Dog piss – the conclusion

For all those who have sent concerned emails or messages, you do not need to fear – I did not put a condom on the dog. Quite apart from the fact that this would be a seriously pervy thing to do, which if spotted by my neighbours could lead to me coming home to find badly spelled messages about sexual deviancy painted on my front, it’s probably illegal. And if it isn’t, it seriously should be. Nope, I persevered with trying to catch the piss and now the dog is so traumatised that if I even go into the garden at the same time as him he either sits down or slinks round my legs giving me the ‘please don’t beat me’ face. A face he has perfected entirely, despite the fact that the chuffing creature has never been beaten in the entire we’ve had him. That dog deserves a bloody Oscar. The £90 blood test revealed that there’s absolutely fuck all wrong with the dog’s blood, money well spent there, and so they now REALLY want the piss. Net result – I’ve got to spend some more money I can’t really afford on having the stupid beast catheterised to get wee out of him. Let this be a lesson to the dog and to all – sometimes if you win the battle, all it means is you face a kicking from a bigger army later on. Life sucks that way.

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Dog Piss

Ok, does anyone out there have any (sensible) tips for getting a urine sample from a dog? The vet says I have to get a urine sample from the dog, the problem being that my dog is a bit of a prude, he doesn’t appreciate an audience and he certainly doesn’t want company. I can see his point. So thus far, after a grand total of 7 attempts chasing the hound round the garden to collect pee for the little pot, all I’ve got is wet hair because it’s raining and dog piss up my arm. And now, if I so much as set foot in the garden at the same time as the dog, he stops where he is, refuses to go for a pee and just stands there glaring at me like I’m some sort of urine-based pervert.

I require assistance.

Yesterday evening I was loading up the dishwasher and in it, I put an oil bottle that needed cleaning out. I put the dishwasher on, wandered off and started making the tea. About 45 minutes later I realised that I needed the sieve, which was in the dishwasher, and so I did what I would normally do, I opened the dishwasher door to get the item required. This was where things went a bit wrong.

See, what I’d forgotten was that there was about a quarter of an inch of washing up liquid in the bottom of the oil bottle. And my, can a quarter of an inch of washing up bubbles foam up a long way. As I opened the dishwasher door, I was greeted by a tidal wave of bubbles and water that cascaded merrily down my legs and over my feet, flooding the kitchen. The dog screeched and legged it, big brave guard dog that he is. So I did what any sensible person would do – shut the door and pretended nothing was wrong. Because naturally if you ignore the fact that you’re now making chilli knee deep in foam, everything is fine, right? Of course it is.

Well at least it was until all the lights went out because the bubbles reached whatever sensor lives in the interior of the dishwasher and tells it that it’s full of something that shouldn’t be there, causing it to trip out and blow the fuses. So now I’m knee deep in bubbles, it’s pitch black and the burglar alarm is going off because that’s what it does if the mains power goes off. Bloody brilliant. I feel my way into the downstairs loo, where the fusebox is and push the switch back up. Lights, lovely. I get halfway back to the kitchen – click, darkness, burglar alarm. Fuse gone again. So I feel my way back into kitchen, tripping over the dog on the way in (note to self, next time get light coloured dog which a) shows up better in the dark and b) has hairs that don’t look like big spiders when they blow across the tiles) to switch everything off at the mains. Then I go flick the fuse again.

Carefully opening the dishwasher door a tiny crack to see what’s going on in there, I’m surprised to notice that all you can see is bubbles, no shelves, no stuff, just bubbles, covering everything and filling the machine. Perhaps I should write to Morrisons and let them know the awesome foaming power of their own brand washing up liquid, it’s quite remarkable. I decide that the best thing to do will be to leave the machine overnight for the bubbles to die down then let it finish its cycle and hope it doesn’t blow up anything else in the meantime. It’s as I’m trying to mop up the kitchen carnage that Mr V comes home, looks at the kitchen floor, looks at the dog under the coffee table, looks in the dishwasher and wanders off muttering about halfwits attempting to operate machinery.

And this is why you shouldn’t put washing up liquid in the dishwasher.

Numbers and Resolutions

Well, first day back at work after the Christmas break and already it feels like I’ve been back for years. 5 and a half hours I’ve been here and I can already provide a list of people I’d like to deliver a hefty slap to. Smashing. So, let’s put the client statistics that need doing by close of play on one side for tomorrow, and have a look at the year in numbers and the year ahead shall we?

2011 in numbers

1 –  Number of fathers lost. Obviously it was unlikely to be more than 1, given I was only graced with 1 in the first place but if you only have one and you lose one. that leaves you with none. Which is properly shit.

1 – Number of nieces gained. My niece is marvellous, she is without a doubt the smiliest most charming and sunniest girl child on the planet. She’s also very sweet natured. She didn’t get that from our side, I can only assume she inherited that from her mother’s side. The ‘knowing her own mind’ bit could well have come from us…

3 – Number of weddings attended, all of which were within a 4 week period while my dad was ill. Fun in some ways, not in others. On the plus side, I have now had value for money from the very expensive black dress I got for my 30th, which put in an appearance at all of said weddings. Along with my Scottie dog shoes, which still make me smile every time I look at them, even though wearing them is less comfortable than wearing rocks on your feet.

1 – Number of jobs retained, even though it’s a recession and I’m a bad tempered bitch who shouts at people.

1 – Number of pay rises gained in said job, after 18 months of fighting. That said, the new pay rate doesn’t kick in till 1st January 2012 so perhaps it doesn’t count.

2 – number of employers who have been my boss in said job during 2011. The company got bought out. By someone who acknowledges that employment law is a must, not a suggestion.

Undetermined – Number of rows with my mother since my dad died. Clearly redefining relationships in light of new situations is going to be rather more challenging than I first suspected. When my dad was dying he said that he was worried the relationship between me and mum might be difficult once he was gone. I thought he was wrong, we told him he wrong, he didn’t look convinced. Clearly he had more insight than I gave him credit for. On the plus side,  things seem to be easing a bit now.

5 – Number of close friends who got me through this year, without them I’d now be sat in an institution, under a table, rocking gently backwards and forwards and wearing a nice whitejacket that fastens at the back. They offered practical advice, experience, a shoulder to cry on and vodka. Some of them read this, some of them don’t but for those that do, you know who you are and thank you.

1- Number of gardens redone. No longer a rectangle of turd strewn lawn with concrete edges, now we have flower beds and a path and a patio. And once I’ve trained the dog to shit on the Astroturf not my damn flowerbed it’ll be nice. Oh and when I’ve put plants in as well, forgot that bit, haven’t quite got round to plants yet.

Too few – number of posts put up here. I lost my angry for a while this year and since most of my writing is done while angry or frustrated, this left me with writers block. If anyone is still out there and reading this, thanks for sticking with me! And GOM, thanks for checking to see if I’d been taken prisoner…

So, now we’ve done last year, what are Vicola’s resolutions for the new year?

  • Write more.  My angry is beginning to return, I’ve started swearing at other road users and bellowing at people in Yarises who drive down the road at 20mph. The other day I even called the people next door a collection of partially trained apes for their banging and crashing which had been going on all bastard day. If the angry is coming back, hopefully the writing will too…
  • Eat less shit and stop trying to implode my liver. Yes people, the annual ‘healthy eating and drinking’ kick is on again. Let’s see if this year I can beat my personal best of ‘the third week in January’.
  • Get fit. Doesn’t look fun. I hate jogging, I hate strenuous exercise of any variety, it’s sweaty, uncomfortable and it hurts but I’m 32. Walking the dog will no longer be enough, if I don’t get off my arse and get moving soon I’m going to end up with a beam end like a Routemaster bus and my very own ‘food baby’ belly. Not good. A certain amount of winter insulation is advisable but I watched a tv programme the other day about a 74 stone woman on trial for murder and it scared the bejesus out of me. The 74 stone bit, not the murder bit.
  • Don’t get fired. Despite the new owners of the company announcing at the time that there would be no redundancies, the entire crew of accounts girls were put on redundancy notice this morning. If I can keep my head down and my trap shut, I will hopefully pass under the radar of the redundancy-bots and will manage to retain gainful employment for a further 12 months.
  • Be nicer to people. I don’t expect this one to last. I’ve only been back at work for a day, give it till the end of the week and I’m sure I’ll be having homicidal thoughts again.

So, that’s my year in summary, I hope yours was good and that your Christmas and new year were filled with food, friends and enough booze to fell a reasonable sized elephant. Happy new year to you all and here’s to 2012 being much less shite than 2011. Raise your glass and bottoms up….even if it is the middle of the afternoon.