Friday, 21 November 2014

Clown hound.

I was watching Air Bud the Disney film with the Golden Retriever that sold us on having a Golden and getting our Iz, what they don't tell you on the film is that Golden's are not as well trained as Buddy the dog in the film is, it takes a lot of work to get this stubborn loveable hound that well trained; they are however wonderful family dogs that love games and are very happy waggy tailed creatures that will raise a smile from 'almost' everyone that meets them - read my last post for more details on the odd person who can't raise a smile!
 Back when we had just our Suki, our lovely Heinz 57 variety mix mongrel from the rescue centre, Ricky our beautiful German Shepherd having passed away, my kids were younger then and we sat one rainy summer afternoon and watched Air Bud and the love affair for Golden Retrievers was born.
In the film, Buddy is a Clown hound for a mean clown and he meets a little boy that has lost his dad and between them they heal each other and find a new forever loving home.  Its a classic Disney tale designed to tug at the heart strings - it works we live with two mud wallowing waggy tailed Golden's now - and make you weep with tears of saddness then those of joy.....

...not a brilliant combination when you are at the torch, long hot flame stretching before you and melted glass on the rod waiting to become the arms and legs of the next creation.  But it did inspire my Clown hound.
You can find my glass creations in my Etsy shop waiting to be adopted.

Wednesday, 19 November 2014

What a crock of ....


People fascinate me.  They amuse me.  They annoy me and they totally grate on my nerves like nails down a chalkboard.

Walking Iz and Defi this morning, the sun is struggling to show its face, but its a worthy cause, its not too wet, more damp after a lighter than light frost so the grass is dewy but the cobwebs on the hedge haven't got that sparkle, the birds are chirping loudly to each other and flying in clouds of feathers and noise, its an idyllic country walk through the orchards.  The apples lying on the ground rotten and mashed, their perfume rising through the dead leaves and still letting the passing thought of apple pie and cider give life to their otherwise decaying mass, so why, oh why, do some people find it nigh on impossible to smile?

I wear the classic dog walking attire, jeans that I wore the day before usually with a dried muddy dog paw of someone else's dog that has jumped up in greeting, wellington boots that have a dab of Gorilla glue down the back seam on the right boot; this dab looks like dried slug snot but it works and as long as I don't go wading in the swollen river Wye I will be ok to walk through the mud and leaves.  My jacket, rain mac - call it what you will - is covered in muddy splatters from the down pours of last week, I haven't bothered washing it, what's the point? its winter and it will be the same next week when the rains comes again, besides I am out of water proofing 'stuff'.  I do sport my lovely snuggly hand crocheted fingerless mittens and my old battered once purple now a faded spectrum of weak lilac and puce bag that holds my doggy poo bags, dog biscuits, two spare balls as Iz keeps losing them amongst the apples and with their lime green colour now replaced with a concoction of cow poo doggy saliva grass stain colouring they blend into the undergrowth too well and become lost for a few days - we do usually find them again, this morning we found the two we lost last week.....

So I am a catch, a sexy, dog walking female with red hair, blown into a wind swept style with rosy country cheeks and a smile - more walking wardrobe disaster, mud splattered and scowling at Defi rolling in a muddy puddle, BUT, I always smile and say good morning to few people I meet.

They came towards me in clean and almost new, so new I could see where the tags had been attached on their matching red jackets with blue trim, their waterproof trousers and very swanky walking boots, they even had those walking sticks that I covet each time I slip and fall on my arse in the mud but the husband tells me I will look old, like wellies with slug snot glue doesn't have the same effect?  Defi goes one side of the older couple and Iz walks the other side, both dogs shiny clean - I raise my eyes to the heavens and thank the Lord for his kindness this morning - and I smile at the smaller of the couple, the woman, whilst two golden tails wag slowly and up right past them. The scowl from the old hag as she flinched from; I am blaming the dogs here but I feel it was me in my ancient water proof jacket, once white now an off ivory mud stained colour with my dirty jeans and mad hair and the look she gave me would have floored Satan and put out the fires of damnation with their icy glare.

I mean, really.  Do people really expect to not see dogs on a river side walk, when they have walked past the cows in the field, the sheep in the field on the lanes?  When they have spied the dog poo in all its glory from the 70's styled white dried out look to the more modern, but none the less well known, fluffy white with mould mounds?  Are the manky tennis balls, discarded by faithful hounds chasing tails not a dead giveaway that dogs might actually be here amid the plethora of squirrels, badgers, foxes, hedgehogs, wild birds, birds of prey, farm animals and such like?

Would it have a devastating effect on her walk if she had smiled?  At least her matching husband acknowledged me although he failed to comment on my attire as he straightened the blue trim of this jacket.