In The Dog house

"I've checked him over and he definitely has a sprained elbow. He was very good, but when I tried to rotate it, he yelped. Injuries like this can also occur in a puppy if you are walking him too far. How far are you walking him every day?"

Yes we are back at the vets with Milo, our "boisterous" Spaniel (Note: if the someone that is selling you a Spaniel puppy describes them as “boisterous”, walk away. Rapidly) who has done himself a mischief jumping down the garden steps.

”About two hours”

”Oh goodness that is too much! It should be no more than 40 minutes in total a day at his age. The trouble is that over-walking puppies can result in their joint bones growing wrongly. It can be resolved as we can shave some bone off, but we need to establish first whether this is just a sprain or whether the walking has done more permanent damage“.

Oh God, the sense of guilt is enormous. We may have inadvertently hurt Milo by trying to give him a full life (and tire him out as he never stops). I am sent away with some medicine, an instruction not to walk him for 24 hours, and then to build it back up over a week to 40 minutes max. If he is still limping after a week, we have to go back to the vet for X-rays. And as I type dear chums, he has just returned from a 30 min walk with a limp. Not been any sign of one for 4 days, but today .... a week later, its back. Gawd. Good news though! The vet tells us that if they have to shave his elbows, they can whip his nuts off at the same time. Every cloud and all that.

I miss walking him through the woods and fields. You get to see so much that would otherwise pass by. The first of the bluebells making themselves known, the rat-at-at-tat of the woodpeckers marking out their territory (and the glimpse of red, white and black as they fly from tree to tree), the majestic Red Kite that floats above the Downs, and his cousins the Buzzards that are almost as impressive. Perhaps the most memorable was the diving Sparrow-hawk arrowing down into a field of cauliflowers, dropping on to his prey at 100mph. And then there was the Macaw.

Milo and I were climbing up the path through Devilsden Woods towards the crossing point for the small road that runs through. As we neared the top, I could see a lady standing at the wooden railings, apparently waiting for someone. We reached the end of the steps and I greeted her with a cheery “Afternoon. Lovely day isn’t it? Crikey!”

In front of the Waiting Lady was a massive blue and yellow Macaw, standing on the wooden railings. On a matching blue lead. Of course he was on a lead. In the woods. All Perfectly Normal. “We are used to seeing Parakeets" I said, "Don't see one of those every day though". As I was speaking, an elderly lady appeared, walking down the lane. Resplendent in a pink bobble-hat, Dame Edna glasses and lycra leggings that can only be described as a picture of a vibrant herbaceous border crossed with an accident in a paint factory. She stopped dead, her jaw hanging open and a sort of fear-cum-disbelief expression frozen into her features.

"Amazing isn't he?" I said.

"Well THANK GOODNESS" replied our brightly coloured new chum, "I'm so pleased you spoke. I thought I was hallucinating again"

It was one of those brief moments in time where you find yourself wondering if reality has slipped in some way and you are actually wandering about inside a Terry Pratchett novel.

You would imagine that a dog with a sore leg wouldn't figure in the blog as much, but somehow he has taken centre-stage for the fortnight. Whilst the shenanigans with his leg has been going on, we had decided we really ought to confirm what he is ... as what he isn't is the pure Cocker Spaniel that we thought we had bought. The perceived wisdom of other dog owners has ranged from Springer, to Sprocker (Springer-Cocker cross), to Curcher (Cocker-Lurcher cross) to Cetter (Cocker-Setter cross). I'm making these names up by the way (apart rom Sprocker - that's a thing). I think Pops had it right when he said "I think he's a Sprocket". He is definitely a sprocket alright, no matter what actual breed he is. Anyhoo, we decided to get him DNA tested. A couple of cheek-swabs were dispatched and two weeks later the results are in: he is a Sprocker; 50/50 pure Springer and Cocker. Which explains the warm personality and utter lunacy.

Not that the Milo episode finished there. Yes, he contrived to knock out Gin (which is somewhat ironic as she usually relies on gin for that purpose). After a few days of resting his poorly leg (no walkies off-lead, and same for his time in the garden), he was allowed out lead-free, starting with a widdle out the back before he was taken out for a short sniff-about in the woods. We probably could have anticipated that Mr Dance-Away would emerge, but this time on steroids. Could we get him on the lead to take him out? Could we heck. He raced around the garden so fast I later checked to see if a rocket had been installed somewhere hidden (don't think about that too hard). My God it was like trying to catch BT (Boy Teenager) when he has been asked to do some house-work. We managed to corner Milo behind the BBQ. As Gin lunged to grab him, he jinked left, then right (Ali would be proud) and then hit the after-burners and bolted. Gin attempted to adjust her attitude mid-lunge, missed the barrelling pup and smacked her head on a sharp corner of the BBQ. You could see as many species of birds circling around her head as I've listed above. Poor thing was head-achey and sick and needed a lie-down before opening a bottle later in the day.

It's not all been dog though. The cat got in on the action. At 12.30 at night, just as I had settled Milo down, suddenly he was up, barking and scrabbling to get out into the hall where the cat had just belted upstairs. Milo doesn’t usually wake up because the cat is running upstairs. And then came the cry from GT (Girl Teenager). “The cat’s brought a mouse in. And it‘s in my room!”. Oh joy.

Of all rooms for a live mouse to be deposited in, it had to be this one. The one with piles and piles of stuff. Everywhere. After much “harrumphing” on my part, I made an effort to catch the little fella. A sweet and lively little door-mouse, he evaded my initial grab for him, ran under the wardrobes and along the skirting towards a mirror. Where several years worth of plastic bags appeared to live. More grumbling as I started to clear the plastic bags. As I got to the last one, I could see our little chum and slowly moved my hand (holding a catching device .... a pot) towards him. Naturally he was having none of it, leaped on to my hand, off and away. And he was gone. And so we baited a humane trap, and decided to leave the cat with freedom to roam so that were the trap to fail, the cat might not. At this point, GT announced that she was going downstairs to sleep with the dog, who was massively over-excited to have a sleeping companion. Honestly this place is like an episode of When Petting Zoos Go Bad.

I was awoken at 5.30am to the sounds of Gin and GT's voices out on the stairs, and the noises of the cat bouncing about. The cat had succeeded where the trap hadn't, but for the second time in six hours had decided the mouse was best kept alive and had deposited him on the mid-landing where the stairs turn through 180 degrees. Pleased to report that the cat was restrained, the mouse captured and is now running about freely somewhere on the Avenue. Until he is caught again.

What else? Well the microwave went bang and had to be replaced (Gah). The new "leakbot" sent by our insurance company (to detect leaks) found one. Well, it identified the leaking tap that we've been meaning to replace, which forced us into replacing it. Now praying the little bot doesn't find any other leaks that we don't know about. Clever though innit.

And of course the world has opened up a little more for all of us and there has been golfing, cycling and some running (Gin, not me). Gin has been able to go see Granny, Grandad and Auntie Di, whilst we've been able to get a tad squiffy with Nana and Pops in the garden, being kept warm by the fire-pit burning all the logs (and occasionally nearly a burning dog, who insisted on "helping" with the delivery of sticks and logs from the top of the garden) I collected from our chum MazNels 18 months ago. It was so nice to be drinking and chatting again. More to come and long may it continue.

And so as Easter holidays pass by (and we still await the voucher from Easyjet), minds are now on the future, of unlocking more of the restrictions and some cautious optimism that things may get back to normal .... whatever that is for this household!

Love and elbow-grease,

Mr H

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