Toby might have a friend?

Toby at home with me just last week. Michele’s been bugging me to get a playmate for him. Poor boy’s lonely and I can see it in his eyes. Michele thinks we can cope, but I don’t know if another dog is a good idea. She sent me a link from the local papers with pictures of a breeder’s litter of Poodle/Cocker Spaniel puppies (below). Argh they are really adorable.

Now I have no idea which puppy Michele wanted, but hey give her a chance I’m sure she’d have taken both.

I really want Toby to have a good friend to wake up to and play with. I guess it’s the thought of cleaning up after two dog’s mess, feeding two dogs, watching out for the needs of…well you know I mean.

The home does get awfully quiet with just three of us at home. Hmmm…

Decisions…

Worst. Day. Ever.

Hello. I hope everyone has been good.

Have you ever had a day where everything and I mean everything just turn on you and nothing seems to be going your way? You know, the kind of classic script that you would have thought sprung out of a ‘It Could Happen To You‘ moment. Just without the beautiful blonde, money and feel good factor.

Pretty shoddy don’t you say? Well I had one of those episodic moments just last week.

Midweek, and Michele had been gone in Cairns for almost a week. As a freshly-scrubbed couple with the nuptial bells still ringing in our heads, I must have let my loneliness get to my head and cloud my judgment.

I didn’t want to leave Toby alone at night while I was gone at work, so I brought him along. Work is pet-friendly, and staff are even encouraged to bring their pets along.

The night went on without much fanfare. Just as I was about to clock off for the day, I did my usual checking of essentials before I left. Toby – Check. Lunchbox – Check. Wallet – Check. Logged off computer – Check. Work keys – Check. House keys…house keys?

And then it hit me. Where are my house keys?

Cleaning! Oh joy.

Hello. I hope you are well.

Michele has gone away to Cairns for the week. Duty calls and work beckons. Just when Toby and me were resigned to a week of lonely solitude, good noise turned up.

Friends of ours came over the weekend for boardgames and meals. It has been a long time since we’ve had visitors coming over for boardgames. It was something Michele and me used to do a lot of, but it got really quiet after Christmas, when the furore of the wedding caught up with us.

After our friends left, I took the vacuum cleaner out, gave the house a nice wipe down and sat down in front of the telly. Then it struck me.

If I was still single, the idea of taking time off to clean the house – time that could be spent leveling up my character on *insert RPG/FPS game* – was preposterous.

Living with your wife means lots of compromises, and one of them was sticking to a schedule. We agreed to clean the house every weekend, and if the buzz of life renders us a little fatigued, we will do the next weekend.

Do you kiss your dog?

Nothing but a nice, cold kiss to soothe the fraying nerves of an anxious Toby

Hello. I hope you have all been well.

Do you kiss your dog? As in, full frontal-no reservations-lip on lip-sometimes tongue-saliva smothering-face sucking-kiss?

Okay I jest with some of the seat squirming antics. Personally, I restrict my kisses and sometimes loving kicks to Toby’s face to just his nose (it’s almost always cold and wet; that’s a good thing) and on days when I know he’s just been cleaned and hasn’t been grovelling his face into some other dogs’ faeces, I allow him to lick my mouth and face.

Working in a dog environment, I get to interact a lot with owners and our conversations range from the mundane (”what kind of diet is your dog on?”) to the nitty gritty (”is he on Advocate? I heard Revolution is better!”). Most times, the conversations degenerates from the serious into a public declaration of how much their dog is loved. And it degenerates even further when they ask me whether I have a furry friend at home myself. Me? Of course! I don’t just love him, I kiss him too!

Often, that line alone is enough to put some dog owners off. Regardless of the dog’s size or breed, they are curious chumps and the likelihood of them stuffing their face silly into a dead possum, chook or (bless me!) his own faeces is relatively common. Blink and you’ll miss.

Dog owners often tell funny stories of their dogs getting up to mischief and putting God knows what into their mouths. The worst I’ve ever seen Toby clean his teeth with are the skeletal remains of a *insert animal* when we went walking along a creek. He had disappeared behind some bushes for awhile, and when I called out to him, he reappeared with half a jawbone of an animal that had obviously passed on at that same spot. I didn’t know whether to feel disgust or laugh at Toby’s antics. Afterall, what do you say to a dog who’s obviously happy to find a chew toy and was wagging his tail furiously to show off his trophy.

Culling Facebook Friends

Hello. Hope you are all well.

Last week after a very public week-long proclaimation, 60 Facebook friends from my list were culled. The chances of them seeing the light of my Facebook friends list is very, very slim. Zilch. Nada. Naught.

I counted down from T minus seven days, with a daily update on my profile page at midday.

I now have a somewhat manageable 147 friends left. Making me somewhere between a homeless recluse and a mid-twenties blonde who has more male hits than a Perez Hilton blog.

Fear the blue button!

I’m tempted to believe most people only hang out and keep close contact with around 30 people in their adulthood. These are the people they talk to on Facebook with on a regular basis or have a vested interest in each other to keep the friendship alive – my good friends, my old friends,  my uni friends who have kept in touch with me since I graduated with a full head of hair, family who sadly I can’t remove or you risk running an unmitigated massive PR disaster and people I don’t speak with or see often/anymore, but still have their Facebook friends reputation intact as their various updates have kept me relatively entertained. Besides, I have contributed to some of their conversations before, and I could see some use in them in the future.

(I just realised I have just written the longest sentence without a proper full stop^^. It’s very un-journalist of me but someone call the Care Police. At least I still know the difference between ‘their’, ‘there’, ‘they’re’, ‘it’s’ and ‘its’.)

The worst friends one can possibly add (from a mid 30s bloke point of view) are the ones you added after attending a mate’s party. You know the kinds, you guys get along pretty well for a few hours and after a few drinks, the inevitable question arrives.

How safe is your home?

Hello. Hope you are all well.

Michele and me had spent the last week looking at all available options to beef up security of our home after a brief flirtation with disaster.

Two weekends ago the quiet and peace of our neighbourhood was shattered by the ubiquitous presence of a very scary silhouette looming just outside our home. Mr Robber-to-be had driven his car right up into our driveway and had his face pressed against our windows, trying to peek in. Who knows what heinous deeds Mr Robber might have gotten up to had it not been the keen hearing of our bigger than life guard dog Toby (who growled at the window).

Friends have suggested he could be someone who’s probably lost and was looking for directions. Well mate, don’t you have a mobile phone and/or a Melways?

Others have suggested he could have arrived at the wrong house, and fully anticipating a housewarming or a barbie of sorts, drove up into a quiet house with no activity whatsoever. Well, if you turned up at a ‘wrong’ house, wouldn’t you call your mate to find out whether you’re at the right home?

Mr Robber also had stalker tendencies. Michele, upon hearing Toby’s growls, peeked through the blinds of our window upstairs and observed his every movement. By this time, Mr Robber had stepped out onto the pavement and was staring at the windows, trying to make sense of people at home.

Naked with your furry friend

Not too pleased!

Hello all, I hope you are well.

A conversation with a mate of mine over the general hygiene and overall cleanliness of our dogs several days ago turned into a debate on the best way to wash your dog. As my mate’s dog is a large labrador, he stands out in the backyard with him while watering and soaping him down.

As for Toby, I just strip my clothes off, step into the shower stall with Toby in it, shower first before attempting to wash Toby. By the time I get to Toby, he’s drenched, pulling the longest face a horse would be proud of and his tail’s between his legs.

If you seem surprised, or haven’t pressed the ’shock gasp horror’ button, be still your beating heart. Personally I think groomers do a better job than we do washing our furry friends, but can you really justify the $30 odd you pay? I sure don’t. And besides, it’s only a 30-45 minutes job. And it’s a great way to bond with your dog.

When Toby was much smaller, washing him wasn’t much of a problem. The laundry basin was big enough to accommodate an oft struggling Toby – guess he wasn’t used to be washed and soaped down then – and there’s just enough space to maneuvre him around the basin so he smells all nicey clean.

Now that Toby’s all of six kilogrammes and fully grown, the humble laundry basin won’t fit no more. As he got larger, I found it easier to wash him in the bath tub by letting the warm water run over him, filling up the tub as a gave him a thorough wash down.

Most times however, I find it’s more practical to wash Toby immediately after I have showered. While I rinse off, Toby gets a free soak and is thoroughly wet before I soap him.

Why am I writing about this? Well some people might find it very strange to parade your naked self in front of your dog. I guess they might not be comfortable with their own bodies, or their dog might have acquired extra sensories to make out what a human being looks like without clothes.

If you asked Toby how many times he’s seen me naked (or anyone in the, errr, family for that matter) he’ll tell you with an assuring bark he reckons I enjoy looking at myself naked more than he does. And that’s not because I’m showering him!

A pet’s friendship

Toby trying his best to look cheery.

Hello. I hope everyone is well.

When your family pet falls sick, it is a testing time for everyone in the household. Not only is the family pet very much loved, he (or she) is also seen as a natural extension of the family, filling the void that some family lacks. Taking my family for instance. Toby is my son. Michele’s son. Our little baby. He’s also our best friend who gives us loyal and unconditional love.

Last Tuesday at four in the morning, I received a rather nervous and anxious-sounding call on my mobile from Michele. It’s a weekday, so Michele is up by around six, and out to work by seven. I was at work, and was very surprised to see ‘Boo Boo’ (my pet name for her) flashing incessantly on my mobile. For her to call me in the wee hours of the morning must suggest something of real importance.

Turned out Michele had been kept up by Toby, who had developed breathing difficulties. Not only was he wheezing, he was coughing and hacking and looked like a dog’s breath away from an asthma attack!

As she left for work in the morning, the usually excited and over-exuberant Toby would bark and be the biggest sook, putting on his biggest sad face. This time however, he was placid, wasn’t interested and was sufficiently lethargic.

Post-Wedding trauma?

Hello, hope you are all well.

Many friends and relos have asked me, with all good intentions,  if married life has changed me or if I felt the difference in day-to-day life. I think I might have surprised them a little when I suggested I was glad to have just gotten married, as I’m never doing it again!

I followed that with a joke that was made out of my personal experience and my journey with Michele. Every white hair, stress and cent we put into our happy day wasn’t only worth the hassle, but also a testament to the power of love.

However, should our marriage break down over the years (let’s rubbish those naysayers!), there’s no chance in hell I’d file for a divorce as the thought of remarrying and the excess baggage that is stress and unnecessary money spent simply isn’t worth half a day of happiness!

Jokes aside, marriage really hasn’t changed the way Michele and me live. We’re very simple people, with relatively simple needs (though Michele might have something to say about that!) and we proved last year that we could get by with absolutely zero shopping, no outdoor dinings or instant gratifications in the form of movies, DVDs and expensive non-essentials. We’ve proved that we could live rather frugally and be contented with what we have.

That said, we only lived this way as every cent that didn’t go towards our mortgage, bills or groceries went towards our wedding fund. With the wedding out of the way, we could afford to relax our purse strings. Just a little bit though.

Do all married men sleep early?

Even Toby sleeps early. Then again, he sleeps anywhere, anytime.

This post came about at the behest of my constantly ticking mind. At the risk of sounding rather presumptuous, I shall attribute it to my unusual ability to talk about something from nothing.

So what prompted this unusual post? Curiouser and curiouser, I found myself enjoying mundane chores more since Michele and me purchased and moved into our humble abode last year. I’ve allowed myself the time to appreciate the nicer things in life that precludes a computer, a videogame console and sometimes (just sometimes), Toby.

Chores that used to irk me now seem to sing the sweetest song. The aberration that was house cleaning used to mean an uneventful and lacklustre hour of non-communication and wondering which last level boss I could have cleared if I wasn’t cleaning the house. Now, I (almost) look forward to the weekends, where vacuuming and mopping is the order of the day.

I’ve also began to enjoy arranging things. Like a fussy bonsai-lover I trim off stuff I do not enjoy looking at anymore, water and nourish the new spot with a good sanitizing wipe and re-pot my paraphernalia with much aplomb. Sometimes, I do it when Michele’s away at work, and I get a real kick telling her excitedly over the phone, how neat the house is and how much she’ll enjoy the new look I’ve created.

Dishwashing, a task that never ceases to bore me when I lived with my folks, has attained a higher status on my ‘evolutionary tree of tasks’. There’s nothing more empowering than rolling up your sleeves, hearing the swishing swirl of hot water into the basin and smelling the factory-grade liquid detergent doing its thang on the grimy and oily. I am doing the dishes. You can’t eat unless I wash them. Food cannot be served until this is done. Your hunger is at my discretion.