tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39650194167714096382024-03-05T16:34:22.924-08:00A Tear in the Heart - coping with my dog's cancer Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-81430024305854979682013-08-08T12:42:00.002-07:002013-11-26T13:05:29.560-08:00I Miss my Dog Every Day <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It's early evening and I am enjoying my nightly
sharpener. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s been 2 months now and I still feel so sad. I
still cry every day. I will just burst into tears quite suddenly and just as suddenly
the tears will subside. This morning I was chatting to Jerry the electrician
who is a friend of Boyfriend-on-a-Short-Fuse about books and this and that. He
is very nice, and has had his fair share of troubles. Then he says, and `how
are you doing since you lost…’ and because I’d been thinking about something
else it swung me back into my loss and I just burst into tears. I think he was
rather taken aback. But since I lost my Nutty I am emotionally incontinent and
my dams are not in place, Whoosh… and there is a great emotional surge. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I know I have always been quite melancholic but it’s
never been quite like this. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been reading Natasha McElhone’s excellent memoir
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After You, </i>which she wrote after her beloved
husband died quite suddenly in his early 40’s while she was pregnant with their
third son. It is simply heart-rending and a true representation of raw grief.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I cannot put my grief into context with hers but it
resonated, just the same. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was reading reviews of her book on Amazon. One of
them as beautifully written as the book itself. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I
lost my husband in February of this year. Like Natasha, it came out of the blue
- my husband was young, fit and apparently healthy. I've read several books
that deal with grief as a project, but none come close to explaining the panic,
the maelstrom of bewilderment, abandonment and chaos that has whipped around my
head ever since; and none have thus far made me think - yes, that's what I'm
feeling, that's what it's like.<br />
<br />
Ms McElhone's book was featured in a Sunday paper last week, and after reading
excerpts, I immediately ordered it. When it arrived, I read it in one greedy
go. It's a short book, made up of diary entries and letters she wrote to her
husband, who died while she was away filming, and while pregnant with their
third son.<br />
<br />
The first thing that struck me was the style of writing. Ms McElhone's prose is
beautiful at times, but it's shot through with anger, panic and frustration.
It's jerky in style, seemingly bouncing from one thing to another. At times it
numbly describes the practicalities of death - choosing a coffin, where and how
to do the funeral - at others, the words howl at you, and you can almost taste
her loneliness, her forlornness and her horror when the realisation of her
situation hits her with juggernaut force, again and again. I found myself
nodding along at times - she describes in one entry trying to get a phone
company to switch the account from her husband's name to hers, and you can feel
the heaviness in her heart when she tells them, no, he can't come to the phone
as he has died, and the grim acceptance of their half-hearted condolences. I
have made those calls, heard those words and my heart broke for her.<br />
<br />
Another thing that the book highlights perfectly is the juxtaposition between a
widow's grief, which is a private, intimate emotion, and the very public way in
which one must present it. Ms. McElhone describes having to 'fit in' private
grieving time between work and child-rearing, taking a half hour here and there
to cry or to remember her husband. I almost shouted when I read this; my own
grieving M.O. taking the form of only allowing myself to properly cry when I'm
driving alone, so that I don't have to be seen, and I don't have to explain it
to anyone or excuse or justify it in any way. A little thing perhaps, but
something that distresses me. I was pleased that someone else understood it
too.<br />
<br />
Natasha describes in stark detail the reality of being widowed. She doesn't
sugar-coat it, she doesn't dress it up with clichés, and she doesn't fall into
the easy path of mawkish, sentimental memorial. I think that perhaps a person
who has never been bereaved might find the book a bit full on - she really lets
the reader into her marriage and her grief - but anyone who has lost someone
will recognise every tear-stained word. It's a wonderful book, and a very
lovely tribute to her husband. Natasha, if you're reading - thank you for
putting into words what I never could.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Truly, you inhabit a completely different world from
other people once you have been bereaved. I had no idea unti I went through my own earthquake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But I am getting through the day, working through my
endless `to do’ list and getting somewhere. I am pitching articles, no response
as yet, but experience has taught me that it’s a numbers game and not to take
rejection too personally. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My big plan now is to go to Greece
(Boyfriend-on-a-Short-Fuse not keen but can be persuaded) and help out at the
Halkida dog rescue, an hour from Athens. The animal situation in Greece is
almost beyond hope, I had no idea it was so bad, the people there just seem to
be so cruel. This place is, so I’m told, like the Wild West. Run by a few
strange women who don’t have a clue about dog welfare. The British lady who
used to go there regularly can’t face it anymore and said I should just go and
do whatever I can. She says bringing dogs back to the UK is much easier than it used to be so I'd like to be involved in that. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been looking at houses in Shere in Surrey. Near
where I grew up and near a few friends so a good place to be. I’ve seen a
largish house with a bit of land and plan to foster the dogs there. Presently many
Greek rescue charities can’t find homes for their dogs and have to keep them in
expensive kennels. once they are in the UK. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, I feel quite miserable here at the moment so I
may as well be miserable in Athens and doing some good. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="mailto:Julia.stephenson@live.co.uk">Julia.stephenson@live.co.uk</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-30192840847220132192013-07-08T08:28:00.002-07:002013-07-08T08:29:53.645-07:00Life Goes On, Sort Of....And so it is nearly 3 weeks since we lost our beloved Nutty and I am still crying every day. He has left such a big hole in my life that I often feel despair that nothing will ever fill it.<br />
<br />
As the days go by, there are short moments when I am not aware of my grief, when I'm running to the post office or jumping on a bus, but my sadness is always with me, like a big black blanket, draped over my chest. While I do enjoy being by myself, it's when I'm alone that I feel saddest. And yet there is nothing anyone can say or do that makes anything better. It's like all the colour has drained from my life and it's hard to feel very happy about anything.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I cried in bed last night, just
thinking about the lovely boy. Oh how we miss him. I cried because I miss him
so much and I cried because crying is a connection with his memory. And I cried
some more because when I am no longer crying about him I think a connection
with him will be lost. Mad I know, I know that I am connected</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> to him whether I am
happy or sad.</span></span></div>
<br />
S is very sad too but he deals with it better. He is more practical and matter of fact. Logically I know that none of us can live forever, it's just that I feel I could have coped better with losing anyone else but Nutty. It is quite simply the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I can't believe I have got to 50 before I was truly bereaved. If anyone else in my family had died it would have upset me less. <br />
<br />
I have a lot of people I like a lot, but very few people I love. Maybe just S, perhaps Teflon-dad and eco-brother. If I had children I would experience that unconditional love, but now Nutty is gone, I don't unconditionally love anyone. <br />
<br />
I read constantly about grief and am fascinated about how people deal with it. Really there is a great well of despair out there and the world can be divided into those that have lost and those who have not. sometimes people will say, `oh my grandparents have died so I have been bereaved', but most of the time, there are exceptions I know, losing an elderly relative is sad, but usually comes with a degree of acceptance. <br />
<br />
Reading back the entry I wrote just after Nutty died, I can't believe that I wrote I felt a degree of relief that he was out of pain. That was very selfless of me, but to be honest, I don't feel remotely relieved. Of course he couldn't have gone on the way he was, but his decline had been so sudden, I just wish we hadn't taken him with us to Yorkshire (the car journey weakened him). But I must accept it was his time. The vet said that he would have died some time as the cancer had weakened him so.<br />
<br />
President Ikeda writes;<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The impermanence of life is
inescapable. In Buddhism, this is a fundamental premise about the nature of
existence. Why should death come as a shock? From the standpoint of life's
eternity, it could be said that birth and death are occurrences of minuscule significance.
That is all well and good in theory, but the human heart cannot fully come to
terms with such events through theory alone.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It's so true. I understand the theory with my mind but not with my heart. Yet, I mustn't be maudlin. The pain will fade and happiness will come. I will make something good come from this sadness. </span></div>
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-57949939143191291232013-06-21T03:02:00.000-07:002013-07-08T08:08:17.726-07:00Farewell...<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, our dearest most darling dog has died. We had
to help him on his way as despite his body pretty much shutting down his little
heart was still pumping away. Richard, the homeopathic vet, had given us a
remedy, Arsen Alb, which speeds up the dying process, it works 50% of the time
but not for Nutty. But it did slow things down for him, I think. He was lying
beside my bed all night and he woke me up about 3 times with other-worldly groans. He didn’t seem to be in pain but the sound was the
sound of dying, a groaning whimpering, like he was neither dead nor really alive,
but moving to a new place.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a way
perhaps it is better he had the injection. If he had died naturally I would not
have believed he was really dead and probably had to go to the vet to confirm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now he has gone, I feel utterly numb. My chest is
full of tears, my solar plexus feels like there is a stone lodged in it and I am deeply sad. But also quite philosophical and relieved
that the worst is over. Nutty is released from his old, sick body and can be
reborn into a young and healthy dog, or more likely in his case, as he was such
an extraordinary spiritual and compassionate creature, another human being. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The late Bill Weston, a very wise Buddhist friend,
used to say that animals that had become so close to their human companions would
be reborn as humans. Knowing the sort of dog Nutty was, and how evolved he was,
that is easy to believe. I never saw him show a negative emotion. Even when
the Tinies moved in he was relaxed and happy to have them around. He was never
upset when they stole his food (he was a very considered, slow eater), never
jealous that he now had to share us with them. He was just pure love, love,
love. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He was the centre of my life for the last 4 years
and I miss him, miss him, miss him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have been googling up Buddhist guidance about
losing pets and there is a lot of helpful stuff. Buddhists believe that all
people have been our parents at some time and many Buddhist schools go on to
say that all living beings have been our parents. While I have no problem
believing that all other humans may have been my parent at some stage, it is a
leap of faith to believe all animals have been our parents. You might say, but
more and more people are being born than in any other time in the world’s
history, how can we all have a connection? The answer to that is that they come
from other planets, other solar systems. Not so far-fetched when you consider even
scientists are now recognising the existence of other planets apart from our
own small one. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After talking to Magdosha the homeopath yesterday,
she reassured me that he will be reborn and that I can determine to meet him
again. This may seem wishful thinking, but I’ve never had any trouble believing
in reincarnation for humans, so if you believe in reincarnation for us, it is a
very small leap to believe in reincarnation for other species. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So I don’t necessarily believe that, say some poor
battery chicken has been my mother, but I do believe that chicken will die and
be reborn into the world again, in some shape or form. And as for a dog like
Nutty, with such close connection and influence on his humans, well I do find
it easy to believe that he will be reborn in favourable circumstances.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That dog taught me so much about compassion. I know
understand why parents of severely disabled children mourn their early death so
desperately, for I love a dumb animal who cannot talk or communicate in a
`human’ way and yet the love and soul communication is perhaps deeper than with
those I can speak to in my own human language. But there is a language of the
heart and some animals can speak that fluently. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Unsurprisingly the day didn’t start off very well.
I’d had a bad night, what with the Tinies on the bed, Nutty’s throes of death
and my dear pal wandering around upstairs at 5am. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So at 8.30am, when I finally dragged myself out of
bed, I felt Nutty and his beating heart… incredible….. how awful that the one
thing I have been dreading for 4 years (that he stop breathing) was the thing I
now hoped for. I had no choice. I am strong willed, but even I cannot fight the
cycle of death, however much I might desperately want to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I came in to see him and to our amazement, he was
sitting up, licking his skinny, blood-stained paws. But he didn’t appear to
recognise me, although yesterday I did elicit, oh joy! a small tail wag when I stroked him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Before his decline (which has only been this last
week), he was always so happy to see me in the morning. That was `our’ time
when he would wake up and make his way to my bed and wander round looking for
loves and strokes. He was never a cuddly dog. He didn’t enjoy being on the
sofa, rug or a bed, although he would often enjoy a big scratch of the
bedcovers if we lifted him up for a bit. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He was always happiest on the wooden floor. I could
see that many times he would almost endure my cuddles through gritted teeth,
like a son being cuddled by his attentive mother and longing for it to end! But
I always loved stroking my boy’s beautiful tawny fur and kissing his little
snout, even though he would often close his eyes in distaste, `oh please hurry
up Mummy!’. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And yet, wherever I was in the flat, he would always
wander around until he found me. He would climb upstairs, downstairs, clip
clop, clip clop, `oh where is my mummy?’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Steve always accepted ruefully that I was the most
loved, that given the choice, Nutty would always follow me. I had a little game
where I would walk round and round the sofa and Nutty would just keep following
me in circles. Steve would reach out and stroke him, but Nutty would ignore
him, so focused was he on following me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So I rang the vet in Elizabeth Street and she only
had an 11am slot <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and didn’t have time to
make a home visit, which we would so much have preferred. I was aware, making the appointment with the receptionist that this was the very last time I would refer to Nutty in the present tense...I kept quite calm, I didn't cry. After 6 months of crying on tap, now the very worst thing is happening I went into auto-pilot. I've realised that when the very worst things are happening to us, something in the human phyche kicks in to get us through. It's only later that the numbness fades and is replaced by raw, excruciating pain. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So, come the time,
Steve took Nutty downstairs and we carried him to the car. I sat in the back on
the floor so I could kiss and stroke him and tell him how much I loved him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But he hates the car so we were sad to put him
through it for his final day, and unfortunately the traffic was heavy, which just made it all harder. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I had to carry him into the vet because Steve needed
to park up. I thought I would carry him, just to have the final cuddle and
contact. But that wasn’t so good because in my distress I couldn’t remember
which part of Elizabeth street the horrible vets' was. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">With hysteria welling up in my chest I had to place Nutty
gently onto the raised step outside a house while I called the vet in a panic.
They gave me directions, it was only a few houses down, and I picked Nutty up
carefully and carried him gently inside. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The unpleasant receptionist (God we hate this place),
said `oh the vet is still doing paper work, you can’t go straight in’, even
though when I called I had said, `is the vet free because I will wait outside
until she is', (I didn’t want the invasion of privacy you get in these places
with everyone staring at you), and she said yes she was free. But although she tried
to make me stop and dump Nutty on the floor or whatever, I insisted that I put
Nutty down on his final resting place, rather than be carried from pillar to
post. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, the vet was professionally sympathetic, not
like Richard of course, but she was the best we could do at short notice, and I
really didn’t want to keep the beloved going any longer as he was really
shutting down and could have started to suffer. He hadn’t eaten for 5 days or peed for a day and I
could smell urine on his breath, like it had been going round and round his
body with nowhere to get out. Richard had explained that toxins would be
building up in his body and it would be unfair to keep him alive another day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Unbelievably, this vet then explained we needed to
sign a consent form, fair enough, but astonishingly, given that I had phoned up
that morning explaining the situation and that our dog needed to be put down,
she then disappeared for 5 MINUTES to get `the paperwork’, (this vet seems
obsessed by paperwork), why hadn’t she pulled out her wretched form, which only
consisted of a few lines anyway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The vet nurse stood impassively by, saying nothing,
and the vet then shaved Nutty’s leg, quite gently, thank goodness, and quickly
put the needle in. Nutty didn’t flinch, by now he was so far gone he was not
very aware of very much. S and I were steady and emotionalness. We had been
preparing for this moment for months and had cried and railed, but we were
strangely calm. Later S said he had been chanting to himself, I had just been
numbly focused on the moment, blank really. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, literally, within seconds he was dead. The vet
gave us a pep talk, in special compassionate tones about what we wanted to do
with the body etc. We took Nutty’s floppy little soft body in our arms, I paid
the bill to the hatchet-faced receptionist who did not even offer a crumb of
comfort, so cold-blooded was she, `thank you for your kindness’ I said
sarcastically, but she was so inhuman she didn’t blink. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I went to the car, S had put Nutty in the boot, but
I took him out of the boot and put him in the back with me. We drove to
Guildford in silence mostly, talking a bit about Nutty and the good times, my
hand on his tawny back for the last time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My great regret was that the ending might not have
been as tranquil for him as he deserved. Thanks to the beastly car, traffic, S’s
bad temper, and then my grief and getting lost (only for a short time), it’s
not what I wanted. And yet WE DID OUR BEST, in our horrible imperfect human
way.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But things got much better. S calmed down a bit as
we drove. The sun had gone in and the Surrey countryside was shrouded in gloomy
grey cloud. We pulled into Longdown road, for the first time in a year, since
we sold the house where I grew up. We slipped into our field opposite, that my
Mother left us, which was overgrown, wild and rather beautiful. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We put Nutty in his pram for the last time and wheeled him down the
gravelly drive and into the field. It was hard to push his pram though the
thigh-high grasses, poppy and wild flowers and we struggled to the corner of
the field. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The ground here was too hard to dig, so S found a spot
nearer one of the fruit trees we planted in memory of mum in 2009, where the
soil was a bit easier to dig. But it was hard going but thanks to S we dug a
reasonable grave for the Beloved, wrapped him in his towel and placed him in
the ground. We put the soil back over him and I placed a rough posy of wild
flowers on top. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We did memorial gongyo and chanted a bit for him. I
wrote a temporary note explaining to the nice gardening people who are tending the
field that we had buried our beloved dog. I will organise a beautiful
headstone, or wooden plaque like we had for mum’s grave in due course. And now
we have a spot where we can pay our respects and remember and cherish him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As we were leaving I asked S to go back and find out
the name of the tree under which Nutty was buried (it seems unbelievable,
Nutty! Buried!) Our vital boy is no more. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There was a gasp as S shouted, `It’s a Celestial Dogwood!’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Talk about a wonderful and mystic coincidence. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For Nutty was truly, our Celestial Dog. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I looked up celestial and it means heavenly, holy,
spiritual, godly, otherworldly, saintly…. All these words describe our
beautiful boy to a t.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We drove back to London feeling a bit more philosophical.
Ceremonies are comforting. We opened our front door to paroxisms of delight from the delighted Tinies who were so happy to see us. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And so life must go on. They are life and Nutty is
gone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I pray that Nutty and I will meet again and that I will again
have the privilege of loving another creature with all my heart,
unconditionally. I hope other dogs will come into my life that I can help and
who I can share this bond with. I need hope as the emptiness I feel now I have finally lost the creature I loved more than any other in the world is just too gut-wrenching to contemplate.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Yet in a way I feel relief that it is over. Living with
a dying person is so exhausting, you long to help them, and yet there is only
so much you can do. I nursed him to the best of my ability, until there was
nothing else I could do. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I came home and threw away his little syringes. The
blood stained rug that smells so strongly of him… S said oh wash it, it stinks,
but I love the smell of it. Yes it smells of cancer, but I never minded his
smell, because it was him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And so we go to bed, calm, sad, broken-hearted, with
some relief that Nutty is now free. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Goodnight my darling, I will miss you more than words can say. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-51130768242948967592013-06-20T13:37:00.002-07:002013-06-20T13:37:28.285-07:00Nutty is Barely Alive
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nutty is still hanging on. Unbelievably, his little heart is
still pumping away while everything else in his dear little body is closing
down. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am heartbroken. I wonder if I will ever feel whole and
happy again without my darling dearest friend, supporter and greatest fan to
cheer me on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even as he is dying he is no trouble, hardly bleeding, not
heaving or having fits. Just quietly lying down, his head at a strange angle to
his body underneath my bed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went out to see the homeopath earlier and when I came in Nutty
wasn’t in the sitting room where I left him. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse came down and ran around
asking `where is Nutty!’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like Lazarus he had risen from his deathbed and staggered
into my bedroom where he collapsed and is still lying down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So we are all in limbo. We went to see Richard the
homeopathic vet, fully expecting him to do the deed. Only for him to say that
he doesn’t do the injections (the injections! I call it, so light and easy
sounding for something so enormous), but that he would give us some homeopathic
remedy to hasten his passing. Which we have duly been giving him on the hour,
but the little man’s heart remains as strong as ever. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Richard said it is better for dogs to die in their sleep as
the injection is not as easy as it sounds, problems finding veins, etc. But, he
added, if he was still alive in the morning it would be the kindest thing to
take him to the vet. And so we are blessed with one more night with the
beloved. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know if it is worse for it all to be dragging out.
He is really lost to us now anyway, as Boyfriend on a Short Fuse said, a
vegetable, although I know he knows me. He even wagged his tail once for me
when I stroked him this morning (was it this morning or this afternoon, I can’t
remember). He doesn’t seem to be in discomfort but obviously transition is
difficult for man and beast.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our homeopath is very enlightened and so perceptive. She is
physic as I suspected, hence her very penetrating comments and questions. She
is terrific and just gets to the crux of everything. I explained about BOASF
and she asked why I stayed with him. Well, habit, love, because he is helpful,
indispendsable in many ways. `Why don’t you just hire a handyman?’ she asked
reasonably when I had said how wonderful it was that he had sent off for a very long hose on Amazon which will water the whole roof garden in minutes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today he crossed the line again. I forgot the leads and he
rounded on me, heaping abuse, called me a beep, beep, beep (email me for details of unmentionable word) 3 times. Later he said he didn’t
call me a beep, but said that I behaved like a beep. Well I don’t really see
the difference. Yes he is impossible, and we don’t have respect for each other
and desperately need a break. But I can’t go through this time
alone and so I am grateful for that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I is staying tonight. She is good company and a new
friend. Very kind and intuitive. It is lovely to have the support of a fellow
dog lover who has lost beloved companions. BOASF had gone back to his place. So
quite a nice day if it wasn’t for all this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The homeopath explained that grief comes in waves… it’s
true, I am shocked that on the way back from not killing our dog at the vet,
with Nutty in my arms I can be thinking about reading the electricity meter and
what to cook for dinner. As if anything else matters a jot. And yet life goes
on. At least Nutty is going before me. He would have hated it if I had left
him. And so he is leaving me, utterly heartbroken. I hope and long to love
again. I will miss the love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-57753657686103806102013-06-18T13:33:00.002-07:002013-06-18T13:44:06.470-07:00Nutty Soldiers OnDespite his increasing weakness, Nutty is still alive, just. <br />
<br />
Even though he can barely walk or stand his little heart beats as fervently as ever. It's a kind of miracle that despite his feebleness his life force is still ticking away. Just. <br />
<br />
As usual I am unable to contain my emotion and tears spurt out randomly. I am walking down the street, congratulating myself on buying food and keeping the cupboards stocked and suddenly find myself capsized into grief. <br />
<br />
Stumbling down the Kings Road my eyes are so full of tears I can't see the faces of the passers by. I get on the bus and I am isolated in my grief. I wonder if I am the only person on the bus whose heart is as heavy as lead, just about to lose the person they love more than anyone in the world and dreading the next day when they will never see that beloved face ever again.<br />
<br />
Very soon, possibly tomorrow, I will never see his face or hold his little furry body again. It seems impossible. <br />
<br />
The rest of the world whirrs away in it's busy happy bubble but those of us disabled by loss stagger through the day, putting one foot in front of the other and wondering if they will ever be happy again.<br />
<br />
And yet there are glimmers of hope. I am going to organise a Grief Workshop, for want of a better title, a sort of get together of random friends and friends of friends who are bereaved, or who have been bereaved and lived to fight another day. We will discuss the worst times, how long it took before we started to feel better and strategies for getting through the worst times. Of course most of us will be Buddhists but hopefully there will be all sorts of people there. <br />
<br />
I know there is a way out of the tunnel of darkness because I have witnessed friends endure the worst, worst of times and come through smiling. <br />
<br />
Yesterday when Boyfriend on a Short Fuse was being particularly foul, I day-dreamed about taking the train up to Yorkshire with a handful of Ambien and Valium and making my way to the beautiful river I so enjoyed swimming in last weekend (the last weekend when Nutty was well). I would take the handful of pills and then wade out to the middle of the river, where it is very deep and the current fast and free-flowing, (so powerful that it was hard work for me, a strong swimmer to swim in). I'd never be able to fight it if I was drugged, and if I lay, face down and let it carry me off, that would probably be the end of it. That would be the cleanest end I think.<br />
<br />
But that was yesterday. Today I feel much stronger. The girls came round this morning and we put together the booklet for our weekend course. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse was much kinder, oddly enough after I told him I was going to spend the summer in St Ives without him. He spend all afternoon unblocking the u bend in the bathroom. I was so grateful. Think he was a bit put out by that. I've had quite a bit of support which is buoying me up. I simply have to keep going so I can help others who are going through the same thing.<br />
<br />
Tonight we trundled Nutty to the park in his pram and lay him down on the grass. He tottered about for a bit, but didn't manage to pee so I worry that his kidneys have given up. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse was crying, tears streaming down his face. I was so moved. I have never seen him cry. He remembered the happy times he had with Nutty at Longdown, the wonderful long walks they went on alone together, and how they discovered Guildford together.<br />
<br />
Nutty has touched a very special place in both our hearts and we will never forget him. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-6530907190328506942013-06-17T07:10:00.002-07:002013-06-17T13:21:36.810-07:00The Final DaysNutty, our beloved Sheltie is slowing down, his life-force draining out of him hour by hour. <br />
<br />
The Tinies (aka, the tiny tots, our Bichon Frises) woke me up at 7am rather annoyingly, as I didn't go back to sleep and I didn't have to be compos mentis till 9.30am when Dina was coming up to chant with me. <br />
<br />
Nutty slept all night under my bed. He likes the darkness and being in a small area where he can be undisturbed. His breathing is very shallow now. Part of me hopes he will just stop breathing and pass away peacefully and the other part dreads the final moment and the abyss of despair that lies beyond it. I can't bear the thought of taking him to the vet for his final injection and yet I know this may be the most humane option.<br />
<br />
He has not eaten for 3 days now. I siphon broth and water into his mouth but he won't take anything solid. He sleeps spread out like a jelly on the floor as if his bones have disappeared. When he does get up he is shaky and uncoordinated, unable to get a grip on the wooden floors and his little blood-stained paws slip about as he tries to get a grip. <br />
<br />
The grief is at times so intense I don't know how I will stand it. And then, just when the pain is at it's most intense, it subsides a little, giving me a bit of a breathing space.<br />
<br />
When Dina came up I couldn't contain myself. The sympathy of other people just turns on the taps and all my misery gushes out. We chanted for quite a while and every so often I'd start thinking about Nutty, and how much I will miss him, and my chest would fill up with tears and I'd start heaving again. She was very sympathetic and really, the sympathy of friends is the only thing that helps. Of course they cannot really say anything new but just having a warm supportive body nearby makes such a difference. <br />
<br />
Then she left and I felt so exhausted I wanted to go back to bed. But it was past 11am and I had to take the dogs out to the park. As Nutty is so comatose I forget that he still needs to pee and might enjoy the feel of grass under his paws and the sunshine on his tawny (albeit scrawny) back. <br />
<br />
And so I clipped the leads on the Tinies and put Nutty in his blood-stained pram and off we trundled to the park. There we sat on the grass in the muggy sunshine, the Tinies chasing other dogs and Nutty collapsed, like a jelly, next to me. <br />
<br />
I called Boyfriend on a Short Fuse, not sure why really as he is no good in a crisis and hates it when I am emotional. I suppose out of habit and wanting the comfort and familiarity. He was fine though, and came along to meet me in the park. He was grumbling on the way home about one of his recalcitrant offspring who had got some poor girl up the duff. We were chatting away quite pleasantly until we arrived at my flat. I lifted Nutty out of his pram and disassembled it before rather clumsily levering it into the flat and shoving it behind the front door, all the time keeping my eye on the Tinies and Nutty who was staggering around drunkenly on the pavement outside. <br />
<br />
`DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT!' shouts Boyfriend on a Short Fuse, grabbing the pram from my hands. `GOD YOU ARE SO BLOODY USELESS. IT GOES IN WITH THE SMALL WHEELS FIRST, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!'<br />
<br />
He flings the pram into his preferred position, with the wheels facing the correct way, before throwing Nutty inside the door (the Tinies have already crept in, they are terrified when he starts shouting), and storming off, smoke blowing out of his ears at the terrible irritations he must endure. <br />
<br />
He never used to be this bad. Until a few years ago he was so much fun, a real cheeky chappy, he could charm the birds from the trees. These days, perhaps it is some midlife crisis, he is always moaning and criticising and has developed an unhealthy obsession with health and safety and following obscure rules to the letter. <br />
<br />
After some thought I've realised this is what happens to most men past 50. They become sticklers for correctness, following obscure rules to the letter, eating particular food in a certain way, and woe betide the woman who has provided the middle-aged Fuhrer with a plate with a speck of dust on it or a glass with a whisper of dust. They like the TV blaring all night but become incensed if the radio is on quietly in another room. They will not countenance any kind of music being played anywhere. The sound of anyone using their laptop or cleaning their teeth inspires paroxisms of fury. <br />
<br />
I thought it was just Boyfriend on a Short Fuse who was moody, irrational, interfering and permanently furious but there are tons of men like him out there. <br />
<br />
I was in the park yesterday about to attend to one of the Tinies who had just dumped a tiny poo on the grass. I had a tissue in my hand and was just about to remove it and put it in the bin. A middle-aged man comes rushing up to me with enough plastic to turn the entire Pacific ocean into a plastic soup (whoops forgot, due to people like him the Pacific ocean is already a plastic soup). `YOU MUST USE A PLASTIC BAG, HERE I HAVE ONE!' he says bossily, pretending he is being helpful but I know he is just being controlling and bossy. <br />
<br />
`It's OK', I reply politely, `I have a large tissue'. (I don't go into the whole thing about plastic being far more polluting than poo because he will never understand).<br />
<br />
`OH NO, I MUST INSIST YOU USE A BAG', he bosses, primly handing me a slew of plastic, beaming like he is doing me a wonderful favour. How kind!<br />
<br />
Of course I take the bloody bag because he is a middle-aged man who will expire with frustration if I refuse it.<br />
<br />
The funny thing is that I used to be a big fan of men, I adored my father, grandfather and brother, but to be honest, I'd rather do without the interfering and being controlled. It's definitely an age thing, they are fine up to a certain point. <br />
<br />
Calm and harmony was restored this afternoon when Joyce popped in for a coffee and stayed 4 hours for a good old natter. I burst into tears as soon as I saw her, (I am aware my emotional incontinence is irritating, especially to middle-aged you-know-whos), but once I'd got that out of the way felt so much better. Really if I was never involved with a man again but had the luxury of endless girlfriends on tap, within reasonable distance, I would be quite happy.<br />
<br />
My pal, B just rang to offer her sympathy. He beloved dog was put down last year, so she understands completely. I explained that I loved Nutty more than anyone, certainly more than you-know-who, which was why it is all so heart-breaking. `I quite understand what you mean', she says, `I loved my dog far more than X (her bossy middle-aged husband). When he came back from work the evening after I'd put my dog down he said, `I don't know why you're so stressed, it's hardly like you had a stressful day'. <br />
They had a furious row with her saying, `I loved that dog far more than I loved you!' And she's barely spoken to him since. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-91870335134045779292013-06-15T10:19:00.000-07:002013-06-15T12:42:44.769-07:00Nutty's Life is Slipping AwayIt's with a heavy heart that I report that Nutty, our beloved Sheltie, has still not perked up. <br />
<br />
He is sleeping most of the time, occasionally heaving himself up on his shaky old blood-stained paws to follow me about. Sometimes if I've left him downstairs sleeping, he will wake up and drag himself up the narrow wooden stairs to find me. <br />
<br />
He has barely eaten anything in the last few days although I've tempted him with freshly cooked chicken and Lily's organic chicken and turkey sachets (which he normally loves). I've resorted to syphoning Daylesford's excellent Scotch Broth into his mouth which he seems to like well enough. At least that will give him some nourishment. His mouth tumour, (squamous cell carcinoma, to give it it's horrible title) is about the same. It's distressing how people turn in the street and stare with horror as he perambulates past in his pram, it does look very gory, it's true. <br />
<br />
When we take him to the park he finds it hard to walk, he is so fragile, the smallest gust of wind will blow him over. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse is quietly devastated, he bottles it all up whereas I sob at the slightest opportunity. Friends say I am being `very brave' but I'm not, I have always been emotionally incontinent, although in recent years have embraced my family's stiff upper lip, but now I have returned to my old weepy form. Better out than in I suppose.<br />
<br />
I felt calmer after chanting with some friends this afternoon. Dear Julie came by with 2 beautiful bunches of scented stocks. She is so thoughtful and it gave me such a lift. <br />
<br />
Friends are very understanding. They know that grief is grief, whether it is for a dog or person. Losing Nutty is far, far worse than losing my mother or my grandparents, something I find quite surprising. But many people say they felt the same. Because love for your pet is unconditional and how many people do you love unconditionally? None in my case. I loved my father unconditionally up to the age of about 30 when he toppled off his pedestal, no great reason for that, just growing up I suppose. <br />
<br />
So tonight my heart is heavy and my legs feel that they are full of lead. I am reassured that Nutty has had the most wonderful doggie life, most of them spent with his beloved sibling in the bucolic Surrey Hills, with acres of land to run free in and the last 4 years with us in London. Not so much land to run around in, but we made up for that by lavishing him with all the love in the world and the best food money could buy. Nothing is too good for my beloved Nutty but I must be brave and think about saying goodbye because he is worn out and tired and ready to go fairly soon.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-32299363037525188292013-06-12T15:01:00.001-07:002013-06-12T15:01:16.058-07:00Nutty is Fading and my Heart is BreakingWe spent the weekend in a woodland eco-lodge in the Yorkshire Dales with a new friend who runs a wonderful organic fruit and veg delivery company called Farmaround. I took my pal C along as she is so good with Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and manages his moods very well.<br />
<br />
Nutty was in good spirits. I dreaded the long 5 hour car journey as he hates being in the car but it was worth it as he was full of beans on arrival, sniffing around the grass and lying in the sun on the deck.<br />
<br />
But he has gone down hill since we returned to London. His tail is down and he seems low-spirited and down-hearted. He is eating well enough which is something, but he is fed-up. His tumour remains bulbous and bleeds heavily at intervals....we follow him around with a cloth or tissues mopping up red droplets, thank goodness for wooden floors. <br />
<br />
Today I took him to the homeopathic vet to see if he thought Nutty was in pain. Perhaps pain medication might help? Richard was fairly certain that he wasn't suffering, maybe there was some discomfort for which he prescribed Hypericum, a homeopathic remedy for nerve pain plus some royal jelly, then he gave Nutty a shot of vitamin B12 to give him a boost (wish he'd given me a shot, I'm knackered). <br />
<br />
Nutty and I took a cab home and stopped off in Hyde Park for a bit. Being in nature with grass under his little old paws always rejuvenates him, and he did seem to enjoy staggering about in the milky sunshine. <br />
<br />
But it's evening now and he is still slow and his tail is low. What I would give to see him scratch on the rug, follow me round and round the sitting room and watch me in the kitchen as I'm pottering about.<br />
<br />
Boyfriend on a Short Fuse took him out for his late evening walk and Nutty is now lying in the downstairs loo. He doesn't want to come up. I've just been down to see him and have a chat, told him how much I love him and how much happiness he has brought to us all. <br />
<br />
What else can I do? <br />
<br />
It will be a lonely old world without my greatest pal.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-19275912503265463542013-05-27T12:54:00.001-07:002013-05-27T13:02:29.647-07:00Nutty's tumour grows biggerI haven't written for quite a while as my beloved Sheltie Nutty's mouth tumour (it's full horrible title is squamous cell carcinoma) shrank considerably and I was lulled into a sense of security about his long-term prognosis. <br />
<br />
But I am sad to report that over the last few weeks the tumour started to grow again, though fortunately outside his mouth instead of inside, as it had previously done. At least he can still drink and he's enjoying his food and his walks. But the tumour is swollen and bulbous and he drips blood everywhere. I carry tissue around, stuffed in my bra, all the time to mop up after him. Yet the vets and my psychic insist he is not in pain. He doesn't seem to be suffering, so I will take their word for it as there is no point pumping him with pain killers unless he needs them. <br />
<br />
Talking of medications, Boyfriend-on-a-Short-Fuse has been quite up and down of late. This morning he was in a terrible mood. Was it very dreadful of me to slip half a Valium into his porridge? It seemed to work a treat and today he has been calm and happy. But I wonder if it is illegal to foster drugs on people without their knowledge? The last time I was involved in this sort of terrible activity was 30 years ago in Verbier when some bad men in our skiing party slipped dope into a very dull girl's soup. It cheered her up no end. Do not try this at home, etc etc. <br />
<br />
But back to my beloved Nutty. I'll never give up and I'm keeping up with all his treatments. C recommended he see her healer, who has really helped her, so I'm making an appointment as soon as he can tear himself away from his stall at the Mind Body and Spirit Exhibition. Why someone of his calibre wants to exhibit at that pulsating hell-hole of spiritual shoppers and desperadoes, I have no idea. I speak as a reformed spiritual shopper you understand. <br />
<br />
We had a terrible moment in the park with Nutty today. I am trying to exercise a bit as the less exercise I do, the more weight I lose, I'm getting far too skinny. So I was doing a hand stand against a tree and as I kicked up I knocked Nutty's jaw. He was right behind me but I had not seen him. He cried out, a terrible whimpering, all the more terrible as he is so stoic and that is the first time I have ever heard him cry. I came down straightaway and to my horror, he was shying away, his mouth a mass of blood. His tumour had split open and a piece of it was hanging from his mouth....<br />
<br />
Can anything be more terrible than hurting an innocent creature? Why didn't I look behind me? If only I could have gone back in time and checked. We all walked home feeling dreadful but Nutty, tough little soldier that he is, seemed to buck up. When we got home he polished off a plate of fresh chicken and seemed no worse for his ordeal.<br />
<br />
10 hours later the wound now looks as it did before, a black and bloody mess, but it is not bleeding and he seems in good spirits. Click clacking around the flat on his little white fluffy paws as he follows me around. <br />
<br />
And so we all soldier on. Please pray for my lovely old boy who has never had a bad thought in his life and is so kind to all dogs and people. Even when the Bichons gobble his food he is easy-going and equable. `C'est la vie', he seems to say as he staggers away and leaves them to it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-76942091350199230002013-04-21T12:55:00.002-07:002013-04-21T13:04:25.184-07:00A Long Lost Aunt Invites Me to the Savoy For a Drink It was quite a surprise to get a call from Teflon Dad yesterday, to tell me that he is staying at the Savoy with my stepmother and his sister Pam, who is on a flying visit from Vancouver. Would I, together with Eco Brother like to join them for a drink at the American Bar at 5pm sharp?<br />
<br />
Well of course!<br />
<br />
I know very little about aunt Pam, or New Aunt, as I shall call her from now on, as my father, being historically Teflon coated has never been very keen on his sisters (he has loads and they are all quite mad). Over the years I have pieced together various bits of information to get a vague picture of them all. He has always been slightly keener on New Aunt than any of the others and as my stepmother has forged a close friendship with her, they have become quite close.<br />
<br />
Eco Brother and I both convene in the lobby, agreeing that we usually prefer to avoid the West End on a Saturday evening. I would have added, `it's a bit too tunnel and bridges for me', but Eco Brother is an anarchist and might find that a bit too snobbish. But somewhere in his water I know he agrees with me. <br />
<br />
It is certainly very hectic in the American bar, it's packed with all sorts, mainly tourists I imagine. Who else could face paying 30 quid for a glass of fizz? There is a choice of 27 champagnes served by the glass but mindful of Teflon Dad's horrendous bill I went for the house fizz, Louis Roederer. <br />
<br />
New Aunt was a delight. She was celebrating her 70th birthday and like Teflon Dad looks very good for her age and is blessed with good, unlined skin. She was very easy to chat to and I could see was excited to meet her new niece and nephew for the first time. It's always so lovely to discover an amenable new rello, especially as you get older. <br />
<br />
I was eagerly looking for familial similarities and she and Teflon Dad did look quite similar. They both had large square heads, steely blue eyes and strong jaws. Teflon Dad is as strong as an ox and New Aunt had the same robust quality. But they are essentially good eggs, decent and kind people. <br />
<br />
My family are quite puritanical (they are Roundheads not Cavaliers) so I was disappointed they did not choose something from the famous cocktail list, which looked incredibly tempting. Eco Brother (definitely a Digger, to continue with the Civil War analogies) said he had a glass of wine the night before so didn't think he should have anothe one quite so soon afterwards so instead opted for a cup of tea, as did New Aunt. Teflon Dad had several G and T's (with Bombay Gin) and Stepmother had several glasses of white wine.<br />
<br />
We all had a very jolly time indeed, despite fierce rows about Lady Thatcher (Eco Brother typically anti, Teflon Dad and me pro and New Aunt and Stepmother pretty keen too). What did poor Eco Brother do to be born into such a family of right wing capitalists? <br />
<br />
As we were leaving the bar, Eco Brother gets into conversation with the waiter about the olives on the table. `Will you be able to give them to another customer or will they be thrown away?' The waiter predictably says they will be thrown away, at which Eco Brother and I shudder with the horror of Food Waste. I hastily pack up the biscuits that came with the tea and he pulls out an old plastic bag from his grubby rucksack and politely but firmly suggests that the waiter to tip the olives into it. The waiter looks quite aghast, but there is nothing he can really do. Eco Brother, for all his anarchist ways, is it must be remembered, son of Teflon Dad and a long line of Alpha people who are used to getting their way. <br />
<br />
Afterwards, Eco Brother zoomed back to Notting Hill on his bike with his olives, and I went upstairs to check out the family's luxurious suite. Oh what heaven. I stayed at the Savoy years ago when it was rather moth-eaten, but the rooms are so much more comfortable now. Huge beds, elegant parquet flooring and a stunning view over the misty grey river and the London Eye. Truly I was a pig in clover.<br />
<br />
We stayed up, chatting away till about 9pm before I called it a day. The emphasis is more on alcohol than food in my family so I was pretty starved. Poor stepmother has no appetite because of this wretched cancer. The morphine keeps her going and relieves the pain but she is so weak and hugging her goodbye was like hugging a bag of bones. Her mind is razor sharp and if you didn't know, you might well think there was nothing wrong at all.<br />
<br />
But poor Teflon Dad is quietly devastated. But what can you do? What can you say? We talked about how she was feeling, how good the Macmillan nurses are... I'm glad we can discuss her cancer quite openly. It would be worse to push it under the table.<br />
<br />
Life is so fleeting and so much time is spent worrying about stuff that in the long run is of no importance. She has loved my father for 35 years but they have only been married 3 years, when he finally realised how much he cared for her. Until then he had been busy at work and taking her for granted and playing the field. <br />
<br />
It's ironic that it is only when he finally realises how much he loves her that he must face up to losing her. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-35736672587967966762013-04-19T12:17:00.001-07:002013-04-20T14:01:32.766-07:00A Mini-Break In Deepest Darkest Norfolk We are currently in deepest north Norfolk, renting a lovely cottage in Cley on Sea. I usually go for ultra modern houses, (in my dreams I would inhabit a bright white cube with nothing in it but a bed and a table for my laptop, my only other essential, a kettle, would be hidden in a secret cupboard). <br />
<br />
So this 17th century cottage is a departure from the norm as it has quite small rooms and low ceilings, but it has been sympathetically modernised, as they say, and is painted in a daring Farrow and Ball palette. <br />
<br />
I once painted my flat red on the advice of my feng shui consultant and occasional boyfriend, in an attempt to boost my career and everything else. It may have worked, I certainly had more commissions and was busier, but I am not a red person at all. I like misty blues and white and that's about it. This cottage has dark grey floorboards and daring mauve and dark brown walls, which sounds absolutely dreadful but is actually rather chic. It also has an updated 50's kitchen with marmoleum lino flooring which is an exact replica of kitchen flooring from the Festival of Britain. <br />
<br />
Why do these sort of details lodge themselves in my holey brain when so much else of real value is forgotten?<br />
<br />
Of course the dogs absolutely love being in the country (this is real country unlike Guildford, which as a surburban gel is my usual idea of country). As soon as they leapt out of the car they were rolling around the garden. I feel bad for keeping them cooped up in London. Yes they are walked by long-suffering Boyfriend on a Short Fuse 3 times a day, but it's not the same as being able to go outside through an open door from the kitchen at any time.<br />
<br />
It is so peaceful. No traffic noise, no planes, no shouty people (apart from Boyfriend on a Short Fuse of course). Our little garden is quite secluded and overlooks a church. It is so serene. <br />
<br />
Nutty goes from strength to strength. His tumour continues to shrink and he is able to eat and drink by himself. Truly it is a miracle. <br />
<br />
Boyfriend on a Short Fuse absolutely loves it here too. He is researching PrimeLocation, as I write for cottages in the area. But I don't know.... though I love it here he is not at his best away from home as the change of scene can stress him out. He veers between being calm and relaxed to being irrascible and shouty.<br />
He has enough Valium for a few more days, but what will he do when it runs out? His doctor refuses to give him anymore so I shall just have to resort to Dodgy Davey from EasyMedz on the Internet. <br />
<br />
<em>Follow Nutty Nutkin on Facebook</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em> <br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><strong>This is an excerpt from my new book<em>, Letting Go of the Glitz,</em> <em>one woman's struggle to live the simple life in Chelsea, </em>just out in paperback and available from Amazon and about 3 bookshops.</strong> </span><br />
<em></em><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-5479990382377870582013-04-11T12:07:00.006-07:002013-04-14T13:00:50.286-07:00Cancer Is Not a Death SentenceJust back from Kilburn and 2 hours with the excellent Dr Han, the inscrutable Chinese accupuncturist. Her speciality is to spear your head with small needles which are wired together and attached to an electrical machine to give you tiny electric shocks. It's meant to help with `nerves' and I will let you know if it works tomorrow. I am not feeling very nervy as such but very wired, like my brain could run a marathon. Not a good thing late at night when you are trying to get to sleep. <br />
<br />
Nutty is still progressing well. I bought a good chicken for him in Kilburn from a local butcher. I made sure it was British, went to a good school and was not the dreaded halal, these days you just never know. Though who knows if the butcher was telling me what I wanted to hear.... if I had been wearing a headscarf would his reply have been different?)<br />
<br />
I was very interested to listen to the <a href="http://www.dogcancer.tv/dog-cancer-diagnosis-not-an-immediate-death-sentence/">latest update from Dr Dressler</a>, the dog cancer expert. He was discussing grief and how when we first have a cancer diagnosis for our dog we immediately think `that's it' and prepare for imminent death. He says;<br />
<br />
<em>`You know, it’s interesting when you look at the grieving process: there’s a different form of grief. And there’s interesting form of grief that happens before the event even is experienced. That means that we are anticipating something bad coming up and we start to become sad about it. And this form of grief can be completely overwhelming and incapacitating and many, many times when a guardian receives a dog cancer diagnosis from a Veterinarian, they will start to experience anticipatory grief before anything bad has really happened or anything that’s really significant in terms of the well-being of the dog. So it’s important to realize that in many, many cases we are experiencing grief for something that hasn’t even happened yet. We have abundant time</em> <em>and many cases were we can do so much good, where we can take proactive steps, where we can improve our life quality, where we can get increases in life span, and increases in life quality of our special family member and we don’t yet have to be experiencing the grief that accompanies with the departure of a pet</em>.'<br />
<br />
This was exactly my experience. I went into complete meltdown for weeks after Nutty's diagnosis and was a hysterical mess. I cried so much I have no tears left. Raw grief is an emotion I'd never felt before but in a way I'm grateful I've experienced it. It has made me more understanding of what most of us will go through but I hope I never have to go to that dark place again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-17871436056835606122013-04-10T12:36:00.002-07:002013-04-10T12:43:32.261-07:00Nutty's Tumour Is Getting Smaller!I hardly dare think, say or write this, but Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I have both noticed that Nutty's tumour has shrunk by half. <br />
<br />
Am I hallucinating? <br />
<br />
But it really is smaller! It isn't bleeding any more and the horrible pus/mucus surrounding it has disappeared. He has a great appetite, eats as much poached chicken as I can feed him and has just polished off some lightly-cooked Alaskan salmon. <br />
<br />
I am a great believer in miracles, in `making the impossible possible' (as our latest Buddhist campaign puts it), and now, it seems, I have proof of this.<br />
<br />
After all, the word miracle wouldn't exist if humanity hadn't witnessed a few of them. <br />
<br />
But I am determined not to get too effusive and Pollyanna-like about it all. As always, I take it day by day. <br />
<br />
When Nutty was looking bad last week I was so desperate I prayed to Archangel Ariel (the archangel who heals and protects animals). The next day I noticed an improvement. <br />
<br />
So the whole household now has a spring in it's step. <br />
<br />
It's been a good day on all fronts. I finished editing an article for the <em>Sunday Telegraph magazine, Stella,</em> which should be out in a few weeks. <br />
Then I bought a perfect dress that I'd been slathering over when it was in a shop window round the corner. Most unusually, I put it on and it fitted like a glove. It is a knee length, mid/navy blue woolen dress with a fitted top and a flared skirt. I am thinking it will be a perfect ensemble for funerals as well as drinks parties (I go to more of the former these days). <br />
<br />
A good funeral outfit is so important. As a <em>femme du certain age</em> one can't reveal too much flesh or wear anything too bright or tight. However this dress is tight but because it is in demure navy blue it looks modest without being very modest at all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-30346287051440623632013-04-08T12:11:00.000-07:002013-04-08T13:35:22.978-07:00I Love My Dog and my Dog Loves MeI have just fed Nutty his dinner of lightly poached organic chicken (from M and S, I pray it is not halal - fifty percent of lamb is now halal in the UK, so under the cosh of Muslims have we become).<br />
<br />
Talking of beastly halal, listen to this. At Christmas I met up with an old flatmate who I hadn't seen for over twenty years and we hit it off straight away, it was just like old times. We were chalet girls together in Crans Montana and had a wonderful time. We were both too lazy to ski and spent all day (after finishing our very cursory domestic duties) in the local patisserie, gorging on cakes and endless creamy cappuchinos. Result was we both staggered back to Blighty having put on a stone and bursting out of our cords. She married an old Etonian Welsh sheepfarmer and disappeared to a place called Mould in North Wales and I never saw her again. Neither of us were great at staying in touch, besides she disapproved of my decidely non-Etonian fiance (a good natured but socially insecure Geordie). But it was lovely, none the less, to reconnect with her and her lovely husband. <br />
<br />
Now I have nothing against farming, but when her hitherto lovely husband said with a cold shrill laugh that he sold off his old ewes (knackered presumably after enduring endless births and having their lambs stripped away from them, again and again) to the halal abbatoir "they pay us really well", haw haw, " so why bloody not!" I inwardly shuddered. <br />
<br />
My pal had insisted Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I stay with them on the halal farm in Mould but I knew I never would. I mean, where is his loyalty to his stock? I guess I am very bourgeois, but where is the common decency it it? How desperate can they be for money that they sell these old girls off to some wretched abbatoir where they do not even get stunned before having their throats cut? <br />
<br />
Poor old Teflon-dad is completely gutted because he has to close one of his factories in Surrey (which his father opened in the 1930's) because it has been losing two million pounds a year. But he has kept the place open for years, solely out of loyalty to his hard-working workforce who have stuck with him through thick and thin. Many other bosses would, and have, relocated to China or wherever the running costs are cheaper, but he refused to do this. <br />
<br />
I am so proud to have him as a father, just imagine having my pal's husband as a rello? Thank God for great mercies, is all I can say. <br />
<br />
I prayed to Francis of Assisi and Archangel Ariel, the patron saint of animals last week, and I must report that Nutty has been doing very well ever since. Part of me still holds out for a spectacular remission, or just for his mouth tumour to shrink a bit or not get any bigger. As it is, he is in fine fettle, eating like a trouper, taking his medicines and being his usual loving, sweet-natured, stoic self. We are so lucky to have this extra time with him to spoil him and show him our love. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-74105446445890230722013-04-04T12:45:00.002-07:002013-07-12T08:40:43.522-07:00The Power Of The Dog <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I am still really under the
weather with a horrible virus that doesn’t seem to be letting up. I went to see
my psychic nutritionist today so she could douse on what medicines I should be
taking. Nothing I have tried so far is working and she suggested various other
things that luckily I have at home, like zinc and some Dr Recweg homeopathic
tinctures. I have cupboards full of this kind of stuff, it’s really like the
Mind Body and Spirit exhibition in here. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">She also reminded me about
basic stuff like a good face steam under a towel with eucalyptus. I was going
to, but I’m so tired I think I’ll just have a hot bath and read my compulsively
readable Rod Steward autobiography. I asked her what the emotional trigger was
for getting ill and we both thought it was the horror of dealing with Nutty’s
cancer diagnosis…. I was crying solidly for 6 weeks and I know that had everything to
do with me getting to a really low physical ebb. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Crying is exhausting. I am
all cried out now, except when I am going to sleep and the full horror of what
the poor little fellow is going through hits me and I start to worry about the
inevitable result of it all. …. But to be fair, he is not suffering so much I
don’t think. He is not in pain and is still eating well and wagging his tail
quite a bit (except when I am syphoning his flax seed oil mixture that the vet
recommended into his mouth. Flax seed oil has strong anti-cancer properties,
there is masses of research about it online). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The last few days there has
been quite a lot of bright red blood from his mouth, usually when he’s eating.
We always have to have lots of tissue paper under his mouth to catch it. We wash out his mouth regularly with a dilution of hydrogen peroxide, which seems to have prevented his tumour from becoming infected. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I see him staggering around
the flat, looking a little dishevelled, wobbly, glazed eyes and his bleeding
mouth encrusted with blood and think, this is old age. Old age that is usually
confined within old people’s homes and hospitals. But this slow decline towards
death is what most of us will face. The papers and TV are full of bright,
shiny, young, shouty people and we are insulated against the ravages of aging. I am witnessing nature, in my face, in my flat, in its raw and cruel
state.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I hate it of course, but it
is nature and there is nothing any of us can do about it. It makes me
appreciate my health (when I am not bronchial of course), that I can run,
nearly do the splits, hit a tennis ball hard. My body gives me no trouble or pain (she says sneezing). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read this lovely poem, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nothing Gold Can Stay</i>, by Robert Graves for the first time a few
days ago. It made me think of Nutty, in all his radiant, tawny, golden glory,
before he got ill. </span></div>
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<tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="background-color: transparent; border: rgb(0, 0, 0); padding: 1.5pt;" valign="top"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Nature's first green is gold, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Her hardest hue to hold. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Her early leaf's a flower; <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>But only so an hour. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Then leaf subsides to leaf. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>So Eden sank to grief, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>So dawn goes down to day. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Nothing gold can stay.</em> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">And here is my favourite dog poem, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Power of the Dog, </i>by Rudyard
Kipling, after which I named this blog (a tear in the heart is one of its
lines). Read it and weep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 7.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div align="center">
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<tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="background-color: transparent; border: rgb(0, 0, 0); padding: 7.5pt;"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 4; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="#power_dog"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Power of the Dog</span></b></a><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><em> </em></o:p></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>There is sorrow enough in the natural way <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>From men and women to fill our day; <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>And when we are certain of sorrow in store, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Why do we always arrange for more? <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Of giving your heart to a dog to tear. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Buy a pup and your money will buy <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Love unflinching that cannot lie-- <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Perfect passion and worship fed <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>By a kick in the ribs or</em> <em>a pat on the head. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Nevertheless it is hardly fair <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>To risk your heart for a dog to tear. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>When the fourteen years which Nature permits <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>And the vet's unspoken prescription runs <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>To lethal chambers or loaded guns, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Then you will find--it's your own affair-- <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>But...you've given your heart for a dog to
tear. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>When the body that lived at your single will, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how
still!); <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>When the spirit that answered your every mood <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Is gone--wherever it goes--for good, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>You will discover how much you care, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>And will give your heart for the dog to tear. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>We've sorrow enough in the</em> <em>natural way,</em> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>When it comes to burying Christian clay. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Our loves are not given, but only lent, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>At compound interest of cent per cent. <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Though it is not always the case, I believe, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we
grieve: <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>A short-time loan is as bad as a long-- <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>So why in Heaven (before we are there) <o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<em>
</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><em>Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear</em>?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 12pt; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span><br />
................................<br />
<br />
(Nutty has his own page on Facebook <a href="https://www.facebook.com/nutty.nutkin">https://www.facebook.com/nutty.nutkin</a> )<br />
<br />
<em></em> <br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><strong>This is an excerpt from my new book<em>, Letting Go of the Glitz,</em> <em>one woman's struggle to live the simple life in Chelsea, by Julia Stephenson </em>just out in paperback and available from Amazon and about 3 bookshops.</strong> </span></div>
</td>
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</tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-65443437891013190292013-04-01T06:50:00.001-07:002013-04-04T12:56:33.784-07:00The Daily Mail calls<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Bit of a shock to wake up at 9.30am to find doorbell
ringing with my long-suffering cleaner and a friend who I had invited to come
and chant with me, clamouring to come in. Oh God, of course I knew clocks had
gone forward but I hadn’t got round to changing my watch – it was actually
10.30am. Really, don’t these people ever sleep?!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boyfriend on a Short Fuse was still snoozing; he has
enough Prozac, Dequacaine, Valium and Night Nurse in his system to fell an
army. Prozac, Dequacaine and Valium are OK but the Night Nurse has really done
him in. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He still has a bad cold and I am desperately trying
to keep him upright and functioning so he can fulfil his daily duties, the most
important of which are taking the dogs out <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">three
times a day. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">`You’re no use to me if you get ill!’ I shout sympathetically
as I dole out his drugs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">`I never thought I would end up fifty-six and an
unpaid dog walker’; he constantly grumbles as he assembles Nutty’s pram and
clips on the two Tinies (bichon frises) leads. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Because of my early morning guest surge there was no
time to feed the dogs. Nutty is rarely hungry first thing but the tinies are
always starving. They are such lovely little dogs and accept that Nutty must
come first when it comes to first dibs of the best food. They are still being
fed well on Lily’s tinned food, the odd bit of raw chicken, eggs and
left-overs. They will eat fresh apple and raw carrot as well as any cooked
vegetable. I would like to give them a completely raw meat diet but it’s hard
to get enough raw meat because it doesn’t go very far. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So, unlike Nutty, they will eat nearly everything,
which is such a relief as poor Nutty does need quite a bit of coaxing and
hand-feeding. I buy whole chickens from Daylesford and after they are roasted
or poached I mix up with Lily’s chicken and spelt pouches. He prefers the
latter to be honest, like Teflon-dad he was raised on tinned rubbish and turns
his nose up at anything a bit new always going for anything processed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">……………………….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I had a strange email from an editor at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Daily Mail </i>a few days ago. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Had I read about the engagement between Millie from
Made in Chelsea and the Hackney rapper, Professor Green? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">No I hadn’t, I didn’t admit. These luminaries only
exist on the distant perimeters of my consciousness. (Shades of the judge who asked;
`who are the Beatles?’ But we only have Freeview on the telly so I only watch
news and property programmes and I only listen to Radio Two so I never hear rap
music, only the rubbish that Jeremy Vine plays). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">She went on to ask if I could write an article about
the class differences between this happy pair, (I have in the past written
endlessly about the thrill of dating a working-class boyfriend, aka Boyfriend
on a Short Fuse). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My heart sank; I had a stinking cold and was trying
to tempt Nutty with his chicken medley, so I really didn’t want to write about
the same old, same old. And this Rapper from Hackney sounds quite posh, he
probably went to Radley or something. And he is by all accounts very successful
and not short of a few bob. So really the story of posh girl marries rich, successful
man is as old as the hills. It doesn’t matter what class a man is, if he is
rich these days all doors are open. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Unlike poor old Teflon-dad who in the fifties was refused
an army commission because he wasn’t posh enough and made to feel lowest of the
low by my baronet Grandfather because he was from the wrong side of the tracks.
But saying that, I know more mixed race couples than I know mixed class
couples. So class is still important when it comes to relationships. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Here's an excerpt from one of my articles about the <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-1043938/How-I-love-lift--antithesis-ideal-man.html"><span style="color: blue;">delights
of dating a working-class boyfriend</span></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">`When the Sex in the City
TV series first hit our screens in the late 1990s, like many of us I thought
the gorgeous, powerful but ultimately unavailable Mr Big was the ideal</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
man. But he and all those other romantic leads are nothing more than characters
in a fantasy. It’s a great disappointment that Carrie ends up with Mr Big in
the film—in the real world of course he would have ditched her for an
18-year-old Russian hooker/model. But maddeningly the myth is thus perpetuated
for another generation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It is a universal truth that men who are ‘good on
paper’ just don’t live up to the promise in the flesh. Why aren’t girls taught
essential facts like this in schools, along with how to wire a plug? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This is why I am so very appreciative that I am dating
a builder with his treasure chest of vital life skills. Years of exposure to
effete and impractical old Etonians, bankers and aristocrats have left me with
breathless appreciation of his practical skills. What use is it to me if
my beau owns a county? It’s far more useful if he can, like Boyfriend on
a Short Fuse, assemble my flat pack filing cabinets from IKEA in under an
hour. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And while I don’t share his interest in football,
the grunts and shrieks from the sofa when Arsenal play are far easier on the
ear than the terrible shrieks one must endure at Glyndebourne. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Luckily Boyfriend on a Short Fuse’s relatives are all
in the building trade, so I now have access to tilers, wooden floor
specialists, roofers, master carpenters - at sister-in-law rates. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And these days I get driven around in style in a
spacious white van rather than a cramped, jealousy-inspiring Porsche.
It’s all win, win, win. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">With the benefit of hindsight, I advise ladies
looking for love this year to follow the example of a well-known soap star who
whenever she was single reached for her <i>Yellow Pages </i>and organised for a
series of quotes from builders, plasterers and plumbers, several of whom she
went on to form lasting relationships with. Nobody seems to use the <i>Yellow Pages</i>
any more but maybe it should stage a comeback as a lonely hearts directory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-26684193321767330082013-03-30T09:23:00.003-07:002013-04-19T12:35:51.045-07:00A Bruising Encounter With Beastly Boris<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>Q</o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">uestion Time on Radio Four today was full of the
usual robotic and characterless politicians spouting the usual PC nonsense
about how marvellous immigration and the National Health service is. At least
today there was an interesting question, `do the panel agree that Boris
Johnston is a nasty piece of work?’ Unsurprisingly the opinions were bland and
unenlightening. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My own opinion, based on meeting him at a fabled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spectator</i> lunch many moons ago when the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spectator</i> was a hotbed of sexual
intrigue and adultery, sheds some light on his character. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d expected to really like him and was looking forward
to witnessing some flirty, non PC banter but oh… much to my surprise he was
very short (not that I am remotely shortist you understand – I am only five
feet five and Boyfriend on a Short Fuse only five foot eight and shrinking),
but I’d expected Boris to be about six foot as he always looks so beefy on the
telly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Imagine my shock when I am introduced to a stocky,
but none the less titchy chap barely any taller than me (OK, I’m wearing one inch
heels). I’ve since realised that he looks huge on telly because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he usually stands next to tiny people. </i>He
towers over his wife who must be about four foot. But I suppose it is quite
normal for celebrities to be small in real life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The height thing I could forgive (almost) but much
worse, he had the coldest, most calculating and piercing blue eyes I have ever
seen. I once lunched with Barbara Cartland (I was dating her grandson) and she
similarly had the same kind of piercing blue eyes. She was tough but unlike
Boris, she wasn’t mean. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My fellow invitees were a witty and
glittering throng, including glamorous lady war correspondent Janine de Giovanni, gorgeously
attired in Chanel and high heels, James Delingpole and Rod Liddle who had
invited me, and on whom I had a humungus crush. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">During the pre-lunch drinks I was
introduced to Boris. As a staunch Green Party member, I suggested that the Tories
should take up some of the environmental policies that the Labour Party had
given up on (bear in mind this was many years ago, when there were still votes
in the environment and way before the Cameron husky era). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">`YES!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roared Boris, flushing with enthusiasm. `LET’S
PUT THE CONSERVE BACK INTO THE CONSERVATIVE PARTY. MARVELLOUS IDEA’, he
boomed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But then, quite suddenly my pearl
necklace broke, and (thankfully fake) pearls splattered all over the wooden
floor. `OH DEAR OH DEAR!’ he blustered, looking fearfully embarrassed like all
my clothes had suddenly fallen off or something, before scuttling off towards the moth-eaten Spectator dining room. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Things deteriorated further over
lunch. Boris kept booming on, like the most popular boy in school everyone was
eagerly currying his favour, and were madly, exhaustingly, singing for their
supper. All the men were sweating noticeably too. They were probably just as
nervous as I was. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As we sat down I turned to a tall,
bland looking man on my left and enquired politely, `what do you do?’ (all my powers
of conversation had quite fled). </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">`I’m the editor of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Times’</i>, he replied stonily.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Feeling a little crushed, (the
editor of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Times</i>!) I turned to the
gimlet-eyed man on my right. I discovered that he was Conrad Black’s hatchet
man, (you see, it was a very long time ago) apparently very well known, but I
had never heard of him either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then everyone suddenly began talking
about music, in a noisy, one upmanship kind of way. The music critic of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Guardian</i> began explaining very
loudly how Duran Duran, Abba and other previously uncool 80’s bands were now
the height of cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I heard my voice pipe up uselessly,
`yes, I think Supertramp are fantastic, I’m sure they’re due for a revival any
minute’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was a terrible silence. It
appeared that Supertramp are simply not, and will never be, cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like admitting to being a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Daily Express</i> reader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Possibly worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I shrunk back into my uncomfortable
chair and pushed around a great slab of raw meat that had just been placed in
front of me. Fortunately the champagne was running like water so at least I
could drown my sorrows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And then very oddly, did I imagine
it? I felt a foot playing around with my shins. It was most disconcerting. The
men on either side of me were showing no interest in me at all, and Rod Liddle
and Boris Johnson had very short legs that could not have reached that far. Was
it a cat, or a ferret?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">By now I hadn’t spoken for twenty
minutes and I was desperate to return to the conversation whizzing around my head.
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But it was almost impossible to break in, it was probably a bit like the sixth form at a boy’s
public school. Lots of very confident, clever, witty but rather unkind men,
shouting and desperate to hold centre stage. Even the glamorous lady war
correspondent had been mute for an hour, lapsing into a ladylike silence as the
boys shouted at each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Where was the famous Spectator
flirting and louchness?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bolstering myself up with more
champagne, I seized a lull in the conversation and jumped right in. I’d
remembered reading that Boris had German blood.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">`Boris are you half German?’ I enquired
conversationally. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">`NO!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m a quarter Turkish!’ he boomed, adding patronizingly, YOU’RE THINKING
OF BORIS BECKER!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
shrunk back into my uncomfortable wooden seat as his toadies sniggered unkindly
at my gaffe. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Now,
Boris Becker is a six foot two inch, ripplingly muscled Teutonic SEX GOD. There
was no way even I, with my terrible eyesight, could confuse him with the short,
portly magazine editor across the table shovelling steak into his mouth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Half an hour later they were still
discussing Boris Becker and broom cupboards when the coffee arrived and I was
able to slip out unnoticed. I never did find out who was touching up my leg. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So it’s fair to say, the charms of
Boris Johnston have completely eluded me, so much so, that in the mayoral
election I actually voted for Ken Livingstone (and I’m pretty right-wing, so
that probably just about sums it up). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<em></em><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><strong>This is an excerpt from my new best-selling book<em>, Letting Go of the Glitz,</em> <em>one woman's struggle to live the simple life in Chelsea, </em>just out in paperback and available from Amazon and about 3 bookshops.</strong> </span><br />
<br />
(I know it is fashionable to rail against Amazon for not volunteering to pay more tax than they are legally entitled to do, but they are the small time author's friend. You have no idea how horrible bookshops are to authors, so good for Amazon I say - at least they stock everyone, hurrah). And let's be fair, when you get your tax bill do you say, hmm, I think I should pay more tax than I have been asked for? No? Me neither. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-8537214543104496752013-03-30T08:18:00.001-07:002013-04-02T08:33:12.822-07:00Nutty Soldiers On <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Both Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I are still floored
with bad colds (bad colds mind, not flu, people often upgrade colds to flu but
flu means one is bed-ridden and we are still able to totter about, just). <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am feeling knackered though, and am ignoring my
admin mountain in favour of watching old documentaries of Rod Stewart and Britt
Ekland on You Tube. Britt was on Piers Morgan last night, still looking good if
slightly altered by surgery, but my God she was so beautiful. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Excerpts of a documentary filmed of them both in
1976 takes me back to that blazing hot summer when I was twelve and the misery
of surviving a childhood with my own Britt Ekland lookalike Mother. Heavens, no
child wants a glamorous mother, it really is a terrible fate. I was studious
and skinny, still am, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">plus ca change</i>.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I never understand people saying that childhood is
the best time of your life. I’m much happier at fifty than I was at twelve. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Some things remain unaltered, we had a beautiful
fluffy sheltie then too called Tiffany (very seventies name), I don’t remember
how she died but I don’t think any of our shelties lived past about twelve,
which is why Nutty is doing so well to get to fifteen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He is soldiering on, brave stoic little chap that he
is. He is very doddery and forgetful and even if I have just stroked him he
quickly forgets where I am and starts wandering around the flat looking for me.
His mouth tumour means he still cannot drink and eating is difficult for him
too. I spoon feed him his chicken into his mouth’s good side, it’s not that
easy, bits of food fall out onto the floor (quickly hoovered up by the tiny
dogs). He dribbles blood, pus and saliva and we have to regularly mop him up.
It is undignified for such a clean little dog and he just doesn’t deserve it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Yet he does not appear to be in pain, he wags his
tail when we stroke him and he enjoys his walks at a slow pace, hanging out
with and sometimes barking at other dogs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am keeping up with his pills and potions – a teaspoon
of colloidal silver and seven drops of Dr Regweg homeopathic anti-tumour mix
twice a day, a homeopathic pill three times a day, acopops anti cancer pills
twice a day (formulated by Dr Dressler, the dog cancer expert), lastly, a
shitake mushroom excerpt twice a day. Some of them I can mix in his food, but
if he won’t take them that way I open the capsules and mix it up with water
that is syringed into his mouth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It takes time, but I have plenty of time and even
more love for my old boy. I will do whatever it takes to keep him going. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-75215471510297493892013-03-29T10:20:00.002-07:002013-03-29T10:49:57.650-07:00A Picture of Nutty in His Pram<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqK5ZVyAiy5kzlM6a4Eqctuq52JvLOVnvjL2VWjzkM_xTJ9UViAbT_2HnlkdYzJ9GZTYhlpZ-KhoaqvHzegYHtZcJDAoE_UniGo545tGgOQtIu8eVH8WbZDJE-uegaDgiYlyCBs5umit0R/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqK5ZVyAiy5kzlM6a4Eqctuq52JvLOVnvjL2VWjzkM_xTJ9UViAbT_2HnlkdYzJ9GZTYhlpZ-KhoaqvHzegYHtZcJDAoE_UniGo545tGgOQtIu8eVH8WbZDJE-uegaDgiYlyCBs5umit0R/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I have come down with bad colds, unusually it is me that has a particularly dreadful `man cold', he is far more stoic and is still taking the dogs out three times a day in the freezing cold. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I meanwhile, am lurking at home, taking a battery of homeopathic remedies which are not working. I've just had an invigorating session of facial acupuncture, which I hope will repair some of the grief-strained ravages on my face. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The pram pictured is a recent acquisition, which Nutty (also a natural stoic) has taken to reasonably well. He is whizzed to Burtons Court (our local park) and then taken out for a gentle perambulation on the grass. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse is much feted by the local dog-walking matrons du certain age because he is the only man in the vicinity, he has quite a fan club and on the rare occasions I can be bothered to accompany him I have to beat of hordes of them off with a stick. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But of course there are famously no men anywhere. I mean, one sees men everywhere, but one never hears of any of them actually being single over forty. Why is it that I know twenty attractive interesting women over forty and not one single man (there are a few knocking about admittedly, but they are usually `SFAR' (single for a reason). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes he asks, `why do you put up with me?' and I reply, `because I'm fifty and desperate!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If we were to split up I might never have a sniff of a date ever again while he of course would be beseiged by middle-aged women bearing casseroles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But he is Mr Wonderful at the moment, so calm and helpful. The Prozac has kicked in to marvellous effect. Maybe I should go on it too?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-58867150862900129412013-03-28T12:50:00.001-07:002013-03-29T06:57:12.476-07:00It Helps To Talk <span style="font-family: inherit;">Since I’ve entered the murky grey world of bereavement and grief, I am drawn
to the experiences of others who are similarly grieving. Re. people’s strange
and inadequate response to grief and bereavement, I read an interview with writer
Julian Barnes who says, <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">“Grief sorts
out and realigns those around the griefstruck; how friends are tested; how some
pass, some fail.” </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN;">This is an excerpt from an interview with him in The Telegraph.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Julian Barnes seriously
contemplated suicide after the death of his wife, he has disclosed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The author, a former Man Booker Prize winner, worked out precise details
while grieving for Pat Kavanagh, his wife of 30 years. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">In his new novel, Levels of Life, he writes for the first time about
coping with her death from cancer, aged 68, in 2008, and attacks friends whom
he believes were too cowardly to speak her name. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He describes Kavanagh, a literary agent, as “the heart of my life; the
life of my heart”. He goes on to note: “Grief sorts out and realigns those around
the griefstruck; how friends are tested; how some pass, some fail.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He adds: “You might expect those closest to you in age and sex and
marital status to understand best. What a naivety. I remember a 'dinner-table
conversation’ in a restaurant with three married friends of roughly my age. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Each had known her for many years – perhaps 80 or 90 in total – and
each would have said, if asked, that they loved her. I mentioned her name; no
one picked it up. I did it again, and again nothing. Perhaps the third time I
was deliberately trying to provoke, being p----- off at what struck me not as
good manners but cowardice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“Afraid to touch her name, they denied her thrice, and I thought the
worse of them for it.” Barnes, who has been known for more cryptic works, also
admitted considering suicide after her death. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">“The question of suicide arrives early, and quite logically,” he writes.
“I knew soon enough my preferred method – a hot bath, a glass of wine next to
the taps, and an exceptionally sharp Japanese carving knife. I thought of that
solution fairly often, and still do.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The distressing thing here is how his friends find it so difficult to
even talk about his late wife. Yet talking about those we have lost, or just
sharing our unhappiness and grief really helps. It is so desperately unkind and
thoughtless to ignore the elephant in the room and not allow people to express
their suffering and comfort them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I spoke to Teflon-dad today and he is also going through the same
emotions as Julian Barnes. His wife, my stepmother, who he has known for over
thirty years although they have only been married for three, has terminal
cancer and has about six months to live. Teflon-dad is absolutely heartbroken,
his teflon-coating has broken and he is as devastated as you might expect. I
shall have to find a new sobriquet for him. We bond regularly over our shared
anticipated loss, and the wonderful thing about all those close to me is that
they accord me the same respect as if I were grieving for a child, not a dog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am luckier than Julian Barnes in that respect.</span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-2664548979046239342013-03-27T16:02:00.002-07:002013-04-19T12:21:05.182-07:00Boyfriend On a Short Fuse Is In A Saintly Mood<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Felt tired and run down today. I’ve felt quite well
under the circs, but we haven’t had heating for nearly 2 weeks and it remains
absolutely freezing inside and out.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I haven’t slept very well the last 2 nights which
hasn’t helped. Funny to think that only 7 weeks ago I was happy in my
ignorance, fretting over small things, not aware that the cruel bomb that my
beloved dog has inoperable cancer was about to be detonated. Certainly the past
seven weeks have been greyer and gloomier, coloured by this devastating news. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But our lives and minds change shape to deal with
the news and life goes on. I no longer cry every day, only as I’m going to
sleep. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Spent all morning on dreary personal admin,
searching for relevant car documents so we can secure our all necessary
Kensington and Chelsea car parking permit. These things are worth their weight
in gold and I have witnessed many tearful interactions with desperate K and C
inhabitants, begging the harridan faced creatures who man the `car park shop’
for their permit. If for some reason you are not on the database you need to
provide an arcane list of documents including a firearms certificate. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh, imagine living in the 60’s, and being able to
park where you wanted, imagine how much less personal admin there must have
been. We can only dream.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boyfriend on a Short Fuse was blowing a gasket this
morning. It has transpired that I may have shredded the car insurance document
(I am not admitting to this mind), cue terrible rages. I quickly slipped him
his Valium and peace was restored.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I called a dear old pal, R, who I haven’t seen for
ages since she has been in India fighting her ghastly-sounding money-grabbing
rellos. I meant to call her about Nutty but have felt so flattened I just
hadn’t got round to it. I called and she was only round the corner from the
dreaded Car Parking Shoppe where she lives, so we met in Wholefoods for a
coffee. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">To cut a long story short, the three of us (that’s
her, me and Boyfriend on a Short Fuse) have decided to spent half the year in
sunnier climes and half the year in London. I voted for Hawaii, Boyfriend on a
Short Fuse for New Zealand and she is keen on Goa. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boyfriend on a Short Fuse at his most saintly,
fetching water and coffees for us. All my girlfriends think he is wonderful. He
is definitely in a better mood these days, the Valium is really working - or maybe the Prozac is kicking in at last. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-32813043746359203162013-03-26T14:00:00.004-07:002013-03-26T14:00:46.237-07:00Boyfriend on a Short Fuse Calms Down with Valium Sandwich
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This morning I discovered a small stash of Valium
pills I bought off the Internet years ago, just in case I needed them in the
event of Nutty’s demise. I took a Valium once and while I loved the way it took
the edge off my anxiety, when it wore off I felt strangely tired and jaded. I
suppose there is always a trade off. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Although I have thought about taking half a pill
myself, I have been OK today. I am coping just about. Since Nutty’s cancer
diagnosis I have been wracked with sobbing many times in a day and I never know
when an emotional surge will come. I’ve stopped wearing mascara as there is no
point. The shadows beneath my eyes are black enough without adding streaked
makeup. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boyfriend on a Short Fuse veers from being loving
and indispensable and shouty and abusive. I offered him half a Valium, thinking
it would calm him down as irritation was fizzing out of his ears and nostrils. Almost
instantly he was being sweet and kind. My God, I will have to order a shovel
load.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After a certain age I think there is no point
getting too hung up with special diets etc. If a pill or two helps you get
through the day, why on earth not? Now Shouty and I are over 50, how many good
years have we got left anyway? And look at Ronnie Wood, all the pills he has
taken over the years and OK, he looks fairly ravaged, but he doesn’t look half
bad for 96. And hello! What about Jo Wood? Glamorous and gorgeous, looks half
her age and she has had her share of this and that (though not for many years
according to her autobiography, which I thoroughly enjoyed, btw).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My God, sometimes I think it is hard enough just to
stay alive, I think these people who give up caffeine, alcohol and chocolate or
whatever must have nerves of steel. Isn’t life hard enough already? And how
long do they really want to live for anyway? Think of being `good’ all your
life and dying of cancer anyway. Nutty has had a wonderful dog diet for the
past 4 years since we adopted him on my Mother’s death, and look what has
happened to him. Organic veg, walks, love, love, love and still he succumbs to
the beastly disease. OK ,he is 15 so one might argue he has to die of something.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Today I have cried twice I think. That is less than
usual and my face is slightly less ravaged looking, although rather thin and
drawn. Despite copious amounts of pasta with cream and butter I cannot put on
weight. I wonder how these people on `special diets’ (about as special as a
`special bus’ which is not very special at all), don’t fade away into the
ether. Being thin after a certain age isn’t so great although women in the west
are weight obsessed. You have to choose between your face or your body, so they
say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Back to the point in hand. We took Nutty to Richard
Allport, the homeopathic vet, today. He is a kind man (although his prices are
rather breath-taking at £80 a consultation), and one always leaves reassured, no
matter how bad the prognosis. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When he came to the reception to greet us his
expression was very grave, he later admitted, `I thought Nutty would be barely
able to walk but he is just the same as always’. My God, he was probably preparing to put him down ,now I think about it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Nutty was perky, tail wagging, curious as ever. `Yes
the growth has got bigger since I saw him a month ago’, he admitted, ` but if
you can syringe enough water into his mouth he could survive months like this….
From now on it is all about the nursing’. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Which made me feel better. The one thing I can do is
nurse him, my diary is clear, all I have to do at the moment is look after him.
That is Shouty and my biggest, most important duty. Nothing else matters more
to us than keeping the Beloved healthy and happy and alive for as long as
possible. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was amusing driving to the vet. Usually Shouty is
rule obsessed, in all matters of bureaucracy. He has a working class dislike of
authority but a weird need to kow-tow to it too. Whereas generally I only
follow rules I can see the point of, usually I get away with quite a bit
because if you are nice to whoever catches you out, they usually let you off.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But on the way to the vet, he drives The Wrong Way Down a One Way Street! This
is most unusual. It was a quiet street and no danger really and meant we got to
our destination much quicker. But this was so unlike Shouty. Hurrah for the
Valium! I cheered. Shame I only have such a limited supply. I am going to send
him to the doctor to get some more, or the equivalent. It makes my life so much
easier. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I welled up a few times in the vet and once this
morning. There have been no bouts of uncontrollable sobbing, so it has been a
good day (for my face anyway). Talking to Richard helped me collect my
thoughts. I’ve been thinking a lot about bereavement and now realise that what
I’m going through isn’t unique or unusual. Nearly every sentient person with a
bit of a heart will go through one or several episodes of untrammelled grief
(surely). Every day I read of appalling tragedies and those affected pulling
through, somehow. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My night-time terror is that I will stay at this
level of unsustainable grief forever. Like when I have toothache or cystitis
(my two worst pains) I always fear that the pain will never be cured. But it is
always is sorted. I know emotional pain is unquantified but I have to trust
that one day Nutty will be dead but I will be living a good life, not slain by
grief.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So tonight I feel philosophical (it feels like I
have taken the Valium not Shouty).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But I am emotional and I don’t know when the terrors
will return. Terrors of the unknown, of being unable to live without the
creature I love more than anyone in the world. All that is uncharted territory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-7681557412560908052013-03-26T08:52:00.001-07:002013-04-14T13:18:26.111-07:00Nutty Nearly Dies...<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So much has happened in 24 hours...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Nutty had been OK all day but in the evening he lay
down and tremors were going through his little body. I didn’t know what was
happening and did some Reiki. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I got ready for bed
and Nutty was still lying on the carpet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This not unusual, but what was unusual were the tremors
and the lack of response from him. I was in my bath reading the papers (oh
blessed relief and escape) when Boyfriend on a Short Fuse calls me. Normally
his tone is quite shouty but this time it was subdued and anxious. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">`Darling! Come down now!’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So I scramble out of my bath, suds and papers all
over the floor and dash downstairs. Nutty is lying comatose on the floor shuddering
slightly, Boyfriend on a Short Fuse is hovering over him, frantic with worry. For the first time in
seven years since we first met, he is crying. He is famously Teflon-coated
and I am used to him shouting, but crying, never. My heart shifts in my chest
and I can hardly breathe with emotion. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">`I think he is dying’, Boyfriend on a Short Fuse whispers as I stroke
Nutty's scrawny tawny fur and watch anxiously for the rise and fall in his abdomen.
Then Boyfriend on a Short Fuse runs to the kitchen for a bottle of water and spoons teaspoonfuls
into Nutty’s mouth. Within <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">minutes </i>Nutty
is revived, his eyes open and he moves around. It is like Lazarus rising from
the dead! He was dehydrated all this time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What we didn’t realise is that his mouth tumour, officially known as a squamous cell carcinoma, has
impeded his ability to drink. Normally his little tongue laps out constantly
into his water bowl, but what we’ve realised is that he is not actually
drinking very much at all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And while only a few hours ago his tongue was trying
to lap the water, now his tongue cannot leave his mouth to drink. I don’t know
what has happened. So we spoon teaspoonfuls of water into his mouth and carry
him upstairs. We get into bed and talk and talk and I cry a bit. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse has
re-teflon-coated himself and is dry eyed again. I was very moved by his tears,
sometimes I forget he has a heart but I do know he loves Nutty very much. Not
as much as me, but he does love him so much. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">While Nutty was comatose I prayed to my mother, to
St Francis of Assisi, to Archangel Ariel the patron saint of animals, to make
him better, to keep him happy and healthy with us for a little longer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">`Please let me be able to take one picture of him in
his dog pram’, I begged. He looks so adorable in his pram, people always smile
and chat to him as we wheel him past. If you don’t have a picture you can’t
share the image with anyone and it would be lost forever.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And they answered my prayer! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I were both absolutely shaken and devastated at this latest
brush with death. Nutty has defied death many times, how many shelties live
past 15? And yet, and yet… I believed he was immortal, that he would live to be
the oldest Sheltie in the world. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I love Nutty more than heaven and earth and he
depends on me for sustenance and love. So much is tied up in him, memories of
my Mother, grandparents, Longdown where we all grew up (not that I loved
Longdown at all as it had many unhappy memories, but still, there is emotion
and history there).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">15 years of my life, a huge chunk, encompassing my
mad it-girldom period, dizzy dazzling boyfriends, many flats, Nutty always a
constant although I did not know him as I know and love him now of course as he
was living in Guildford with my mother. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I used to spend the hours googling world’s oldest
Shelties, and delighted in a Youtube video of a 20-year-old sheltie wearing a
birthday hat and looking bright and healthy. Yes! That could be Nutty! With his
organic, home-cooked diet of fresh poached chicken with pureed vegetables and
spelt, interspersed with the odd morsel of lightly cooked venison mince I
thought he would be indestructible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And yet, death waits for no man or dog. I can’t hold
off the inevitable, however much time or money and love I lavish. Nature will
have her way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Many times I have wished his cancer on myself. Let
me have his cruel and gloating tumour sprouting in my own mouth like an evil discoloured cauliflower! All human ingenuity
would be exercised in its removal…. But Nutty is just an innocent bystander. I
do my best but we caught it too late…. Something I will always regret.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And so, eventually I crawled down into my own bed,
reluctantly leaving my baby in BOASF’s room to sleep fitfully downstairs. At
4.30am I woke up and crept upstairs to check he was still breathing. Yes! He
was! A miracle. One more day with my love. By now I had woken the Tinies who
were jumping up and down (but not Teflon Boyfriend who is indestructibly asleep), they
bounced downstairs with me and we all slept together fitfully till 8.30am. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Back upstairs, Beloved still breathing! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I hand fed him some poached chicken, Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I
took them out for a walk then took Nutty down to the Blue Cross. BOASF met a
lady in the park who insisted the Blue Cross offered the best vetinary care,
`but don’t you need to be on benefits? I asked. Apparently not. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So BOASF whisks
Beloved down to Victoria, peaking out of his little pram. I leave later and
catch them up. BOASF is inscensed that I have joined them. `IT’S ALL ABOUT YOU
ISN’T IT’ he rages in the busy street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">There is no point
arguing with him when he is like this. Of course I want to be with my Beloved
when he has his consultation but it is not to be. The receptionist insists that
BOASF must have some proof of being on a limited income, which he does not have, despite being of limited means. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">I drop off my
donations (a nice dress and several books) and we go home. BOASF still raging
about this and that. The waiting room is choc a bloc, heaving with ailing people
and their beleaguered pets, waiting, waiting…. 2 hours apparently. I am
relieved we must leave and go home. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-38114286936878656912013-03-26T08:32:00.002-07:002013-03-26T08:32:31.177-07:00I Cry So Much My Face Has Sagged - Will It Ping Back?
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have been reasonably calm, all things considered, over
the last week. But facing up to the reality of our imminent loss is just too
much to bear. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes I think Nutty will go on for quite a
while, maybe even a year, but perhaps we are being optimistic given the fast
growth of his tumour. I don’t know how long we have left with him. Weeks?
Months? Nobody knows. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When the grief wells up there seems to be so many
tears. The tears come instantly and once they start, I wonder if they will ever
stop. I wonder if my face has changed, morphed into a different, sadder shape
in response to it all. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am tapping
into a bottomless supply of universal heartache. `Well’ seems an appropriate
word, but it would have to be a pretty deep well, as the well of grief is
limitless, deeper than the ocean and wider than the sky. At those times I am
plugging into a collective misery of all mankind’s sadness, past, present and
future.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I know I mustn’t be maudlin, but if losing my dog is
breaking my heart how do people cope with losing children or even their whole
families? Every day I read tragic stories and it is a triumph of the human
spirit that the bereaved manage to put one foot in front of the other and carry
on. I don’t know why people aren’t jumping off tall buildings every second of
every day really. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965019416771409638.post-6210476972127962582013-03-26T08:29:00.001-07:002013-03-26T08:29:14.627-07:00Calm After the Storm
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Things have calmed down since our beastly
contretemps on Thursday. When push comes to shove, neither of us wants to end
our seven-year relationship. And as usual after one of our episodes there is a peaceful
lull. We are part of each other’s lives now, whether we like it or not, and I’d
rather be unhappy with him than unhappy without him! Although that does sound
rather defeatist. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Generally it is OK, he is on a short fuse, but what
can you do? As long as I am happy and my writing is going well I can cope with
it. He went on a Buddhist course for a few days, I was so impressed, and it has made him more respectful and calmer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Nutty is doing OK. His cancer doesn’t seem to affect
him too much in himself, he seems to enjoy his life as usual, wags his tail
when stroked and runs about in the park. The occasional bark which oh so lifts
my heart! Every time he barks I wonder if this will be the last time. I see him
summoning up his strength when he does, I imagine it takes quite a bit of
energy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">He has been eating well. This morning I mixed up his
Lily’s chicken with fresh poached chicken, veg, and at lunch time I let him
finish off my very rare venison burger and egg, while this evening he had the
same as breakfast. Preparing his supplements is quite a job too. In the morning
and evening he must have a teaspoon of colloidal silver, seven drops of
homeopathic tincture, a homeopathic pill three times a day, one anti-cancer
supplement and a shitake mushroom pill twice a day. Pluse we wash his mouth out three times a day. It's not easy to get him to take the supplements. He will sometimes if he is hungry and I hide them in his food. Otherwise I open the pills and sprinkle them on his food. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02258071450867981689noreply@blogger.com0