Week 41: Fog

“Chunky?”

”Yes mate?”

”Did you know that dogs can be autistic?”

”I did not know this. But wait a minute, that might explain his eating habits. He’s as fussy as you!”

This brief discussion was followed by BT (Boy Teenager) attempting to wrestle his poor old Papa (me) to the floor. His poor old Papa can still be quite nippy on his feet when under threat, however. I should add that fortunately BT isn’t on the autistic spectrum, but at the height of his anxiety, he was tested as there are some common indicators. In particular, heightened taste and touch, both of which BT has, and both of which come to fore when he is feeling extra-anxious. He’s always been very precise about his food. As a wee nipper, he had the same food every day; Toast soldiers and Thomas the Tank Engine spaghetti shapes. He ate this for so long that he knew all of the shapes by heart, but nonetheless insisted that the washed tin with its shapes legend on it, should be placed next to his lunch. Shape by shape, he would check them off and eat them. Woe-be-tide the poor parent that failed to place the cleaned tin in its right place to allow a shape on the plate comparison, or tried to hurry him along. Oh no no no!

Over the last three years we’ve seen plenty of hyper-sensitivity like this; not being able to eat from a bowl or plate if there was a splash of sauce out of place for example, but this year much of that has receded. It’s only really bedding and beds that causes this level of grief. But more on that later.

So it is with some irony that BT’s pup, Milo the Spaniel, has also turned out to be a Picky Eater. When we collected him (at 9 weeks old) he looked a bit skinny. “He seems to have gone off the dry food a bit” said the people selling him to us. They weren’t kidding. The fussy git didn’t want any of the 20kg of the kibble we’d bought for him. And so began the great Hunt For Food That Milo Likes. Tried all sorts, before he sort of settled on a particular kibble and a particular brand of puppy-pouch food. From one week to the next though, you couldn’t be sure which he was favouring. He is so much like his bleeding “Dad” (BT) it’s uncanny. And then we tried a Tails diet. Good news! He likes it. Bad news! He won‘t eat it out of his bowl. Or any other bowl. How the Dickens have we ended up with a dog that doesn’t just devour his food on the spot like All Other Dogs? And one that will only eat if a bowl is no where near his dinner? If it wasn‘t for the species barrier, I could almost believe he and BT are actually related.

Week 41 then. It’s been so wet I’ve half expected to see a procession of paired animals making their way along Farthing Down to a large wooden boat. Finding anywhere to walk the pup that doesn’t result in him sinking up to his axles in a quagmire is almost impossible. In fact one side of Farthing Downs is pretty much it. And it was there that I found myself at dusk in a thickening fog, walking the hound. Unusually I was wearing my vari-focal specs rather than contact lenses. As we were scooting along, I was scanning for other dogs, looking for the temptations that might have Milo scampering off and getting into mischief. In the distance, I could see such a temptation. It’s the strangest looking dog imaginable; long straight legs and a slim and regular shaped body. “What breed is that?” I was asking myself, “And where is his owner?”. More, “why isn’t he moving?” And “Where IS his owner?” I hate irresponsible dog owners that let their animals range far and wide, out of sight, no clue or care what they are up to. I’ve had several run-ins with bigger dogs being aggressive with our pup, no owner to be seen to sort their errant dog out. Grrrrr. And so I was starting to bristle at yet another irresponsible owner leaving their dog to do what it wants.

And yet this dog was doing nothing. Not moving. Just standing there on the side of the hill, in the shelter of a bush. Weird. Milo and I cracked on towards him. If he’s that immobile, he wasn’t going to present us with a problem, and in any event Milo was strangely disinterested.

The mist continued to swirl and the gloom was gradually deepening as we neared the mysteriously static canine. And then, with a minor adjustment to the position of the vari-focal lenses I was squinting through I worked it out. The dog is that common breed Parkus Benchus, known for their supportive nature and wooden personalities. Yes, it was a bloody seat. If there is ever something that makes you feel your age fully, it is dim light coupled with mist, crap eyesight and dodgy vari-focal glasses.

Whilst I’m on the subject of wooden furniture, this week BT’s disrupted sleep has been back with a vengeance. Once more he has been struggling to sleep over night whilst he wrestles with his future. I must thank Property Dave at this point for the brilliant advice and sources of information that he has provided BT this week. BT is interested in property development and Dave has been a complete treasure in pointing BT to lots of reference information. The thing is, when he isn’t sleeping well, BT looks to changes to his bed, bedding, sheets, pillow etc to try to resolve it. And this is now it came too be that BT and Gin (so called because she mixes said liquid with Advocaat to make her version of a “Snowball” at Christmas) swapped beds as a trial, and how I then came to be dismantling and re-assembling beds in their respective rooms. Once again. Still they both seem content with their new sleeping arrangements. For now.

And so we reached the end of the week, and as if we knew that London is about to enter Tier 3 restrictions, Gin and I spent a fabulous few hours with our lovely local chums in a gazebo in their garden quaffing Prosecco and wine. God we’ve missed seeing them. We all laughed until it hurt and agreed to do it again very soon. Except now we can’t because of Tier 3 Covid. Gah.

And so into week 42. GT (Girl Teenager) won‘t have to go to college, so perhaps that might shake up our routines a bit. Or perhaps not given that we will be locked down just that little bit more. We shall see.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

x

PS Bruce (the Shark vacuum cleaner) had a proper run out this week. The Big Bed Swap involved moving a double in to the place of a single, and vice versa and OH MY GOD THE CLAG UNDER THE BEDS! And quite why we still had the kids’ water wings and mini wet suits from 10 years ago is anyone’ guess.