Small brown puppy

What made me think that planting bulbs, with Syd in the garden, would be easy? If he wasn't digging up the bulbs he was trying to eat the fertiliser.

Small brown puppy + large garden = "Syd, where are yo...? Oh, there you are, standing next to me."

* * * * *

I had an an  optician's appointment on Saturday. I've been getting white flashes (as opposed to hot flushes). The scans were okay and the optician couldn't see any problems in my eyes but he asked me to come back for another appointment so I could have my eyes dilated so they could get a fuller view. He couldn't do it then as I'd driven there and the drops would have prevented me driving home. So I made an appointment for Wednesday morning when Husband could drive me.

This morning Husband had a phone call from the hospital saying they'd had a cancellation and would he be able to come in for a cataract assessment appointment on . . . Wednesday morning. Of course he will need me to drive.

Much harder to get a hospital appointment than an optician's so I've changed my to next Monday. 

Syd has mummy issues

I bought him a dog with a heartbeat. "It'll remind him of his mother," they said. "It'll help him settle," they said.

He tosses it around the place as if, yes, as if wanting revenge on his mummy for giving him away. 

(And I know from that picture it looks as if we keep him in a shed but that's our kitchen wall. I hadn't realised how scruffy it is.)

We were in the back garden working - Syd helping of course - when Syd heard the gate go. He rushed to the front garden and was thrilled to see his friend the postman. Honestly he was delighted to see him.

It's bad enough that Syd makes a huge fuss of Husband every time he comes downstairs but now the postman gets the fuss too! (I know it's because he's with me most of the time and it's good he shows the love to Husband!)

The postman brought my order of the smallest ever, puppy-teeth-friendly plastic Kong (a dog brain challenging toy). I stuffed it with special puppy peanut butter and gave it to Syd. He's been playing with it ever since.

George had a big Kong. We would put treats in it then hide it in the garden and he would have to find it. He was brilliant at it but then, when there food was involved, George was on the button. (Is that a real phrase?)

* * * * *

Last night we finally got to see Operation Mincemeat, the musical. GrandDaughter1 and her best friend dog-sat for us so we were able to enjoy the evening and not worry. 

It was excellent and I am in awe of their energy and timing. A cast of five playing multiple characters, with no regard for gender, but with wonderful singing and staging. Some laughs, some poignant moments. And based on a true story - that I will look up now - as soon as I've poured my tea.

In the dog house

Syd and me both.

Kept Husband awake from 2 am; I slept through it.

Has discovered how to climb stairs; another big no from Husband.

My fault because he's my dog.

When he's not keeping Husband awake at night nor climbing stairs, he is very sweet. And Husband does love him really. 

Last night he managed to overturn two bins, his bed, and move his water bowl to the other end of the kitchen. I've seen pheromone diffusers recommended to bring a sense of calm so shall order one of those. He is actually quite calm mostly. Loud noises don't worry him and he's happy to meet people.

Syd 'helped' Husband to put the winter cover on the pool - and now thinks it's his personal trampoline.

Meanwhile in the garden we have some late roses, and lots of dahlias and chillis.

The unexpected posy courtesy of Syd

P.S. Syd can climb stairs but is not brave enough to come down yet.

This is what I've been missing

I needed to make a birthday cake for Zac's tomorrow so Syd was in the kitchen with me as I made it. I said, "Pay attention, Syd. You could be the first cooking cockapoo."
I explained that I put in the flour then the sugar and then it went whizzy whiz. "Are you paying attention, Syd?"

"I can hear Dad in the garden; he might need my help." (A dog who knows how to use semi-colons, that's impressive.)

Then you put in the marg and the eggs and more whizzy whiz. Syd, stop looking at yourself in the front of the oven and concentrate."
"Is that my bit of twig? I think it is. I'd better play with it."
"Then the best bit, Syd: you get to lick the bowl. Well, I do but you don't. Syd? Syd, where've you gone?"

This is what my blog's been missing: conversations between me and my dog.

Apparently AI can't tell the difference between certain dogs and fried chicken. Hence Elder Son has nicknamed Syd 'The Colonel'. Honestly, Syd doesn't look at all like fried chicken, does he?

I seem to be spending a lot of time wandering around the garden saying, "Are you going to do a wee for mummy, Syd?"

If I wait long enough he usually does and then he gets lots of praise and a treat.

And so it begins

Night 1
Syd slept reasonably well and didn't start crying until 4. Husband nudged me at 7 to get up and sort him out. I can't hear him crying so Husband suffers the most.
Night 2
Syd cried all night.
I mostly didn't hear him and slept but was woken a few times by restless Husband. Everyone very tired. Speaker in church had a quiet voice, not helpful when you're trying to stay awake. Meanwhile Daughter and two grandchildren came round to keep Syd company.
Night 3
Either Syd was so tired after the night before and a busy day and slept, or Husband was so tired he didn't hear him, but it seemed to be a largely peaceful night, Syd starting at about 6.15.

Lots of advice about dealing with puppies and nights. The breeder told us to ignore him. Various websites say to sleep with him at first. Others say, "Give up and bring him to your bedroom." Absolutely no chance of that!

Anyway, yesterday afternoon I had to pick GrandDaughter1 up from work so I left Husband in charge. It was a lovely afternoon so Husband decided to do some work in the garden.

Husband turned his back for a moment and Syd fell in the pool.

Husband yanked him out and Syd immediately walked across and went headfirst into the pond.

This does not bode well for the future. I foresee many Sydventures as I think Boud called them.

Husband will be putting the winter cover on the pool asap, and I think we'll have to put a temporary barrier around the pond.

It would have been George's birthday yesterday.

I think he would approve of me getting a new dog finally.

Distracted

That's what I've been this week as it all led up to this: 

Meet Syd, my new cockapoo puppy!

He's 11 weeks old and we - Daughter and I - chose him and brought him home yesterday. Husband is still not entirely on board but I sense a weakening this morning - even though Syd woke him up at 4 am whining and scratching the kitchen door. 

I slept through it. That is to say I slept through Syd's crying but was woken by Husband's restlessness. He, Husband that is, pushed me out of bed at 7 to go and sort out Syd.

I have to finish now as Syd wants me to go and play with him.

Too young

I was supposed to be having my RSV injection this morning. I'd been surprised when I had a letter inviting me as I thought only 75s and over were eligible, but I assumed they'd changed the rules, and booked.

Yesterday the surgery nurse phoned telling me the Health Authority had made a booboo and I wasn't eligible. 

It was good to be too young for something for once but this jab was one I would have liked to have had. Also as I no longer had an appointment this morning it meant I could go back to exercise class.

Big mistake. I can no more 'take it easy on your first time back' than I can say no to ice cream. I will regret this on Friday. Maybe tomorrow but it usually takes two days to really hit me. I was surprised how weak my arms were. They've never been very strong, especially my left one, but I was struggling from the start today.

Then writing group this afternoon. Richard led - very well - and I might have been a bit too honest in my writing. I should have stopped before it went downhill.

Got petrol on the way home and couldn't resist taking a photo of this hare holding a fire extinguisher.

Minor hysterics

It suddenly occurred to me that the show, Operation Mincemeat, was coming to the Grand Theatre sometime soon. I booked tickets for it after Husband's illness got in the way of a London trip to see it.

But it wasn't in my diary.

This was a little alarming.

I googled to see when it's on and it's the last week in September so at least we hadn't missed it. Then I searched through my emails to find a record of booking. Nada! Zilch! Nothing!

Husband recently read about box breathing where you breathe in for 4 (or was it 5?), hold it for 4, breathe out for 4, and hold it for 4. It's supposed to be good to calm you as you try to imagine breathing the sides of a box. Sadly I was past the stage when breathing would help.

"Where is it? I did book, didn't I? I must have done! I' absolutely sure I did! Then where is it? Why can't I find a record? Don't panic!"

I checked my blog and this is what I'd written back in June 2025:

Booked
Tickets that is not me. For Operation Mincemeat in Swansea Grand Theatre in September 2026! (Note for self - they have emailed me e-tickets, must remember this for when I panic and can't find them.) 

Which proves I did book but doesn't help on the finding the tickets email front. It also shows how well I know myself.

Well, I found them but they were in a strange Inbox folder that I never look at that seems to just house some emails. I've now printed out the tickets and will put them 'somewhere safe.'

I need a cup of tea after that.

* * * * *

In Italy they have three kittens and two chicks, the latter born - hatched? -  while we were there.

'Dave' the dad

Mum Helga and one kitten

It was GrandSon4's birthday the day before we arrived in France so he insisted on me making a cake for him when we got back to Italy. He is well into Harry Potter and wanted a book cake. Actually he wanted Hagrid or a phoenix but I managed to talk him down.

Cooking in an unfamiliar kitchen, with an unfamiliar stove, and unfamiliar ingredients, especially when it has to be gluten-free for YS, isn't easy. The cake wasn't the best but it got eaten. The icing was meant to be red like the phoenix but it was coming out pink - red colouring always does! - so I turned it purple on the basis that purple is a magical colour. The only piping equipment I could buy had a wide hole so my writing is very thick and poor, and that's meant to be a feather at the bottom by the way.

The wicked have it made

Yesterday I was leading the service in church for the first time, meaning I did the welcome and introductions, the mc if you like.

Bit of a panic at first as they couldn't get the microphones to work but, thankfully, that was sorted in time and I didn't have to shout. Part of the job of leading is usually reading the psalm for the week. We're working through the book of psalms and we'd reached number 73. 

I don't know if you've heard about the men in black wearing balaclavas gathering at Dover recently to protest about immigration? Or the far-right's war on the RNLI (Royal National lifeboat Institution)? 

The anti-migration parties are calling the lifeboatmen traitors for saving lives at sea without first checking if they have a British passport. 

You may not know that the majority of our lifeboatmen and women are volunteers, who are willing to risk their own lives at any time of day or night, often in appalling sea conditions to rescue those in trouble. In 1947 the Mumbles Lifeboat was launched to answer a distress call and it never came back. All eight crew members died.

So when I read the psalm last week to prepare for Sunday I was struck by how apt the words are. (The R****m party received, over the weekend, £72 million from two crypto billionaires.)

This is an extract from it, from The Message translation:

. . . the wicked who have it made,
Who have nothing to worry about,
    not a care in the whole wide world.
Pretentious with arrogance,
    they wear the latest fashions in violence,
Pampered and overfed,
    decked out in silk bows of silliness.
They jeer, using words to kill;
    they bully their way with words.
They’re full of hot air,
    loudmouths disturbing the peace.
People actually listen to them—can you believe it?
    Like thirsty puppies, they lap up their words.

* * * * *

Not many flowers left in the garden now but I managed a little posy.