the three of them Looki probably spends most time following me around though Candy is quite the little follower too.  In her own fashion she trots along behind me like the little space cadet she is.  Kerry is the most aloof.  No, not aloof, that is the wrong word.  Just self-contained and self-assured.  She knows that I will come and give her a cuddle in my own time and she also knows that come the nighttime, when we all settle down into bed, she will be the one nestled in the crook of my arm anyway.

I look down now and all three of them are thrown on the floor at my feet as I write.  Candy is under the desk, her chin resting gently on my big toe, and Looki and Kerry, close to my chair, are both keeled over on their flanks.  Kerry on the right, Looki on the left.  Their heads are gently touching.  And I never even noticed them arriving.

I write….

Ever since I bought this house it seems it has ruled my life even though I swore it would not.  From the early days of dreaming about how it would look to the actual nightmare we had getting everything done and now finally to selling it. 

I can't believe that it has come to this.  Slowly the wheels are turning and the documentation is being prepared.  I have little to do with that part of the process at the moment.  All I do is sign the odd permission and letter to the college of architects as they slowly come to a decision on appointing me a new architect to take over the legalization of our extension.  If we were going to stay in the house I know that I would not even have set those wheels in motion.  I would have been content to let the legal aspects just drift on indefinitely while I lived and loved inside these four walls.  But I am actually quite happy that my hand has been forced by circumstances and I like the rigour of getting everything in perfect order.  I glance at my notice board.  My overruling New Year's resolution is still written there at the top.  "Don’t aim for perfection."  I always do.  I want everything to be perfect.  Now I want everything in this house to be perfect before I sell it.

Beneath the resolution is a list.  It says, amongst other things:

Skirting

Solar service

Façade

Ceilings and vent

Railings

Handrail

Garden landscaping

These are some of the things that have still to be done.  Some jobs are for the builder, obviously, but others are things that I can do.  The most important of those is for me to finish terracing, landscaping and planting the garden.  No small task I might say, but the one that I am ordering myself to complete this summer.  I have already begun the great work.

an earlier stage of the terracing

A few weeks back I tackled the weeding. I am always amazed the way the weeds, which are nothing for so long, are suddenly up to my neck.  In the end it did not take that long really as most of them were not deeply rooted.  Once clear I could see what needed to be done and I am now hacking away at the rock and rubble under the terrace.  The terrace is built on piles and as such the earth beneath is not actually supporting the weight of the house….I hope.  So I am taking some of it out to create my levels in the garden and to scrape for mud for my flowerbeds.  At the same time I am clearing a space beneath the terrace that was always destined to be my studio, but now never will be.  Instead it will be an open space which the Estate agent will describe glowingly as "full of potential".  He will assure any would-be purchaser that you would definitely get permission for a plunge pool or Jacuzzi, or it would make a marvelous gymnasium or extra bedroom or even a self-contained flat.  The work is tedious and heavy, a bit like taking off wallpaper, which always seems so easy when you start.  The first sheets seem to lift themselves off, but then you get to the strips of paper that are glued on for all eternity, or so it would seem, and they drive you mad as you pick and scrape.  It is the same with boulders.  Some of the rock crumbles like butter when you hit it with the pickaxe, but then you meet a boulder which turns out to be solid granite and the pickaxe merely bounces off, with the nasty strike reverberating through your arms and making your teeth jangle.  I went to school the other day with a strange buzzing thumb.  The result of just such an encounter.

Profiles change and plants grow.  Yes, that is a Christmas Tree.

To make things more difficult there are of course always one or two Westies close at hand.  If I am going to make a little landslide of rock and rubble I have to check first that no small dogs will get crushed in the process.  I am also trying very hard not to crush any toes either.  You need eyes all around you.  You may think that the dog is over by the front, righthand column, but when you look he has moved silently into a shaft of sunlight, or indeed out of the full sun as he was getting too hot.  Invariably when you start raking the rubble towards you to put into the place where you want it there is a Westie in your path.  Politely I ask him or her to move a bit.  They usually oblige by moving about six inches further along the route that I wish to take.  So it is a slow process.  I am a very patient person.  It is just as well really.  Everything about this house has taken an eternity to complete and now the rest of it is going to do the same. 

Slowly the terraces become permanent fixtures

I suppose I am lucky that I do not have an irate ex-partner breathing down my neck, demanding his pound of flesh.  Victor is a good man and he knows the speed at which things progress here anyway.  The phrase "herding cats" springs to mind and I think he knows that neither I nor Spanish bureaucracy can be rushed in these matters.  Me, because I am only one little woman trying to move mountains right now (add to that, the temperatures hit 40 degrees this week) and the bureaucracy because it only has two speeds, 'slow' and 'stop' and to try to push it would almost certainly make it stop.

Rock has to be broken

The work is slow and often hampered by Westies

While the paperwork (slowly) takes care of itself and my list of jobs for the builder becomes shorter I start to think about my next house.  This was meant to be the last house of my life but plainly life has another plan for me.  I wonder how many more houses I will build and what my next house will look like, apart from having room for a few Westies.  I am assuming that it will be small, yet perfectly formed.  Did I mention that New Year's resolution……?

I Can't Blame the Westies for Everything…

But I spend an inordinate amount of time sitting on the couch buried beneath three adoring and adorable doggies and, except for rubbing Westie heads and tummies, not getting very much else done.  Mind you, on the upside I am totally de-stressed, to the point of being virtually horizontal a lot of the time.  Maybe it's the influence of the three little fluff balls or maybe it is the Spanish way of life slowly seeping into me and rendering me über-relaxed.  

I can't blame them for everything, but one little…...

two little…..

three little cuties, make it very hard to say no!

Unfortunately this leads me to forget some important things – lucky I write lists! 

For example, this morning, I had to go to the Centro de Salud (Health Centre) to give a blood sample.  Why?  Oh I have a lesser-known condition called Prolactinoma.  It affects me hardly at all now that I am older, but was the cause of some sadness when I wanted to have more children.  The tumour, which grows on your pituitary gland, causes your prolactin levels to rise affecting your ability to ovulate.  I did not ovulate or menstruate for twenty years after giving birth to Kate. That is one of the effects.  Another is that I have always maintained a goodly supply of milk.  Useful I suppose if there is anybody looking for a wet nurse and fun for playing fountains at bath-time.  Oddly I started to menstruate again about seven years ago. The effect that concerns me slightly now is the fact that if your tumour grows any bigger it can lead to blindness, as it sits dangerously close to the optic nerve.  So every year, well, now every year and a half, I have to go for a brain scan and blood test and general review of the tumour and my prolactin levels.  In the last three or four years my prolactin levels have gone up and down but the tumour has not grown.  However, irritatingly it is still there.  In my whole life I have only ever met one other person with this condition and nobody else I have spoken to has ever heard of it.

So, this morning, I had to go for a blood extraction.  I had with me my document from the department of endocrinology which I had carefully filed on my whiteboard with my appointment slip.  All good or so I thought, until I walked through the doors of the health centre.  I hate that health centre, it is the raspberry seed in my wisdom tooth, the burr in my pad, the fly in the ointment, my nemesis even, you name it, it gets on my nerves because I have yet to conquer it.  Something always goes wrong when I go there.  When you go initially to make your appointment there are three desks to get passed.  One is usually unmanned so the queue grows ever longer.  You take a number and wait your turn.  There may be one half-decent civil servant behind one of the desks who retains some part of him or her that is still human, but invariably when my number is called I get 'dragon lady' or 'irritable man'.  Immediately my tongue dries in my head, my hands start to sweat and shake and every word of Spanish flies out of my head.  This time it took me two trips just to make the appointment as I had neglected to bring my analysis form from the clinic in Malaga on my first trip.

This morning just as I entered the health centre I remembered my health card.  This little bit of magic that took me five years to acquire was sitting on my desk in the office with my passport and credit card and NIE number, all together in my passport folder.  They were waiting to book my flights to Ireland, but we are all hoping that the fares may drop a bit before pouncing.  So it was not in plain view on the kitchen counter or even in my handbag already, where it usually resides.  I thought of going back home, but that would have rendered me late for my appointment and I could not bear that option either, so I ploughed onward and queued to get my little blood vials and labels.  "Health card" the dragon lady barked at me. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed inwardly" "I'm sorry I forgot it at home.  It's with my passport and…" "Passport will do" she said.  "No, I don't have that either, sorry.  I can go home to collect it" I stammered, "I can be back in 15 minutes."  She glared at me and her colleague tapped into her computer.  "Where were you born?" The slightly kinder colleague asked.  "You were born in Ireland" I said, immediately kicking myself for a) forgetting a simple Spanish conjugation and b) telling an untruth.  I was born in England, but am an Irish citizen hence the confusion in my own head at times.  Anyway, sometimes it is just not worth explaining.

I know I left my Health Card here somewhere

So I left the health centre with my usual red face and bad humour.  Inside my head I was repeating all the things I had wanted to say in perfect Spanish.  Easy when you are not put under the pressure of an inquisition.  I was also down a goodly bit of blood, I thought the nurse had been a small bit liberal with his blood letting, so I was very thirsty as well.

I passed several likely bars on the way home, but decided to hurry on and get out of the glare of everybody who surely knew by now what an idiot I had been, yet again, in the health centre.  A cup of tea will be lovely when I get in, I thought.

When I got home I got the usual greeting from the three Westies.  Looki springing up on his hind legs in an attempt to lick my face.  Kerry weaving her way towards me and then past me to get a sneaky sniff of the outdoors through the iron gate at the front of the house, already carefully locked behind me. Candy creeping towards me with her little tongue out and her tail wagging madly as she curls her little body in and out of a sort of 'c' shape much like a fish struggling on a fishing line.  Only she is not struggling she is just overwhelmingly in love with me.

"Let's put the kettle on" I say to them.  Which I do and then adjourn to the living room while I wait for it to boil.  I sit on the couch and three furry doggies pile on top of me.  One to the left, another on the right, propped up on the cushions and the third, without any preamble,  just jumps straight into my lap.  My hands automatically cradle and stroke them and miraculously my tension and stress drift away.

Westies, great for destressing