Fifteen Years Ago In Kerry

Tomorrow came and I started looking for pictures to illustrate a post on my recent visit to Kerry. I even went on Flickr! Then fell down a Dingle Peninsula rabbit hole of memories.

Remembered that fifteen years ago I fled to Kerry only days after Pearlie came to live with us. I brought Paddy Dog with me and he was tremendously well-behaved apart from stealing Scruff's bed.

Scruff, always the gentleman, was the perfect host. Fifteen years ago, so of course they're all gone now. 

Three of the best dogs that ever barked.

We climbed Mount Brandon then, even me! It was no bother to the dogs. 

Sadly, the mist was on the mountain that day and I wasn't able to get the view. No matter, I'd seen it before and I hope, I really hope to see it again. Older than me have climbed that hill.

Another picture from that trip. Bert's clematis to the fore, The mountain behind. 

There is something about the place. On the last day I was there we watched a short film about Mount Brandon. About the hill and some people who live beneath it. The brother-in-law features in it. When I climb the hill again I will bring a stick and when I reach the peak I will roar like a lioness.

The Link  to An Cnoc

https://www.tg4.ie/en/player/play/?pid=6323948255112&title=An%20Cnoc&series=C%C3%A9ad%20Seans&pcode=665662&genre=Faisneis

15 Years Ago - Rosie & Pearlie Got Sore Paws

Between one thing and another Bert has had a tough week. There has been a lot going on with Pearlie (she broke her wrist) and we’ve been trying to get more help from social services. On Friday, between arranging to take Pearlie to A&E and meeting with her social worker, those dirty, rotten, scunging devil-dogs gave him the slip for the first time in a fortnight. We do try to keep them from running off but they know when we’re distracted and pick their moment well.

About three hours into his hospital sit, Bert got a phone call from Alber’,

Your Paddy is running about the Lisnahuncheon Road and he’s that black with glaar you’d hardly know it was him!

There was nothing Bert could do until he got home. He went out as soon as he’d eaten and managed to gather Paddy up but Rosie was nowhere to be seen.

Paddy was in a really funny mood. He didn’t want to get into the van and when I got a hold of him he pissed himself.

We waited patiently for Rosie to return. Bert had to go out and at 8pm I set off to look for her. Up the Loan Hill, Killyless Road, Lisnahuncheon – I called for her until I was hoarse but no Rosie.

When Bert got back he went out too but wasn’t able to find her either. I was really worried thinking that she might have been hurt, or shot, maybe put her shoulder out again – something must have happened to her.

Next morning I was out again, mainly checking the roads in case she’d been hit by a car. I brought an old towel with me to wrap her in if I found her body.

At 8.30am Bert went out. Fifteen minutes later I heard him coming back. I knew he’d found her but whether dead or alive I didn’t know. But as soon as I saw him get out of the car and head for the boot I knew she was alive. His body language told me.

The poor bedraggled thing had caught her front paw in a snare and had lay in a hedge the entire night. Bert returned to the place where he’d found Paddy, walked into a field and went straight to her. He said she wagged her wet, scraggy tail when she saw him. In took a while to get the snare off but amazingly her leg wasn’t too badly hurt at all. It was swollen but started going down within an hour. She had a feed, a big drink of water and jumped on to the sofa for a serious wound-licking session. Then she slept for the rest of the day.

She’s still resting today and has only chased the cat a couple of times.

And what of Pearlie? She’s enjoying a week’s stay in residential care. She could only get a week, and so far she says it’s not too bad. She says the food is ‘alright’, the other women are ‘a bit odd’ and there’s a man she’s got her eye on. She asked Bert if he’d mind her taking up with a boy and he said he wouldn’t as long as he was a decent sort of a boy.

Saint Patrick's Day And How I Gave Up Smoking

Saint Patrick's Day means little to me even though I am an Irishwoman. When we were children it meant a day off school which was marred by compulsory attendance at Mass where almost everyone would be wearing a clump of weedy shamrock and the choir would sing 'Hail Glorious Saint Patrick' which I rather enjoyed for I found the lyrics very rousing, more Unrepentant Republican than Devout Christian. At that stage of my life, I had yet to hear the Wolfe Tones.

Hail, glorious St. Patrick, dear saint of our isle,

On us thy poor children bestow a sweet smile;

And now that you’re high in your mansions above,

On Erin's green valleys look down with your love.

On Erin's green valleys, on Erin's green valleys,

On Erin's green valleys look down with your love.

Hail, glorious St. Patrick, thy words were once strong

Against Satan's wiles and a heretic throng;

Not less is thy might where in Heaven thou art;

Oh, come to our aid, in our battle take part!

In a war against sin, in the fight for the faith,

Dear Saint, may thy children resist to the death;

May their strength be in meekness, in penance, and prayer,

Their banner the Cross, which they glory to bear.

Nowadays I don't go to Mass and all that the day means to me is remembering dear old Paddy, wondering if any of my younger relations will be arrested in the Holyland and despising eedjits who carry on like this.

And what is it with the four-leaved clover? The whole point of the shamrock's association with Saint Patrick is that he is supposed to have used the plant to explain the concept of the Trinity to the native Irish. It isn't known as trifolium for nothing.

Anyway, Paddy's Day, my hole. This is the best Paddy I ever knew. Thirteen years ago we fetched him from the shelter, and thirteen years and two days since I gave up smoking for he sure took my mind off tobacco. That's my main tip for giving up. Get a dog. And some chickens.

Paddy was a great fellow for the hens

Every Picture: Cats and Dogs

Muff and Danny

If cats are introduced to dogs as kittens the cat will adapt well to their canine companion. As kittens, they will treat the dog as a surrogate mother (no matter the dog's gender) and as adult cats,  they consider the dog a contemptible creature only fit for using and teasing. Remember the adage, dogs have owners, cats have staff.

Judy and Fred

Fred is an Alpha Cat, Judy an Alpha Bitch. Fred always wins as Judy cannot climb trees.

Fred and Bonnie

When Fred was a kitten he was happy to permit Bonnie to share his food. No matter that the food was actually Bonnie's to start with. Fred was generous.

Bonnie and Holly

Bonnie's first kitten was Holly. She was very tolerant and put up with the little cat's relentless bullying.

Paddy, Rosie and Harry

Cats love to lie on people's beds. So do dogs. Paddy is resigned to Harry's presence. Rosie is thoughtful. Perhaps she should bite Harry? Harry is resolute. He's not going anywhere.

Holly and Jess

There are very few photographs of Jess in a cat's company. She's never known a kitten and the adult cats she shares her home with are not to her liking. Holly is hard to see in this picture as she has been treed. Jess needs to get herself a kitten.

Remembering Muff, Danny, Bonnie, Paddy, Rosie and Harry.

Getting Comfy

Why Paddy pictures two days running? Two reasons. One - I'm very tired and haven't the mental energy to come up with anything more challenging. And two - I'm sorting out my photo folders and have started on the Ps in the critter folder.

The Dogs In Our Lives, Paddy

Paddy

That is a photograph of Paddy taken in 2004 when he was full of vim and vigour. That would be Hector's cattle he is running at, the bad article - running the beef off them. He might have been around Judy's age, five or six - we never knew for certain how old he was. We'd had him for six months then and eight years later he was dying of old age.

Dogs -  they're not with us for that long at all. Only the memories last.

Just Flickr Seventeen

There was a great deal accomplished in Nelly's Garden today and, hopefully, as much again tomorrow.
We had another calf born, a little bull, very handsome. And Ben is here, always a delight to have him around.

Now to Flickr and the number 17.

17th most viewed, 864 views

It was 2005 and we were getting ready to move house. Bert is surrounded by Paddy, Harry de Cat and Rosie. They are all gone now, Paddy died in old age but Harry (6) and Rosie (10) were killed on the road outside our present house. These days we take care to discourage the dogs from going near the road. We use an electric fencing system and a collar. Some people might think this cruel but it is fairly effective. Much better to receive a couple of digs from an electronic collar than to lie broken and bleeding on the road. It only takes a couple of days. Even so, yesterday Bert discovered a well-trodden track from the field next to the lawn that led straight down to the road. We suspect it is Jess for she tends to stay out longer in the morning than the other dogs. Bert wasted no time in blocking her access and I intend to supervise her morning run out. Here's hoping. 

Evie, 307 views

The 17th most interesting image - Miss Evie, tired out after a trip to the Ulster Museum in 2014. She hardly ever naps now. Too afraid of missing something.

Sleeping

We had the Senior Dog, Paddy, humanely put down last Thursday. He'd been in a decline for the past year but had really started to fail this past few weeks. I'd say things like, "I don't think Paddy's long for this world," but he'd keep plodding on although his sight and hearing was almost away. It was two days before the end that I actually realised that he was dying. He didn't seem to be in any pain but you never know. He was certainly getting weaker. He couldn't jump on the sofa and he could hardly stand when he went outside to pee. He kept going round in circles before he'd lie down. he didn't look comfortable. He was starting to go off his food. On Thursday morning I made him a scrambled egg with butter. He ate half of it. Normally he'd have gobbled a delicacy like that. It was his last meal. Less than an hour later I made a very fast decision and called the vet.

She came to the house. Bert put Paddy to rest in the garden just after two o'clock.

Ever since I've been in pieces. I don't know why. I've lost lots of pets over the years but none have affected me like this. I think it was because it was done so quickly. But that is what we are supposed to do isn't it? Prevent them from suffering.

Paddy's Blog

An old blog post from 2008

Hi fans. Paddy here. I disremember the actual day I was pupped but, like Queenie, I have an official birthday and it is this very day - St Patrick's Day. It's four years now since Nelly and DeeMac sprung me from the Crosskennan Animal Shelter - and four happy years they have been for Nellybert et al. For it's damn lucky they were to be blessed with a fine animal like myself.

You know if it hadn't been for DeeMac (so beautiful, so wise) I might not have been living with the Nellyberts at all. Family folklore has it that Nelly was reluctant to pick me on the grounds that I looked too much like Danny. Don't know why that should have been a problem but as those who know her will agree our Nelly's a bit on the mental side.

That's myself and oul Dan above. Which is which you'll be asking? Well I'm the young snake-hipped sexy looking one and Danny's the oul fat-arsed mental looking one.

Of course I wasn't here long before Bert accidentally ran Dan over with the van. Old codger was completely deaf, half-blind and crippled so was happy for him maybe. Even so we were all very sad. Them ones buried him in the garden and I often visit his grave to remember the oul fellow.

That's all for now folks. I'll look out some more of the oul photos and maybe do another post before long. Nighty night.

Me at Danny's grave

To be continued.

Paddy

Paddy - Mountain Dog, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Paddy - who shared our life from 17th March 2004 until 9th February 2012.

Rest in peace old son. You will be missed

Tough Times

I heard today that two young women, both close to me, one very close, are facing unemployment through restructuring and redundancy. These are hard times indeed.

And closer to home our oldest dog Paddy is showing all the impending signs of decline and fail.

I'm not feeling particularly cheerful today.

Happy Paddy Dog's Day

Paddy Plays Tugger, originally uploaded by ZMB.

Six years today since Paddy was rescued from the shelter.

Happy anniversary old fellow!

It's also six years and three days since I quit smoking. How time does fly.

And for those of you to whom such things matter -

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

And I'm at work. Boo to that!

Paddy's Day

Five years ago today, Dee Mac and I went to Crosskennan Animal Shelter and brought Paddy home to join the Nellybert family.

He's come a long way since starting of as a rather diffident, snake-hipped fellow. That's him on the left of the picture. At that time Danny was the dominant dog in our house but sadly, Dan died a few months later. 

Paddy's confidence grew and grew but still he wasn't the numero uno dog in the house. That role fell to Rosie. However, as you can see, she adored him. Together they were the scourge of every fox, rabbit and cat in the country. They scunged far and wide and had many adventures and near-death experiences.

Regular readers will know that Rosie scunged her last several months ago. After nearly five years Paddy was Chief Dog. I think the role agrees with him. Don't you?

So to hell with your Guinness and your shamrocks. Paddy's Day isn't green as far as I'm concerned. It's black and white.... and pink.

Beware of the Savage Dog

Happy Birthday To Paddy

Hi fans. Paddy here. I disremember the actual day I was pupped but, like Queenie, I have an official birthday and it is this very day - St Patrick's Day. It's four years now since Nelly and DeeMac sprung me from the Crosskennan Animal Shelter - and four happy years they have been for Nellybert et al. For it's damn lucky they were to be blessed with a fine animal like myself.

You know if it hadn't been for DeeMac (so beautiful, so wise) I might not have been living with the Nellyberts at all. Family folklore has it that Nelly was reluctant to pick me on the grounds that I looked too much like Danny. Don't know why that should have been a problem but as those who know her will agree our Nelly's a bit on the mental side.


That's myself and oul Dan above. Which is which you'll be asking? Well I'm the young snake-hipped sexy looking one and Danny's the oul fat-arsed mental looking one.

Of course I wasn't here long before Bert accidentally ran Dan over with the van. Old codger was completely deaf, half-blind and crippled so was happy for him maybe. Even so we were all very sad. Them ones buried him in the garden and I often visit his grave to remember the oul fellow.

That's all for now folks. I'll look out some more of the oul photos and maybe do another post before long. Nighty night.

Me at Danny's grave

To be continued.

Bit Tied Up

Paddy: Well Rose that’s a powerful nice mornin’. Ye fancy a wee scunge? I smell rabbits.

Rosie: Huh! I don’t see how I’ll get any scunging done today. D’ye not see the cut of me?

Paddy: Aye ye’re down in the mouth all right. What’s annoyin’ ye?

Rosie: God but yer stupid! Did the vit gie ye a lobotomy that time ye were in getting your balls off?

Paddy: No need to be nasty. I see what’s vexin’ ye now. Ye’re tied up aren’t ye?

Rosie: Aye! I am! It’s to do with that carry-on yesterday. 

Paddy: Aye yesterday! Yesterday was a good day. Pity Jamie had to come along and spoil it on us. 

Rosie: It’s Alber’ I blame. He should just have minded his own business that time he saw us on the Loan Road. Sure we weren’t payin’ any mine to that oul fecker of a farmer who was roarin’ and shoutin’ at us. 

Paddy: That fat oul fecker hadn’t a hope of catchin’ us. 

Rosie: Aye! Not even if he’d tuk tae the Loan Hill wae his oul Land Cruiser. And he wouldnae hae went there for fear o’ the yappin’ he’d get from the wife for dirtyin’ the motor and her wantin’ to take it into the town tae lift the weans frae school. 

Paddy: Then Alber’ appeared. 

Rosie: Aye and did ye hear the soft coaxin’ way he was trying to get us into the boot of his motor. He hadn’t a hope. 

Paddy: Right! Then we were aff again. Up the Loan Hill. 

Rosie: Nixt thing though Alber’ has his phone out.

Paddy: Tellin’ on us. Rosie: But sure by the time Bert and Nelly arrived we were nearly out of earshot.

Paddy: Didn’t stop them roarin’ and shoutin’ for us though. 

Rosie: We heared nothin’. 

Paddy: It’s not aisy hearin’ things wae yer head stuck down a rabbit hole. 

Rosie: Was it your idea or mine to go down to the low huntin’ grounds? 

Paddy: Was you, Rose. Ye always have the best ideas. 

Rosie: Aye! But it was your fool notion to go down the Dreen Road to get there. Wisht I hadn’t a listened tae ye on that one. Bad luckin’ that two dogs steppin’ down the road on their own an’ one wae his collar left hingin’ in a hawthorn bush. Nigel could lift you for that and then Nellybert would be in bother! 

Paddy: ‘Spose then it was a good thing Jamie came on us.

Rosie: Maybe. Ye were quare and soft jumpin’ intae his car so quick. 

Paddy: Ye weren’t far behind me! Anyway, I couldnae help mysel’. He was that sharp of the tongue. Just like Nelly. Soft words don’t work on me. I hae found in my time that folk that talk all soft and nice tae ye usually give ye a good kick up the arse when they catch a houl of ye. Sharp-tongued folk are just pleased ye done what ye were bid. 

Rosie: Nae matter ye’re still a big lick and a suck. 

Paddy: At least it’s not me that’s tied to a pruta weighbridge! 

Rosie: Away and feck! Ye’ll get yer turn!

Bert to the Rescue

I’m not the only one who has been working flat out recently. For Bert attending ‘Gorgeous’ Gage is a full-time job (and then some). After all a man who can get stressed out by a few clematis growing too fast or a touch of red spider mite is a man who will be stressed to the max by shovel work and the necessity of keeping Gorgeous supplied with specialised plant from the ‘Hire It’ shop. The poor soul has been coming home completely exhausted. Last night was no exception. So it was only to be expected that he failed to do an accurate head count of the livestock at bedtime. He just assumed Paddy would be cosily curled up in my bed, as that is where Paddy usually is after 9pm. This morning whilst at work I received this phone call.

So that’s where you’re at. Where else would I be? Do you know where Paddy is? What! How should I know where Paddy is? Isn’t he with you? What’s wrong? He’s not in the house or the yard or anywhere. I’ve looked everywhere. He’s not lying dead anywhere. What! Dead! Find him! I can’t! I’ve got the digger man here in 10 minutes. What’s more important? The dog or the digger man? Find Paddy!

Distraught I slam down the phone. Fifteen minutes later Bert phoned back.

Well it’s all right. I’ve found him. Where was he? He was in the field in front of the house. He was just sitting there with his head stuck in a yellow bucket. He didn’t know where he was. I think he’d been sitting there all night. He couldn’t find his way home. Oh God! The poor thing. Is he OK? He’s a bit quiet on it. Give him a big kiss and hug from me. I can’t. He boked in the bucket. He’s stinking of vomit. Oh wash it off and kiss him anyway. Yeah. Sure.

Poor Paddy. He has been very stressed all day. But he cheered up to no end when HANNAH CAME HOME!

Drowning the Shamrock

My thanks are due to Zoe for the advice that got me back on top blogging form. She is to be nominated for a Nelly Award in the category 'Serpent's Tooth'.

So yesterday was St Paddy's Day. I spent most of it at work. It was also the first anniversary of Paddy Dog being sprung from Crosskennan Dog Jail and a year and two days since I last smoked a 'feg'.

As everyone Irish knows it is a tradition among the drinking classes to 'drown the shamrock' but as I was collecting Ganching from the airport that night I had to postpone my shamrock drowning until later. When I returned I got caught up chatting to Bert and the muso fellows so when I actually poured my glass of Bushmills and looked at the clock it was two minutes past midnight. Rats! Missed it. Still the whiskey was good (one glass) and I slept like a log.

Digging

There is nothing like a 24.5 hour shift in work to restore Nelly's spirits and take her mind off Christmas. The great thing about work (apart from getting paid) is that it makes being at home feel much nicer. So I got home this evening after two excellent shifts and a fairly decent sleepover and I felt not too bad at all. Good enough to mop the floors, make the supper and worm Harry de Cat. The worming went smoothly. He is such a good cat. Wish I could say the same about Paddy. Now I haven't disclosed that work has begun in what will be our new abode. Bert has been working up there for a couple of weeks now getting the place ready for the builders. I've been up a couple of days myself packing the stuff that his mother left behind when she moved out. Still to go is the contents of the attic. Thankfully it's a small attic and contains nothing but the remainder of Bert's toys and his pram. The first expert on the scene arrived at the beginning of the week. That was Sammy 'Gorgeous' Gage, the diggerman. Gorgeous shifts all our earth for us and demolishes all our tumbledown structures when needed. He is an excellent fellow who is reliable, skilled and gorgeous to boot. He doesn't know we call him Gorgeous but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if he found out. That is his real name by the way but as I only have good stuff to say about him I'm sure he won't mind. We've called him Gorgeous for years. The reason being is that one of Bert's aunts once said he had gorgeous hair. Which he had - it being blond, thick and wavy. He keeps it awfully short these days but he's wearing well in every other respect. He's a good bloke. If you're from this area and need a bit of digger work done I'd recommend him. So he's been doing a few drains, sorting out a sewer. re-directing a spring and knocking down a few really crappy walls. And it is one hell of a dirty mess. Paddy has been having the time of his life. In his wee doggy mind he is a digger boy too and he came home this evening glar to the oxters. Which is why Bert decided to shower him. I suggested to Bert that he strip and they could shower together but then the photos would have been too saucy to post. I'll return to the Christmas theme later. I'm feeling far too mellow tonight to spoil it.