Hurting...

... for Knots in the String.

He has been so brave, my Terrier.

Imagine if, within a month or so, we’d lost a large amount of sight, ripped off a nail sheath, had a bad bacterial infection in the toe and a rotten tooth. I imagine we’d be grumpy, angry with life – furious perhaps. How dare this happen! Woe is me!

My little chap slept a lot more. Understandably. And as you know – licked. Licked and licked as if his life depended on it. Perhaps in his mind, it did. Licking makes things better – it’s a natural canine comfort response. But he would tremble on getting out of his bed and look at me as if to say, ‘Don’t think I’m right, Mum. Not sure. Let me sit in the sun and I’ll let you know.’

Enough was enough and so on Monday past, I booked him into the Tasmanian Veterinary Hospital and his Uncle Callaway (rather like Tricky Woo with Uncle Herriot – golly, does that make me Mrs. Pumphrey?) had returned from long service leave. I think the Terrier was content to be back in the hands of the vet who has looked after him for most of his 12 years.

Within an hour of being seen, he was admitted for a procedure with a GA and I breathed a sigh of relief because he just wasn’t himself. He’s a Jack Russell - they’re turbo-charged dogs and this little one’s battery was seriously flat.

We picked him up from the hospital at the close of the day. He was ga-ga with the anaesthetic and opioids but I was glad - it meant he had a reprieve to mend quietly. Uncle Calloway had cleaned and flushed the nail bed, removing broken slivers of the old nail. He had cleaned the dog’s teeth and removed the rotten one, given him a long-acting antibiotic shot and a long-acting anti-inflammatory/pain shot. I was given discharge notes and drugs.

The hard work began…

Oh how the hard work began. Drugs, obsessing about his bladder and bowels, watching his every move. Which ultimately became no moves at all. Originally weight-bearing on Day One post-op, by Day Three he could barely walk a step, and so a trip up the highway, 160kms, to the vet and back yesterday.

The bandages came off - thankfully everything looked clean (if sore) and it seems there was pressure on the bloodied stump of the nail. But now, with a little baby sock (size 000) - he is already brighter, ears up at last and his nose sniffing the air (possibly debating what trouble to get back into). However, long walks are not possible and he looks at the beach with such longing…

So I must do my long walks alone, at least for a couple of weeks. He’s not allowed to swim so the beach is banned, and and dry, rough country is still too hard on his foot. Even country back roads are unsuitable and so we look for semi-suburban paths and green verges - at least they have lots of canine smells which is good for his mental health.

Walking without a dog is unthinkable (see above - we are always together), as for as long as I can remember, my walks (and runs back in the day) have always been with my canine companions. They have taught me to be so mindful of everything all around – to see colour, sound, landscape, seascape. Golly, even people and other dogs. To find pleasure in the smallest things –the call of a bird, the rustle of the bushes, the clap or shush of a wave-break. And in the case of The Terrier – shells. And not just any shell but searching for one species in particular. Dedicated observation.

How strange it has been to walk alone. The loss of syncopation, the loss of synergy, of thought-blending, of partnership.

I don’t like it…

Reading:

Via audio, I finished Sally Page’s The Book of Beginnings. So much to enjoy in this book, so much inspiration, so many wise words and quite a bit of laughter. The narration was excellent – nuanced and with perfect accents and timing. Please listen to it if you have time.

On Kindle, Sally Page’s The Keeper of Stories. What with Terrier health, grandson and heat waves, I’ve been too tired to switch the Kindle on.

The latest audio is a Rumer Godden collection of three novels Black Narcissus, The Green Gage Summer and The Dark Horse. They are vintage multi-casted BBC radio performances. I thought they might be dated but not at all. Just like the radio serials of yore.

Before TV came to our town in the early 60’s, radio drama was our entertainment, early evening for children, the adults after the 7PM News. In the late 60’s and after TV was introduced, there were still serials on radio particularly BBC productions which were perfection. The Godden books look as if they will tread the same path.

Watching:

Muster Dogs: Gosh, if you’re a dog lover, you need to watch this show! It follows a pack of working dog pups from birth to 12 months as they’re trained on disparate farms across Australia. The first series is now on Netflix and shows kelpies.

This series features Australian Border Collies. It sparks memories, as we used rakes to train our daughter’s kelpie back in the day (if you watch the show, you will see what I mean - nothing bad). Sophie wasn’t a good paddock dog, but she was quite good in the sheepyards. Better than anything though, she was a good mate to our daughter.

We also had a perfectly trained Border Collie, a throwback to the traditional Scots Border Collie type. His name was Spot, and he was our gentleman farmhand. Such manners, such intelligence, so much love. We could sit on the back porch and send Spot out to one of the ridges on his own and he would bring back a mob of sheep, calmly and quietly. Never forgotten and always missed.

The Last Post: Such a dramatic, honest and sad portrayal of British Imperialism in its last gasp. Set in Yemen in 1965, I found it elucidating – the British government had so completely coloured the reporting of the time that I can remember nothing of the events. I was fourteen – by then we had TV, and news reporting had gained serious momentum. The events were powerful precursors to all the terrorist events we have seen in current times and yet I have no recall. Governments have patently learned little since then and the Rules of Engagement are the stuff of horror. Has the ICJ in the Hague, the UN and any number of media exposés changed anything? Not at all.

Murder on the Orient Express – Kenneth Branagh. Interesting mix of reviews. Husband and self thoroughly enjoyed this interpretation. I have a particular liking for Branagh and believe he pulled this off. But even so, Suchet’s Poirot is the top of my tree.

That said, we look forward to Branagh’s Death on the Nile. When all is said and done, we’re Christie fans.

Also caught this. A bookshop, opera and a dishy tenor. What’s not to like?

Doing:

Swimming in such a calm sea the other day, I was reborn. The surface was like satin, the clarity beyond description. Glass? Crystal? Anything is cliché really. But it seemed the most natural thing to dive under the water, eyes open, looking at the white sand, and into the darker blue yonder. The sea called to me, a palpable thing, tugging at heart and soul. I emerged with all moods, all worries, sloughed away.

It was perhaps 22 degrees Celsius, water temp 19, and the air had a salt tang freshness that promised a seabreeze. When we looked out to the navy-stitched horizon, small white caps laced the edges - a sure sign the breeze was approaching.

I spent an hour on my friend Willie’s verandah that same day, another San Pellegrino in my hand as she told me how to make a proper Panforte di Siena, giving me a sliver of her own. It was the food of the Gods. As lemon trees wafted their astringence toward us, along with the aroma of pots of Italian basil, mint and nasturtiums, and as terracotta tubs of portulaca lit the steps of the verandah in creams, yellows, vermilions, pinks and scarlets, I was reminded of Italian sunsets. I just needed the bells of the Duomo di Siena to ring, and I would have been back in my fresh young days.

As it was, three chocolate labs came pounding round the corner, bouldered up against my legs, smelling the panforte and drooling with the thought that they too could have some. And so it was that dreams of finer things were broken.

By Tuesday, the weather had warmed drastically, and in the city, whilst we waited on the vet, it was 31 Celsius which felt oven-hot. I loathe heat and in addition, I had gluteal tendinopathy and so whilst the Terrier was in theatre, I sat on our couch, a cushion under the knees, aircon pumping and me pulling apart the Chronicles of Eirie for re-printing.

Now of course, my little T-Bomb is coming to terms with what he’s been through. I’m coming to terms with muzzling him (he was muzzle-trained as a pup) and together, my husband and I brave the belly growls and gnashing of pearly whites, to dress the foot with iodine and change the sock. Golly, such a small injury, losing a nail, and with such ramifications! I’ve felt his pain, his broken sleep, his loss of joie de vivre and like him, I’m a bit over it all!

If I have any fear for him, it is for worse infection which could have devastating results. I worry also that he will begin a licking frenzy (Lick Syndrome also causes infection) and Détente will be done, WWIII breaking out again. I still see that deadpan glint in the eye – ‘Touch me again, Mother, and you are done!’

The difference this time is that his teeth are freshly cleaned, white, and flash even more terrifyingly.

Thank the stars for muzzles…

Song for this week?

Can’t go past this.