Well, this morning all seems calm here; we had a good walk, with Hamish happily extracting himself from a lead tangle without any issues. I can’t wear a headtorch because of where the wounds are which is a bit tricky, but they do seem to be healing. They feel hot and sore, but not infected,thanks to the antibiotics. However the bruising on my face – I think caused by huge paws, is coming out and I do look like an extra from The Walking Dead.
Antibiotics mixed with antidepressants seems to be a goooood mix – they get on just fine, thank you very much; a lovely little buzzy cocktail of feelgood chemicals. Now, with caffeine added, I’m well sorted for the day! So much so, that I have decided, today is the day to quit smoking – yup, really! Not entirely sure I am in my right mind!
Hamish has been completely normal (and was all day yesterday too) and had wuffles, and hugs, and zoomies, and chase, and football, and singing, and stuff, and more zoomies, and some more wuffles and singing. All perfectly normal, nothing to see here 😉
Photo taken at one of our first rallies, about four years ago, at Rendlesham Forest by the wonderful Elizabeth J. Dziergas. She is an absolutely amazing photographer, frequently getting rained on and covered in mud for her art! And her dogs are stunning too! Many thanks to her xxx
Gory photo warning!
I thought long and hard about posting this but I write about living with malamutes and it’s not all fun and zoomies. So, here goes – BTW judge me, but don’t judge my dogs please.
Yesterday Hamish got himself completely tangled in that thin stringy electric fencing that a farmer had put up overnight around his crops. Local walkers are allowed to walk around the wide edges of the fields but obviously not across them. Hamish unfortunately ran through the four strand fencing and got wrapped in it.
He was scared witless and in pain, and as I tried to untangle him he jumped on my back and bit the back of my head. He was completely freaked, scared and terrified. Anyway I went to a and e and the lovely nurses glued the four puncture holes back together. Hamish didn’t return to his normal self til late afternoon. His eyes were hard, and challenging, but there was fear there too.
Today he seems perfectly normal – we’ve had hugs, zoomies and a song, but I wanted to say, that even the sweetest dog can change unrecognisably if in pain and fear. A big, powerful dog can do a huge amount of damage in this situation, and 9/10 it’s not the dogs fault. There were no warning signs on the fencing.
Well, after yesterdays gale force winds – at least an 8 on the Beaufort Scale of Malamute Walking – tails and ears blown away, and bumholes exposed when windy behind (so to speak), today was still. Bloody cold though. But we finally met The Creature in the Dark – the one who goes before me, who walks the darker paths (see, suspense technique) – it was a man called Max (and……there’s the let down lol), or his dog was called Max or something – either way, quite pleasant and not scary at all. I felt a mix of relief and disappointment, but mainly relief tbh. Gorgeously stunning dog though – a rich foxy red sibe cross, nervy and unsure, but very waggy. Apparently, after his old dog, a lab called Max (see, I really wasn’t taking this in) was PTS, he adopted this Rumanian rescue (yes, I know), who’d already had three homes and is only two years old. No wonder poor Max was so nervy and anxious (I think I mean the sibe cross here, but I need coffee to get over this confusion – see, I could have said maximum confusion, but that just would be taking things too far, and no one can ever accuse me of that, can they?). Coffee time now, I’m maxed out
Look who turned up this morning – somehow she’d got inside, so with my heart in my mouth, I wrapped my hand around her tiny body, and carried her out. She just sat on my finger, looking around with a darkly sparkling eye, fluffed up her feathers – each a perfectly formed garment in miniature, and settled in for a while!
I watched her watching me; she was sheer perfection, created to be ideally suited to her role in life. Was she, in fact, created, designed or just …….there? This is the age old question philosophers have argued, discussed and contemplated for centuries. No one has a definitive answer – is there even one? Would it signal the end of the world – Ragnarok? The Apocalypse? Would a definitive, unarguable answer mean the end of us? Would our tiny heads explode in a cascade of thoughts and images that would be the ultimate Big Bang?
Who the fuck knows – but this little wren, sitting calmly on my finger didn’t care one iota – she just was. Coffee and ibuprofen is definitely needed now!
I was one of those children who was adopted through the church, or to put it another way, I think my birth mother was ‘persuaded’ to give me up all those years ago. I have read for years about the horrific Magdalene Laundries, but didn’t realise that the Church of England was involved; however recently this scandalous practice has been highlighted and the church has ‘apologised’.
For all my life, I have never been drawn, like others, to seek out my birth mother, assuming she gave me up willingly – obviously times were different then, and who am I to judge someone on this? I have no bitterness, anger or even questions – she had her reasons, and I’m sure it was a tough decision to make.
However, if the decision had been made for her, if she felt she had no choice – now, that is something I could get angry, for her, about. A young 19 year old, with a good education, and a religious upbringing, to fall pregnant must have been scandalous and terrifying. Her and my father ‘could not marry’ – read into that what you will.
So, I am going to try and find her……..who knows what it’ll bring, if anything. It’s been over forty years (although, obviously, I am only 36 – not sure how that happened, but I admit to nothing lol), and paths differ greatly. But I feel now is the time to at least try.
Has anyone been here? Traveled this road? How did it work out?
Noses down and off like steam trains this morning – my feet didn’t touch the ground. My arse almost did several times however – and the fruitless cries of ‘stop, oi dogs, stop’, followed by the slightly desperate ‘for the love of the gods, just stop’ merely spurred the bastards on. So, after several miles of this, you’d think they’d be knackered, nope – zoomies all over the house, garden, me, and round again. I am shattered, they are blowing slightly. Coffee and gin for me, ACP for them!