"Here are..." [Some kitchen sink stories.]

It's February 29th! Although we don't have anything even vaguely interesting to tell you today, My Typist is determined we post something since we won't be able to do it again for another 4 years.

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Here are my friends Larry, Ted and Baxter.

No, I don't think they're related.

We like to look at treats.

It'd be even better if someone actually gave us a treat.

*

Here is something we did 2 weekends ago.

We cut back our rampant grapevine. I wasn't allowed to eat any of the grapes that fell on the ground.

"Can I help?"

"I asked. You heard me, right?"

My humans made a big mess. Lucky they had a new broom.

Here's the broom.

My humans are very proud of it. It's handmade by traditional methods, has 2 types of natural bristles, weighs 1kg and cost 35 dollars.

There really is a sucker born every minute.

Here is a thorn.

It was in my side for 2 days.

I had a big hot red lump there. My humans thought I'd been bitten by a spider but since I wasn't foaming in the mouth or having spasms, they didn't take me to see Dr Dog and just put some pawpaw ointment on it. It's a wonder I didn't die.

Here's something a little nicer that I got this morning! It came by courier.

2 kgs of beef liver treats! Plus some free lamb crumble!

Here's when I finally got to eat a treat.

I bet everyone's going to want to be my best friend now.

*

That's it then! Goodbye summer! You were crap this year but we're still going to miss you.

The tradesman, the bench and the burglar alarm.

This is what happens when you don't clean up before a tradesman arrives.

Oops. Are those cobwebs with dessicated flies clinging to the wall? Clumps of Rufus fur hanging onto the back of the bench cushions? Surely those aren't 3 year-old Jordan furballs clogging the carpet?!!

[I admit! I removed some all of the fur clinging onto the back of the bench before taking this picture. I couldn't help myself. It was a reflex action born of deep humiliation.]

"Oh my goodness!" I exclaimed, feigning surprise and giggling nervously when I saw The State Of The Area Behind The Bench. "Where did all that come from? I just vacuumed yesterday! It's very dusty here in Balmain. Did you see all the utes parked outside? There are 7 houses doing renos and repairs right now on this street! Can you believe it? It's like living in the middle of a construction site."

Of course, the tradesman was diplomatic. "No problem, ma'am." he said conversationally.

"Let me get the vacuum cleaner, " I suggested. "You don't want to get all asthmatic crawling around in there."

"Quick, Typist! I'll distract him by sticking my nose in his butt while you get the vacuum!"

Oh, the ignominy of it all. To be caught out by a tradesman as a sub-standard hausfrau. How was I to know he needed to get behind the bench? I'm furious the call centre didn't warn me.

"Please vacuum, mop, dust and otherwise sanitise your house before 12noon today. Our man will be coming and he'll need to get behind bulky pieces of furniture that haven't been moved in 10 years."

That was the Telstra man, by the way. As far as he's concerned, our internet connection is all good to go now. We'll see.

So here's my question for the day. 

How many of you clean up in anticipation of a tradesman coming over? Or dust, scrub, vacuum and mop before you go on a holiday?

I do. I clear the dishes, do all the dirty laundry, scrub out the bathtub and toilet bowl. I even change the bedsheets and towels.

I think it makes complete sense. If something bad should happen to us on holiday, I'd hate for the police, neighbours or rellies to break down the door and walk into a pig sty. Let me tell you, no one has any sympathy for a filthy dead person. [Which is why I fervently hope I'll die with clean undies on.]

The Other Half thinks I'm being idiotic. What does he know? He's a man.

Besides, I'm convinced there are a lot of us idiots out there. [Maybe even some men.] Are you one of them perchance? You can confess here in total confidence, you know.

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In more exciting news, the house security alarm has gone off 4 times in the last 2 days, 3 times in the dead of night.

Our vigilant and fearsome guard dog slept through it every single time.

No, that's not true. She did look up, but she didn't stir from her bed. Why bother? The humans are taking care of it. Look at them hurtling down the stairs in their flipflops, all bleary-eyed from sleep. I hope they don't trip and break their necks. Who would take me for a walk then?

Finally, this morning [and I use the term loosely, since it was still pitch black outside], The Other Half proved his mettle and value for the 2nd time this week by dismantling the damn box. [I do hope no burglars are reading this.] It was touch and go and I now have an inkling of how a bomb disposal unit must feel.

"Hey! It's still dark. What am I doing down here? Can I go back to bed now?"

I toyed with the idea of dropping off apology notes in my neighbours' letterboxes but have decided against it. My immediate neighbour knows because she was laughing at us pounding down the stairs, so she says. As for the rest, let them ponder on who the culprit might be who woke them from their slumber. I don't think I can cope with dirty looks on the street at the moment. 

I have enough mental anguish to deal with knowing that, somewhere in greater Sydney, a Telstra man is telling his wife about the filthy pig he met yesterday. And she's no doubt gloating in her gleaming house.

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And just when I think nothing more can happen.

Our clothes dryer has started to creak and groan while tumbling. I fear, after 10 years of good service, it may be dying.

Fark. Have I offended Some Higher Power in some way?

Note to self ... best vacuum behind the dryer, just in case.

"What's the use of me having 3 baths a week when I have to live in a house full of cobwebs and dander?

I  really hope I don't catch some disease." 

The perils of long-distance relationships and other love concerns.

Last Thursday evening, I was out with My Cushion at the little park round the corner when these 2 boys came along.

They were wheaton terriers, just like Lionel [as in Richie] and Barbara [as in Streisand]. [You can read about them HERE. It's one of My Typist's favourite stories.]

I'd never seen these 2 boys before! Their names were Fergus and Bosun. 

I think they liked me!

Maybe a bit too much.

Trudeau could see I was in trouble and tried to help.

But it was no use and they had their way with me.

 

I know these pictures look bad! Anyone would think I was having a good time.

Let me say e.m.p.h.a.t.i.c.a.l.l.y! That's just not so! I already have a boyfriend.

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Last week, Frankie PigDog asked me to be his Valentine and I said "YES! thank you, Frankie!"

Here's a picture of My Frankie that I stole. [Sorry.]

I was so excited and happy when he asked. You can see he's very handsome and robust just like me.

I was also very glad I wouldn't be one of those poor sods that had no one to love them on Valentine's Day.

But a week has passed. 10 whole days, to be exact, who's counting.

If you're reading this, Frankie, and have seen those incriminating innocent pictures of me having a ball, please don't be angry! I love you lots, possibly more than lamb necks.

I wish I could visit you! But My Typist says you live in New Zealand and that's too far away.

To tell you the truth, Frankie, I think this long-distance relationship thingy may not work be doomed. Don't you think so too? I know it's a terribly serious and complicated situation and you might like to give it some thought before responding. I don't want to rush you. So how about you get back to me tomorrow?

Until then, I promise to remain your faithful and Gorgeous Little Pigdog, Georgia Little Pea x

P.S. To help you make up your mind, I am coming clean about my love life so far.

**

Boys I've kissed and am telling about.

Monty. My 1st boyfriend. He loved me as I was, and was my best friend when I was exiled from the dog park.

I hardly have any pictures of Monty.

He got upset when his mini-human arrived and was sent away to live in Nowra. We never even got to say goodbye.

Atlas. What a dreamboat.

He still lives nearby but we never seem to meet anymore.

Maybe we're like starcrossed lovers or something.

Maybe our humans just have bad timing and should get their act together.

Jack from England, who was even bigger than Mr T!

He would've made a great boyfriend except those hussies, Mana and Tora kept getting in the way.

After a year or maybe 2, Jack snuck off to live in New Zealand. Sadly, I'll probably never see him again.


Potential boyfriends from the hood, if Frankie decides to call it quits. [No harm in being prepared.]

Larry?

Nah. Too nice.

Darcy?

Nah. Too small. [Please note, this could be Aggie. My Typist gets them confused when they're not together.]

Hector? 

Big, handsome and funny. A great choice if you like hairy boys.

 Hector is very hard to capture on camera.

This could be because he has a criminal record and needs to keep a low profile.

The Other Hector?

Not bad. Could be too young. I'd hate to end up like Demi.

Hugo?

Okay, this could be scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Anyway, he's already shacking up with Dora and they're moving/have moved to New Zealand too.

Hey! Can someone tell me why everyone's moving to New Zealand?

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A walk down memory lane [for those with another 10 minutes to spare].
There are many love stories in my neighbourhood. We are a romantic lot. Unless you've been following my stories for at least one [1] year, you might have missed them. If you like [and are over 18 and not easily offended], you can catch up HERE and HERE.