Pooh, exercise and chicken

It was a beautiful sunny day.

I thought Buddy was really sick when I let him in this morning, he was really weird, sad, head down, lifeless and he came inside and collapsed on his (inside) bed.

It worried me, what the hell? He didn’t seem to rally, it was unlike him.

I was out getting the bin in and I had an idea, I rang the doorbell and he came running out like his normal self.

I see, I thought.

So, the next test was the dog lead draw, where I keep the lead. As soon as I opened it he was leaping about with that take-me-for-a-walk look on his cute little bulldog face.

Maybe he was just bored? Could he be? I hadn’t walked him for a number of days. One of the important points about buying a bulldog, was that they need a daily walk for their mental health.

Could that be the problem?

So, instead of eating breakfast and drinking coffee, I walked him to the postbox to repost his registration form back to the council, again. The stupid Council has sent it back to me for the second time. That is despite the fact that I went down. in the first place there. and had them confirm the microchip number with their own micro chip reader. They sent it back to me at the beginning of January and I returned it attention the appropriate person. as instructed by them when I called them. Despite this, they sent it back to me again. So, I posted it back to them, attention to a new person, as instructed when I called them for a second time.

It was a lovely sunny day and Buddy and I kept walking, he looked excited and please to be out. I forgot that I was hungry. We walked down to The Fitzroy Gardens. I was practically in my bed shirt, I was only going to post a letter.

Just as we got to the gardens, he had a huge shit in the street just by the Dallas Brooks Hall. I wouldn’t normally mention this, but… As we walked off, he had, what looked like, another pooh hanging from his arse. I thought he would take another shit, quickly, but he didn't. We trotted into the park, seemingly without a care. Happy as a pig in… So I got a piece of bark and tried to wipe it off, to discover it was a huge piece of bone hanging out of him. I winced. Oh… I waited for him to have another squat, but he still didn’t. He ran across the grass, he snuffled in the bushes but he didn't try to have another tail up, knees bent. I guessed I had to do something? I suddenly knew something of what mother’s must felt at times. So eventually, before breakfast, I was down on my knees grabbing at my dog’s arse with my fingers wrapped in a doggy-pooh bag… and pulling it out. He yelped, just gently, it had a hook on the side, like a spike.

Then he kept snuffling, as though nothing had happened, while I worried whether, or not, I should be checking for blood, you know, just in case.

I took him to the pond in which he can walk into to get a drink, he proceeded to attempt to swim instead. I pulled him out quickly, as two mother arrive with two prams and a few toddlers in tow.

He was really good walking, except for one moment, on the way home, other than that he was like a normal dog on a lead now.

And he's fine now? asked Sam.

Yes, I said.

Now Shane is making me baked eggs. I wondered if I should, in fact, be accepting? Feeding the bitch! I suddenly wondered how I got so cranky.

I went and got mahogany wood filler at (name of shop) for Mark to fill a table with in Hanoi. He’s got a table to repair, and Hanoi doesn’t do coloured filler. Mark sent me a photo. All the colours looked the same, and they had no colour chart. So, I came home and got my laptop and went back to compare the colours with the photo. It could save me a few more parcels sent for his DIY. We all agreed that Mahogany was the closest colour. It cost me $50 to post it. I had to fill out a customs form, at the post office. I said it is ridiculous, they can look inside for all I care.

“They probably will anyway, wood filler to Vietnam.” He laughed. “Once they wouldn’t have cares, but, you know, since 911… it’s all changed.”

It was a beautiful day, I decided that I should go bike riding. I’ve got to take this excess weigh seriously.

My tyre wouldn't pump up at the servo, I was pissed off. What timing. So I decided that there was nothing to do but to walk to the bike shop now at the other end of Smith Street, there was no use whinging, nobody was listening anyway. $160 later I was on my way.

What happen? asked Sam.

I was cross when I got home from the servo to get my wallet and Buddy was on the couch, again, so I rattled the bottle at him so hard that he completely freaked out and now he won't come out of the study.

Even after I got back from my ride. I felt bad.

Oh what a drama, said Sam, tell me the story later, got work to do. Do you want to see me tonight? I might finish bit late today, probably around 5:30.

We ate Nandos, in Smith Street, neither of us could be bothered cooking and some days I just can’t go to Woolies.

Nicholas called while we walking down to Smith Street. He is so funny, he pretended that he was someone I had hooked up with last week. He insisted, wanted to know why I didn’t want to talk to him.

I denied it all.

And he laughed and gave it away.

Some how he talked me into going over there on Saturday night for dinner, after Friday night’s shenanigans.

I’m not sure how he did that? Stupid me, I thought. It was meant to be the anti dote to the fact that drugs and porn are such a waste of time, if you know what I mean. I was trying to add some positive to the negative, yin and yang. Ha ha, listen to me. Be reclusive, but be social to, it is easy, it can be done.

I called Dante and organised “things” for the weekend. He said Friday. Sam asked why it couldn’t be tonight? My little monster, I have so been a bad influence on that boy.

I spoke to my sister, she is back from skiing in Austria. She loved having Buddy and she said he was welcome anytime I wanted him looked after, which is nice to hear.

“He’s a great little guy.”

Sam went to bed at 10.30pm.

I’m learning that I don’t have to go to bed when he does, I can stay up, it is allowed. Otherwise, he should spend more time at his place. Reading back over that, it isn’t quite what I mean, I don’t really want that, but I am sure you can grasp the essence of it.

I watched the “It gets better campaign,” about gay teen suicide.

I don’t think a lot of people understand that a great number of Christians would rather their own children were dead than were gay.

I think that is the attitude they are up against, especially in the bible belt of America, not to mention the bible belt of Australia.

I went to bed at midnight.