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.

Hear Me Roar

When we were young and all living at home there would often be shouting matches. Our mother was affronted at us and would say,

They'll hear you at the line!

The 'line' was the road between Antrim and Ballymena but it wasn't passing motorists she was thinking about, it was all the relatives that lived at the public house on the line that she was worried about. For some reason, she did not want Granny, Aunts Mary and Bernie and Uncles Shaun and Kevin to know that she was rearing a crowd of wild, unruly children. 

So yelling and shouting was a big no-no in our house as were the wearing of trousers by girls and/or female whistling. 

Every time you whistle, you make Our Lady cry.

Is it any wonder that I grew up loth to be anything other than gently spoken in public places? 

That has been changing recently and I'm feeling so much better about it.

It all started in Cambridge. I disembarked from the King's Lynn train with only a few minutes to spare to change for the airport train. But I misread the platform information and headed over the bridge to the other platforms. It wasn't easy as my case was very heavy, it being full of all the handmade baby clothes I'd been instructed to share with new and expected family members so I arrived on the other platform, slightly out of breath and, to reassure myself, enquired of a guard if I was on the correct platform and then he said,

The Stansted train is on platform 1, it's over the bridge, and it's just about to leave.

I turned on my heel, dragged the heavy case up the iron steps, over the bridge, down the other side. There was the train and the doors were closed. I pressed the button, doors opened. I didn't dare step inside in case it was the wrong train. Instead, I roared through the open door,

STANSTED?

And a young woman replied mildly.

Yes.

I jumped on. It was at least ten minutes before my heart rate returned to normal.

There was another roaring incident yesterday. Martha and I were sitting at a window seat in Middletown enjoying a coffee and cinnamon rolls and people watching when I leapt from my seat, ran out the door, picked up two tenners from the pavement and yelled at the young man carrying a baby who had just dropped the money from his pocket.

EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!

He stopped and I gave him the money. He thanked me. I'm sure he thought me slightly mad and I did not care. It was more about me than him. For I got to move fast, do a good deed and I got to ROAR. It felt so good.

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.

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.

Remembering Rosie

Rosie, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

When I look at pictures of Rosie I remember how she felt. She was a dog that loved to be cuddled, petted and handled. She was the sort of dog that crept on to your lap so that you wouldn't even notice she was there until you looked down and realised that you were rubbing her head and stroking her silky ears. She was the sort of dog that helped to calm you.

I also remember how she smelled. She smelled of good clean earth with undertones of dog. She loved to be nuzzled. I loved to nuzzle her head, that flat hard part between her ears. Behind her ears was a good part to knead and rub. We both liked that. It was also good to play with her feet. Some dogs don't like that but Rosie did. She liked to have her toes separated and gently massaged. She liked the rough pads on her paws to be scratched. She liked to be rubbed under her chin. And I liked to do it. She was the most tactile, sweet-smelling dog I've ever known. I loved to rub my face on her head and smell the sweet hayish, grassy. earthy scent of her.

Bert had another name for her. He called her The Bitcher and she knew that was her name. She knew that Dirty Rotten Scunging Devil Dog was her name. She knew she was Rosie.

Kerry sister has a new pup. It's a Kerry sheep dog. I have envy.

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.

Bêtes de Chagrin

Rosie and Bert in the Mournes

Team Dirty Rotten Scunging Devil-Dog is no more. Rosie was killed this morning in the road just outside our house. One of Pearlie's helpers left the door wide open and the pair of them, so well guarded by Hannah all weekend, saw an opportunity and made their escape. We think Rosie was struck by a car moments after leaving the house. Due to her injuries we're sure she died instantly.

We'd had her for twelve years. She was at least thirteen years old. Until she met Paddy she was a home-loving girl but there was something about the effect those two had on each other. Every chance they got they were off after rabbits and foxes. We really did our best to be vigilant but they always had their eye on the main chance and the left-open door.

We always gave our dogs extra 'pet' names. We had Danny for teens of years and I think he had about twenty other names by the time he left us. Bert called Rosie the Bitcher, or The Wee Special Bitcher or, a recent favourite, Scritchy.

Rosie was a great favourite with the old girls. Pearlie, Matty and Bert's Aunts Lizzie and Sally all liked her best. Bert loved her best too. Today was the first time I ever saw him with damp eyes.

Loving dogs is bloody hard sometimes. Which is why the French call them bêtes de chagrin - beasts of sorrow. For they break our hearts - they die too soon.

One consolation is that she died before old age truly took hold of her. At least we're all spared that. She'd have hated not to be active.

We're Off!

It's been a hectic few days what with the Scrabulous tourney, work and life in general. Tonight I'm trying to finish off a few games and getting packed for our weekend in the Mournes. Tomorrow will be a half day at work then off to Hanna's Close for six o'clock. This will be the first time Bert and I have got a bit of time away together for well over a year. That's what happens when you have a frail and dependent parent at home. And did I mention cantankerous. She's all that too.

Pearlie will be going to respite care for a fortnight so the break continues even after we get back. Although when she's in respite Bert still continues to visit with her on alternate nights. On her first spell in the care home he went in every night and I had to explain to him that the respite was for him too.

She's difficult. Nothing pleases her. And it's not just her age because she was always like that. She does not seem to have the capacity to feel happiness or joy. Bert is incredibly patient with her and he deserves some time off.

Hannah will be looking after Bonnie, Paddy and the calves. Rosie is coming with us. She's the oldest of the dogs and won't be having many more holidays.

The wee scrabulous tourney? I expect to lose all nine of my games. It will be humiliating but sure a bit of humiliation is good for the soul. Isn't it?

Lost Dog

Earlier today I had to reduce the number of chickens on the sidebar to 7. One of the banties has disappeared.

I'm terribly worried that I'm going to have to drop on the dog count too. Rosie has been missing since 10 o'clock this morning.

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!

Poor Poorly Rosie...

She's too zonked to blog this herself. Bert collected her from the vet after 6pm and she was like a zombie. She was able to eat her dinner but instead of wolfing it down as usual she broke off in the middle and spent some time staring vacantly at the wall. She is just so druggged...

And Nellybert is £80 poorer. You'd think the vet could afford some nicer jeans.

Other better news -

One of Daddy's favourite godsons has been appointed headmaster of St Olcan's in Randalstown. Thankfully not St Olcan's in Randalstown (!)