Friday, 26 September 2014

There is danger on the horizon.

I, have always considered myself a dog person. The bigger, the hairier, the better.  I don't much like muddy paws, the stink of drying fur in the Winter, or waking up in the morning in my space on the bed showing my backside hanging over the side and exposed to the morning, or that twinge in my back that suggests I have been contorted in my sleep, whilst my lovely Goldens, Iz and Defi are stretched out full length, one across the bottom of the bed and the other down the middle with Gordy somewhere in the middle, all three snoring gently but not quite loud enough to cover the noise from the husband who doesn't seem to be sharing an inch of his side.
 
The argument would be to make the dogs sleep downstairs, or..shock...on the floor of the bedroom, which is the same banter husband and I have when I moan about my lack of space, to which he raises his eyebrows when I refuse to make my babies sleep on the cold hard floor; they do have lovely beds and castles but they all like to snuggle with me at night and who am I to stop them?
 
Throughout my childhood I lamented after a dog, all the homes I lived in - I had a 'collective' life when it comes to parents and surrogates; we never had pets, not a dog, cat, hamster, rabbit...nothing.  Once, when I was very young we had a goldfish, and before I can remember so was only told we apparently had a kitten called Mischief who sat on my head in the pram and I stopped breathing so my mother evicted her from the home.  Had I been more aware of this at that young age I most probably would have argued that she was comfortable and I should have moved.
 
So, as soon as was possible I got a dog.  Actually it was my boyfriend, now husband, who said we could have Ricky, my much loved German Shepherd, a handsome 9 month black and gold dog with issues.  Between us we had racked up a collection of small pets, a rabbit called Thumper, my collection of pet rats, a hamster named Hannibal the Cannibal on account he was aggressive, a lizard called Philpot that sadly had died and his fish tanks of piranhas and other underwater creatures, he being brought up with cats and dogs so it was second nature for him to fill a home with everything that had whiskers and fins.
 
My love of dogs blossomed, although not without problems and issues, Ricky was ex-show dog and he was big and strong and had never been in a house having come from kennels so I got a shock with house training and the enormous piles of poop one dog can hold before depositing over the floor. 
 
Once I was house proud and fussy now I live amongst dust, dog hairs and dribble.  And love it.
 
After Ricky came Suki the rescue Lurcher X and inbetween came a myriad of cats, all abandoned and beaten up, until we come many years down the line to Gordy.  My little cat with brain damage.
 
I still love dogs, especially my mud attracting, bed stealing stinkers, but Gordy is swaying me in ways the other cats couldn't.  We, that's the Royal we, Gordy and I, write a monthly column for Cat World Magazine about his adventures, and he has a few.
 
 
The first article we were asked to write back in December/January of this year.

 
Last months about being the chosen one, seen here with my daughter and the diva himself, Gordy.

 
Stealing the limelight by being in the light tent.

 
Its a hard life being Gordy!
 
So, coming home this afternoon from a trip to the library and yet another collection of stories about cats and dogs tucked under my arm, I opened to the door to the newest edition of Cat World magazine and the article about how Gordy over heated this summer, so if you will excuse me this afternoon I will be reading a glossy magazine all about cats!

 

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