Million’s of years of evolution, survival of the fittest and we get to this. I’m not sure how I would describe this. Hairy, messy, scruffy, bizarre, bouffant, lazy, crazy wig, fur ball explosion.
Clearly he is taking his guard dog duties seriously. Like a coiled spring primed to leap into action.
But even when he is comatosed he makes you smile. Makes you forget how crap life is some days. And another key point. I can guarantee that when he does return to our world then his eyes will open and that tail will go into hyper action. Unconditional love – maybe just for his toy crocodile but it’s still love. But given that seriously geared up tail no wonder Muttley could fly.
So you return with the physio’s words ringing in your ear
I’m not so saying never again but just don’t expect to be running anytime soon.
That’s feels like another kick in the nether regions. Yet within a few seconds a hairy bundle of smelly dogness has managed to banish those thoughts. When you look around you can find stuff that makes you smile and makes you feel alive again. Keep looking and you just might find that Hulk Buster Suit.
Thank goodness for pets….
Three things from this photo
- OMG the garden needs some attention (only a little bit in view but it’s a fair representation of the rest)
- I must take down last years Catherine Wheel Firework
- Captain Chaos with a couple of his best buddies.
The dog has many buddies. Our fat cat (he particularly likes him when he is covered in food and he becomes a mobile dinner plate). The Frog and the Toad who he desperately tries to lick when they hop across the garden. The Pigeon who he follows round the garden. The Sheep who he likes sniffing. The Squirrel who buries his nuts in our lawn and the dog who goes round digging them up. AND TWO COWS.
The farmer has a herd of cows in the field which backs onto our garden. Something like 30 cows and he will bark at 28 of them. Especially if they come anywhere near our (sorry his) fence. So they tend to keep their distance. But two cows are different. Two are clearly special. He doesn’t bark at them, just wags his tail furiously. When the cows see the dog they immediately head towards the fence and meet the crazy mutt. Then the meeting of species gets a tad personal. Nose to nose, looking into eyes and much licking. I’m not sure who has got the worse of this arrangement. Not sure I fancy being licked by a cow but I’m not sure a crazed Captain Chaos lick attack is much fun either. This lasts for about 5 minutes then they slowly walk along the fence munching on grass. This can go on for hours – it’s the only time the dog does anything slowly. Yes our dog pretends to be a cow.
Have any of your pets had strange buddies?
In my voice – Tell me why
- My partner was taken from us when she was so young.
- The system continually fails our son.
- The Government can find billions to bribe other parties to keep it in power but can’t find the money to fund education support for the kids who need it.
- I don’t sleep anymore.
- They say the world is getting smaller yet I feel so isolated.
- Chocolate has so many blooming calories.
- Hair doesn’t like growing on my head yet it sprouts like an Amazonian Forest on the back of the my hands.
- The cat continually finds a way into the wardrobe.
- I can’t find any socks in this house.
- They never made a Captain Scarlet movie.
In our son’s voice – Tell me why
In our dogs voice – Tell me why
- My mum had to die.
- Both my grannies had to die.
- My hamster had to die.
- My girl cat who was like a sister to me had to die.
- I can’t read.
- Some people think I am stupid just because I am autistic and dyslexic.
- Shops have to be so busy.
- Hazard is leaving Chelsea.
- Do people have to kiss in films.
- Marvel Movies are way better than DC Movies.
- Most kids don’t like rock music.
- Broccoli wasn’t deemed an inedible plant.
- My Dad can’t cook.
I get shouted at for pinching socks.
I get shouted at for digging holes.
I get shouted at for eating garden tools.
I get shouted at for eating garden furniture,
I get shouted at for digging up plants.
I get shouted at for burying stuff like socks.
I get shouted at for pulling bits of the apple tree off.
I get shouted at for escaping.
I get shouted at for climbing in the hedge.
I get shouted at for eating cat poo, cow poo, sheep poo.
I get shouted at for pinching food.
My best friend isn’t with us anymore. I know I am a dog but she was a really cool cat.
In our boy cats voice – Tell me why
- My sister isn’t with us anymore.
- My best friend, the really lovely woman has gone. I miss siting on her lap.
- I get shouted at for missing the cat litter by several feet.
- I get really shouted at for missing the litter by so many feet I hit the wall.
- I get shouted at for sitting in front of the TV when a movie is on.
- I get shouted at for sneaking into the wardrobe and getting white hairs on all the black clothes.
- I get shouted at for falling in hot plates of food.
- I get shouted at for always tripping people up.
- I get shouted at for sleeping on the laptop.
- I get shouted at for sleeping on the toaster.
In our gerbils voice – Tell me why
- We don’t live in a toilet roll factory.
After my dogs failed attempt at love making we walked further down the path. Unusually for Yorkshire it was sunny and warm. So I donned my baseball cap. I must admit I’ve never really liked wearing a hat. Just doesn’t feel right – but needs must. As soon as the sun goes in the hat comes off. I would hate the prospect of wearing it all day every day.
One of the most pronounced aspects of our son’s Aspergers is his sensory hypersensitivity. He just hates the feel of certain objects and materials. For example he hates the feel of wool on his skin. He hates the feel of a scarf round his neck. He even hates the feel of the wind on his legs so he has not worn a pair of shorts since he was a toddler. He calls it an awful, almost painful sensation.
It is a common experience for many people on the spectrum. In particular the feeling can be worse when it’s centred on the hands and feet. It can materialise in different ways. Some find socks a blessing as they hate the feeling of the floor on their feet. The science talks about the brain have difficulty integrating the information from the five basic senses. Sensory Integration Disorder. Often we find the science interesting but of little practical help.
With our son he has no sensitivity related to his hands but his feet are another matter. He has always hated the feel of socks. He calls it the ‘worst feel ever’. You can see his body shaking when he has to put a sock on. At home it’s not a problem. In the garden it’s not a problem. He is always barefoot. When we go out he will often have shoes on with no socks. Even if this means getting blisters as that sensation is nowhere near the agony of socks. It helps that in the normal run of things he has such a high pain tolerance.
But for school he has to wear socks. We have tried ones specifically designed for autistic people but these did little to address the problem. Now we buy seamless ones which are as short as we can get away with. But they are still an unpleasant feeling for him. We have tried putting pressure on the feet (squeezing with your hands) or brushing the feet with a surgical brush prior to putting socks on (trying to desensitise the skin) – no help. Imagine trying to concentrate for 8 hours with that feeling gnawing at your soul. As soon as he returns home the socks are rapidly discarded. Son is happy and the flying socks makes the dog particularly happy as well.
I needed a break from the mountain of rubbish on my desk this morning. So it was time to take the pup for a walk. Partway round I bumped into a hiker with her dog. As we talked the two dogs played. The poor girl dog could hardly keep up with this hyper active Tasmanian Devil.
As my dog started to smell the girl dogs bottom the hiker said.
“My girl hasn’t had the operation so she can still have puppies. But she’s never had any luck. When I say luck she doesn’t seem to let boy dogs get too close to her”
Not sure if she was eyeing Captain Chaos up as a potential suitor. I quickly pointed out.
“The vet talked me out of giving him the snip. Basically because he is such an unusual mix. Vet couldn’t find any recorded cases so maybe it’s just him and one brother and sister. But he is unlikely to have any luck. I’ve tried a good man to man talk but he just doesn’t want to listen.”
She smiled “Oh Why”
On cue he started humping the unfortunate girl dog. The wrong end. It’s always the wrong end. One day he’s going to get a sharp nip in a very delicate area.
Why had Captain Chaos adopted his ‘please don’t’ position. Not being threatened with a walk. Not been shouted out. No need for a bath. Bizarre.
An item on the news caught my attention. Strangely it was not the ongoing brexit cockup. It wasn’t the story about some TV celebrity going out with somebody else I had never heard of. It wasn’t the recurring piece on the UK is about to have the best summer in 50 years – more chance of my football team winning something. Don’t start me on that one – 1969 for the last European trophy and 1955 for a domestic one.
No it was the story which got the least news time. ‘ School break times are becoming a thing of the past’. If you listened hard enough you could hear a few quickly presented facts.
- 11 to 16 year olds now get 65 minutes per week less break time than they did 25 years ago
- Just 1% of secondary schools now have an afternoon break time
- 82% of secondary schools now have less than 55 minutes for lunch
- 25% of schools have lunch breaks of less than 35 minutes
- One in eight school children have a reported mental health problem (I suspect this only scratches the surface)
- 22000 pupils in Year 6 are classed as severely obese but apparently this has nothing to do with the reduction in break times. Even though the Chief Medical Officer is calling for at least 60 minutes of moderate exercise per day – unlikely to happen when you are sat at a desk
A helpful person from the Government said it was nothing to do with them as it was up to schools to sort out the school day. Strangely he didn’t mention the strict targets his Government had placed on schools.
When our son returned from school today I found his uneaten lunch and unopened bottle of water. Apparently he didn’t get time to have them today. So no food or drink in 8 hours – that is clearly conducive to educational excellence.
His average school day seems to be a 10 to 15 minute morning break which is just enough time to get to the next class. A lunchtime of queuing to get into the canteen, then grabbing some food and making your way to the next lesson. Again in the afternoon a break just long enough to allow kids to get to the next lesson.
How can this be right. I can hear the howls about ‘kids are there to learn so that they can get good jobs’. But sorry kids do need to have fun. If they are enjoying school they will learn better. School is not just about feeding our warped society, it’s about preparing kids for life. It’s ups and downs. It’s work time and its leisure time.
Modern day schooling has become sadly dysfunctional.
Food in the kitchen finally moved the dog. All is revealed. It wasn’t his ‘please don’t’ position. It was in fact the ‘all the socks from the washing basket looked too tempting so I pinched them and needed somewhere quick to hide them and lying on them is the best I can think of’ position.
Yes dogs stiff their own butts. Chase their own tail. Roll about in poo. They are happy playing with an old sock or even better a new pair of pants. Yes their antics don’t suggest millions of years of evolution or natural selection of the best genes.
When it comes to getting round their human owners – they are off the scale. Nothing on this planet comes remotely close.
This is the face of a dog who doesn’t want to go out in the rain. Guess what. It worked again.
Some pets are clean and tidy. Some pets are not. Some pets are dogs…
Captain Chaos won’t pass up the opportunity to roll in any unsavoury object. Mud, cat poo, soil, bird poo, grass, sheep poo, hay, cow poo…. You get the picture. You get the musty aroma.
Cometh the smell, cometh the bath. The dog bath doesn’t last long. Most of the water ends up on the floor, the walls, the windows, the ceiling, on me. Then you do your best to dry him then it’s release the mad one and he’s fully into his even madder 10 minutes of madness. Followed by you have guessed it, some more rolling about…..
It’s the early hours. We need a bit of a lift so in 4 hours son will get up and off we go to see an early morning (and hopefully relatively empty) screening of The Avengers – End Game. A screening starting at 6.30am – how mad is that. Thanos will still be in his pyjamas.
I have a soft spot for this particular plant. My mum had it in a container in her little garden. After her stroke she couldn’t get into the garden that often to water it. It looked lonely. Then the world fell in. When I started to clear her house after those 6 weeks of hell in 2016 – I felt sorry for it. I was in a completely unhinged state and I worried that the plant would be discarded. Left to die. Two deaths was more than enough for that pigging year. I started talking to it. I would tell it how bad I felt. How lonely I was. How completely broken I had become. It was literally the only thing I could truly open up to. I had to give up my job to be there for our son. I was so completely isolated. But that plant was there. Eventually when the house was sold I brought it back to our garden and planted it. It started to thrive. Then…
Then the mad pup arrived. Captain Chaos took one look at the garden and decided that this plant was going to be his ‘cock his leg’ plant of choice. Since then it’s been subject to daily dog waterings. If that wasn’t bad enough the pup then decided he could use the plant as an essential part of his escape strategy. So in addition to being constantly pee’d on it has been dug under, dug out, dug round, dug through and used as a canine climbing frame.
Yet it is still here and is still flowering.
I was discussing this resilient life form with our son. All that it has been through, all that it has survived and how it still flowers. Surely it needed a really heroic name.
Son thought for a while and said
“I’ve got the perfect name … JEFF”
So meet the amazing Jeff. A survivor from 2016 and a damm fine counsellor to boot.
- 5 socks
- 2 pairs of pants
- £5 Note
- A dinosaur
- Set of keys
- A brush
- A ruler
- A nail brush
- A flannel
- A remote control
- 2 pens
- 2 Red Noses
- Seth Rollins (wrestler)
All found during a fingertip search of the garden. Yesterday the dog was running round the garden with my wallet in his mouth – hence the search.
I cannot provide prima facie evidence. But clear signs of chewing and rushed attempts at burying many of the said items would strongly suggest one particular culprit. I wonder who?