Toilet Dog!
Jul. 24th, 2017 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lupestripeI spent last weekend back home with my parents, with the initial plan being to visit my mother on Saturday and my father on Sunday. Unfortunately, my 88-year-old grandparents were involved in a road accident on Wednesday when a joyrider took a corner too fast, collided into them and drove off at speed, leaving my relatives stranded. Fortunately the accident was in a residential area and was witnessed, so people were on hand to help them. The situation was exasberated on Friday when my grandfather, refusing to drive the courtesy car he had been given by the insurance company, decided to walk to the shop to get his cigars and paper. My grandmother went with him and on the way home, one of them tripped and fell, colliding into the other. This saw my grandma break her wrist and having to spend most of Friday and Saturday in hospital, while my grandfather has a nasty bump on his head. My mother, who lives forty-five minutes away from them, spent most of last week running around after them and although I did manage to see them on Sunday and they looked quite well under the circumstances, it did mean all of our plans were changed. This was frustrating as this has happened on four of the last five occasions I have visited - admittedly not to this level - but at least I did get to see everybody.
So my father picked me up from Darlington on Saturday and we decided to ignore the grey dreary weather and go to the coast at Saltburn. It turned out to be the right decision as the clouds broke and it was a really sunny afternoon. We decided to go for a walk along the cliff overlooking the North Sea, all the way to the rusty good luck charm bracelet that has been erected about three miles along the route. There is a small disused railway line here once used to transport iron ore from the hills, and the whole area is rather picturesque, even if it does entail looking at the windfarm in the Tees Esturary near Redcar and the industry of Middlesbrough beyond. It was good to get out though and my father is somewhat committed to boosting my step count, so was happy to push on. After the walk, we ended up calling in at a pub for a pint of disappointing IPA, where I noted that they were selling 'humus' and that well-known Spanish dish of 'potato bravas'. It was good sitting on the terrace though observing the sea, with the area not being overly busy due to it being high tide. We then had a walk around the Victorian gardens, spying the little steam train that connects the coast with the small forest where the gardens are situated, which is run entirely by volunteers. We saw a few dogs gambolling around before we decided we should head back to my dad's place.
We ate food in the village pub, a place that doesn't seem to have changed since we moved to the village in 1992. Indeed, the decor looked quite tired and the range of drinks would have been identical to that you would have been able to buy twenty-five years ago. The other issue was that the only papers you could read apart from the local Gazette was the Mail and the Express, which summed up all you need to know about where I grew up. The food though - in my case a horseshoe gammon steak - was rather excellent and although the smokiness got a little overpowering at the end, it was good value for money. Interspersed between this and afterwards when we shared a beer sat in the back garden, we just chatted and caught up, which was a pleasant way to spend a Saturday evening. I had even brought two beers for my dad from Friends of Ham - pretty last minute, but at least Ted was there to give me some recommendations.
My mother picked me up at 11am on Sunday after I had a bizarre collection of dreams in my childhood bed. First I dreamed that I was walking down a residential street in the middle of the night where there had been fourteen murders in fourteen separate houses. I then woke up and dreamed that I was writing a comedy show with Russell Howard but I was nowhere near funny enough (my present lack of creativity is a real concern for me). Finally, I dreamed that I was at a furcon and was close to winning the Best Fursuiter category, but didn't have a convincing stage show to show the judges. I toyed with poetry recital and rap music, before giving up and going to a private piss party where everyone was coy as to the actual reason for the event. It was all rather strange.
Anyway, my mother took me to my grandparents, where we spent an hour chatting before we went around to her house where my stepdad was waiting for us. He has had a detached retina since May and although it has now reattached, he still has a glutionus oil in his eye and an eyepatch over it. With the weather predicted to be rather stormy, we thought we would go for a walk immediately, what with Wilma the spaniel needing a second trip out. She was delighted to see me and I was happy to discover that I am the favourite of my siblings, with her jumping up at me on numerous occasions on the walk, which was on an old railway track in a village about six miles away from where my mother lives. It was quite a picturesque route, with verdant green countryside and sheep everywhere, and we got very lucky as we just dodged the rain, it starting to whip down as soon as we had got back. It persisted for the rest of the day, but we were inside, chatting about a range of things. My mother has been asked to do some local history research and she was unsure as to what topic to cover, so I helped her with it, while Wilma was always great fun, bounding around and wanting to play. I was delighted to hear that my mother is going to be getting another dog - a male one called Henry - in mid-August and I do hope Wilma takes to him. Two dogs would be fantastic and although my mother has concerns about her parents right now, I don't think it would be much different to having one dog really.
We ate a dinner of roast lamb and vegetables, followed by lemon merangue and double cream to finish. After our walk we had delved into the cheeseboard as we had not had any lunch, so there was an awful lot of food, not to mention beer and wine. It was a shame that my mother couldn't really drink as she had to take me back to my father's - with my Monday morning train too early to make a commute from my mother's place viable - but with concerns about my grandparents, she was intending to stay sober anyway. So it was disruptive weekend all told, albeit a rather good one and I am hoping to see everyone again in the Autumn.
So my father picked me up from Darlington on Saturday and we decided to ignore the grey dreary weather and go to the coast at Saltburn. It turned out to be the right decision as the clouds broke and it was a really sunny afternoon. We decided to go for a walk along the cliff overlooking the North Sea, all the way to the rusty good luck charm bracelet that has been erected about three miles along the route. There is a small disused railway line here once used to transport iron ore from the hills, and the whole area is rather picturesque, even if it does entail looking at the windfarm in the Tees Esturary near Redcar and the industry of Middlesbrough beyond. It was good to get out though and my father is somewhat committed to boosting my step count, so was happy to push on. After the walk, we ended up calling in at a pub for a pint of disappointing IPA, where I noted that they were selling 'humus' and that well-known Spanish dish of 'potato bravas'. It was good sitting on the terrace though observing the sea, with the area not being overly busy due to it being high tide. We then had a walk around the Victorian gardens, spying the little steam train that connects the coast with the small forest where the gardens are situated, which is run entirely by volunteers. We saw a few dogs gambolling around before we decided we should head back to my dad's place.
We ate food in the village pub, a place that doesn't seem to have changed since we moved to the village in 1992. Indeed, the decor looked quite tired and the range of drinks would have been identical to that you would have been able to buy twenty-five years ago. The other issue was that the only papers you could read apart from the local Gazette was the Mail and the Express, which summed up all you need to know about where I grew up. The food though - in my case a horseshoe gammon steak - was rather excellent and although the smokiness got a little overpowering at the end, it was good value for money. Interspersed between this and afterwards when we shared a beer sat in the back garden, we just chatted and caught up, which was a pleasant way to spend a Saturday evening. I had even brought two beers for my dad from Friends of Ham - pretty last minute, but at least Ted was there to give me some recommendations.
My mother picked me up at 11am on Sunday after I had a bizarre collection of dreams in my childhood bed. First I dreamed that I was walking down a residential street in the middle of the night where there had been fourteen murders in fourteen separate houses. I then woke up and dreamed that I was writing a comedy show with Russell Howard but I was nowhere near funny enough (my present lack of creativity is a real concern for me). Finally, I dreamed that I was at a furcon and was close to winning the Best Fursuiter category, but didn't have a convincing stage show to show the judges. I toyed with poetry recital and rap music, before giving up and going to a private piss party where everyone was coy as to the actual reason for the event. It was all rather strange.
Anyway, my mother took me to my grandparents, where we spent an hour chatting before we went around to her house where my stepdad was waiting for us. He has had a detached retina since May and although it has now reattached, he still has a glutionus oil in his eye and an eyepatch over it. With the weather predicted to be rather stormy, we thought we would go for a walk immediately, what with Wilma the spaniel needing a second trip out. She was delighted to see me and I was happy to discover that I am the favourite of my siblings, with her jumping up at me on numerous occasions on the walk, which was on an old railway track in a village about six miles away from where my mother lives. It was quite a picturesque route, with verdant green countryside and sheep everywhere, and we got very lucky as we just dodged the rain, it starting to whip down as soon as we had got back. It persisted for the rest of the day, but we were inside, chatting about a range of things. My mother has been asked to do some local history research and she was unsure as to what topic to cover, so I helped her with it, while Wilma was always great fun, bounding around and wanting to play. I was delighted to hear that my mother is going to be getting another dog - a male one called Henry - in mid-August and I do hope Wilma takes to him. Two dogs would be fantastic and although my mother has concerns about her parents right now, I don't think it would be much different to having one dog really.
We ate a dinner of roast lamb and vegetables, followed by lemon merangue and double cream to finish. After our walk we had delved into the cheeseboard as we had not had any lunch, so there was an awful lot of food, not to mention beer and wine. It was a shame that my mother couldn't really drink as she had to take me back to my father's - with my Monday morning train too early to make a commute from my mother's place viable - but with concerns about my grandparents, she was intending to stay sober anyway. So it was disruptive weekend all told, albeit a rather good one and I am hoping to see everyone again in the Autumn.
no subject
Date: 2017-07-27 11:33 am (UTC)Yes, two dogs aren't much more work than one as long as they get along with each other. We have had three at times and even that wasn't much different, though usually one of the three was quite elderly and tended to be asleep most of the time. Watching the interactions of two dogs who are friends is quite interesting and at times endearing.
Most surprising to us was an occasion years ago. We had a large golden retriever who was a rescue, about two years old. I introduced a bearded collie pup three months old, also a rescue. They bonded instantly, with the retriever teaching the puppy everything and they became best buddies. Both were boys, and the "motherly" behaviors shown by the older dog were quite a surprise.