Arthur takes a trip

 

Arthur takes a trip

 Drugs are Bad, Mkay?

Five-year-old Arthur is an affectionate, confident, working Cocker spaniel with a busy nose and an ever-wagging tail. Living in London with Susannah, his walks are enlivened by enticing smells of fox poo, which he eats, or rolls in, or both (ugh!) There is far more fox poo in the cities than there is in the countryside. Country foxes roam far and wide, while urban foxes haunt gardens, and restaurants, and rubbish bins, where the pickings are easy.

If Arthur is caught before he indulges in a tasty ‘treat,’ he is disappointed, but philosophical. (There’s always tomorrow!) However, if he is discovered mid-snack, he rapidly gobbles whatever it is. That is precisely what he did on Thursday last week, local election day. All Susannah could ascertain was that it was a large amount of ‘something’ as it disappeared down his gullet.

Shortly after he arrived home with his mistress, he began to display signs of distress. He appeared frightened, was lethargic, flinching, and occasionally trembling, and was most unlike his normal, extrovert self. Susannah rushed him to the emergency vet, who confirmed her fears that he had been poisoned. By the time she left him with the vets, where he was to spend the remainder of the day, he was extremely unsteady on his feet, though he made a feeble attempt to follow her. 

Blood tests revealed that he had swallowed cannabis, along with newspaper and fox poo, which were evident when he was made to vomit. A dose of activated charcoal was administered to reduce absorption of the toxins. He was monitored for the remainder of the day, and was pleased to see Susannah when she went to pick him up, though still quite unlike himself.

He slept a lot on Friday and was not interested in his toys, or food. He’s normally very tolerant of the cats, but was irritable with them. Always a dog wanting a lot of attention and overt affection, he was more than usually insistent on reassurance, as he still seemed scared and disorientated.

By Saturday, he was much improved and even went out for a short walk, on the lead. He was unusually tired after it, panting a lot, but his appetite was returning, and his usual ebullient character was coming to the fore once more. On Sunday, his eyes still betrayed signs of confusion, but he was almost back to normal. He now has to become accustomed to a muzzle, which he hates, to prevent further accidents, while training is ongoing to teach him not to pick up and eat tasty morsels. He is not a greedy dog, but some forbidden things seem extraordinarily attractive to him.

Cannabis poisoning is a common emergency in dogs and is effectively treated if quickly recognised. It affects dogs intensely because they have more cannabinoid receptors, so the chemical in cannabis binds more powerfully. THC (tetrahydrocannabinol) is fat-soluble, meaning that it is absorbed with dietary fat and so stays longer in the body, rather than being flushed out quickly.

Poor Arthur certainly did not have a pleasant 'trip,' and ‘coming down’ after it was not enjoyable. The whole experience was frightening and bewildering, seventy-two hours of his life that were a nightmare.

My word, you do look queer.

How and why cannabis had been left under a bush in a London park is a mystery. Was it a deliberate ploy to poison animals, a ‘drop spot’ for someone to access, a secret stash, or an accidental loss? There will never be answers, just speculation.

Fields of Tequila

 

Fields of Tequila

To be more precise, fields of blue agave which will contribute to Tequila! 

Agave tequilana, commonly called blue agave (agave azul) or tequila agave

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

An image of a field of blue agave appeared on my screen earlier this week. I took a screen shot, but cannot find it now! 

                                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Green, or at least, not blue agave, produces Mescal. 

Worms

 

The worms were biting

It was mid-afternoon and the worms were biting. It was too early for supper, but something was required to allay the hunger pangs.

A bap, sliced in half, with lettuce, and cheese, satisfied me. I put a slice of Quorn in Barry’s bap, as well as lettuce and cheese. Quorn is a sort of ersatz ham, made from mycoprotein. I can’t tolerate mushrooms, so avoid it. We don’t buy ham or any other processed meat because it’s not good for kidney disease.

The dogs watched closely, hoping for titbits. I dropped the heart of the little gem lettuce, when I was making the snack, which Roxy enjoyed, but Gilbert missed out, poor starving boy!

‘The worms are biting’ is an old English colloquialism that means that someone is feeling very hungry, as if little worms are nibbling daintily at your innards.

It, and similar sayings, date back to the mid-1700s.   

It is also used in fishing circles to enquire if the fishing is successful.  

A rather unpleasant story, purported to be true (but who knows?) tells of a young boy who was fishing. When asked one day if the fish were biting, he replied that they weren’t, but the worms were. His father, on hearing that, blanched and rushed to find his son, but he was dead. When digging for bait, the boy had mistaken a nest of baby rattlesnakes for worms.

Baby rattlers are born with the fully developed ability to use their fangs and inject poison. However, they are less dangerous than adults, as they carry much less venom. Therefore, the story is probably apocryphal.   

World Donkey Day

 

World Donkey Day

Jenny and donkey foal

I was pleased to see this picture on my screen this morning, and to discover that today is World Donkey Day. In common with many people, I suspect, donkeys have a special place in my heart. I have never known a donkey, or even been near one since my childhood, but somehow these friendly-looking quadrupeds have found their way into my consciousness, probably through children’s stories and poems.

Christopher Robin’s Eeyore, in Winnie-the-Pooh, the lugubrious, permanently pessimistic animal with the detachable tail, is both sad and endearing. One always hopes for a better outcome for him.

In ‘Don Quixote,’ Sancho Panza, Quixote’s faithful servant, rides his cherished donkey as he accompanies his master on his fanciful journey. Sancho loves his donkey almost more than life itself.

G.K. Chesterton’s poem, ‘The Donkey’ portrays the donkey as a simple, unprepossessing animal with a noble duty.

Mary Oliver in her poem, ‘The Poet Thinks about the Donkey,’ shows him as a patient, unassuming beast who will share in greatness.

Legend has it that the donkey bears a cross on his back for his part in the Nativity, carrying Mary to Bethlehem, then carrying Jesus into Jerusalem. It is also said that the donkey stood by at the crucifixion, and the shadow of the cross remained on his back after the sun rose.

The donkey in ‘Shrek’ is reliable, but extremely loud, and funny.

Before the late eighteenth century, around 1784 or 1785, donkeys were known as asses. It’s not clear why the term donkey came into being. Possibly it referred to the animal’s dun colour. It is preferable to ass, which can be a pejorative term, as in, ‘You silly ass,’ often with ass being pronounced as ‘arse.’

Donkeys have been used as beasts of burden for at least five thousand years. The majority of them work in underdeveloped countries, where their life expectancy will not usually exceed fifteen years. In more advantageous circumstances, a donkey can live up to fifty years.

There are about 185 breeds of donkey, varying from 90 cm (35”) to 150 cm (59”) in height at the withers.

A male donkey is called a Jack, or jackass, and a female is a Jenny. Jackasses are often cross-bred with female horses, to produce mules, which are stronger and more resilient than donkeys. They are valued as efficient pack animals, sure-footed, and capable of carrying heavy loads.

Donkeys have a reputation for being stubborn and awkward, mules less so. Their supporters claim that donkeys are not obstinate, but thoughtful, animals, assessing potential risks before proceeding. I think I’d be pretty careful on a narrow mountain track, too.

Local elections

 

Local elections

I hope all those eligible to vote in today’s local elections have done so, or will before the polling booths close. They are open until 10.00 p.m. Results are expected from the early hours of Friday onwards.

The fight for universal suffrage was long and fraught.

The Third Reform Act of 1884 gave the right to vote to two in every three men, though some men had two or more votes. Unmarried female rate payers had been allowed to vote in local elections since 1869, but were not allowed to vote in General (Parliamentary) Elections.

In 1918, when men returned from the horrors of the First World War, it was felt that there should be a change in the voting laws. The men had fought for their country, but many were disbarred from voting for representation. The Representation of the People Act, 1918, enfranchised all men over the age of 21. Women aged 30 or older, who owned property in their own right, or were married to men who had property, were given the vote.

UK women were awarded the same right to vote as men in 1928. The voting age then was 21.

The UK voting age was reduced to 18 in 1969. This made the country the first democracy worldwide to give the vote to 18-year-olds. Scotland and Wales lowered the voting age to 16 for the Scottish Parliament, in 2015 -2016, for the Senedd (Welsh Parliament) in 2021-2022, and local elections.

 In February this year, The Representation of the People Bill (2026) began its tortuous, torturous journey through Parliament. Its intention is to lower the voting age to 16 for all elections in the UK. The government hopes that it will be passed into law before the next General Election.

I know some highly thoughtful and intelligent 16-year-olds, and also many more who are impressionable, and the things they fervently believe often change out of all recognition by the time they have experienced more of life than school, training, and education. They are likely to fall prey to be influenced by some of the wilder claims of the more desperate parties.

There’s still time to cast your vote – if you’re in the UK and eligible.

Losing the . . .

 

Losing the . . .

No, I’m not losing the plot, at least, no more than usual. It’s the letter that comes between ‘f’ and ‘h’ that is proving elusive on my keyboard. I note, however, that it has decided to come out to play now that I’ve mentioned it. Just like a naughty child, seeking attention, it gives the lie to my complaint.

It reminded me of accents, dialect, whatever you like to call them, and some of the regional differences in speech. In some parts of the UK, ‘g’ is given extra value, so that words like ‘singing’ are pronounced ‘sing-ging’ and ‘hang’ becomes ‘hang-uh’. It sounds attractive, to my ears, anyway.

In other areas, ‘g’ is commonly dropped, particularly at the ends of words, so that ‘walking’ becomes ‘walkin.’ That manner of speaking was considered ‘upper-class’, and jokes were made about the Lord of the Manor ‘huntin’, shootin,’ and fishin’. Now, that trait is commonplace in some regions.

In my part of the world, there is an unusual pronunciation of words beginning with ‘str’. ‘Str’ becomes ‘shtr’ so that ‘street’ is pronounced ‘shtreet.’ It’s a ‘shtrange’ quirk.

Anyway, my ‘g’ has returned . . . for now!

Of hats and a song

 

Of hats and a song

Tricorne 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

The tricorne was the normal military head covering in the seventeenth century until 1786, when it was phased out and replaced by the bicorne as a more practical garment. The tricorne had uncomfortable associations with the aristocracy, which were particularly unwelcome in France, following the French Revolution of 1789 to 1799. Furthermore, the bicorne could be carried under the arm, when it became standard etiquette for men to remove their hats indoors.

There are no songs about the bicorne, but there is one that refers specifically to the tricorne. It is a traditional German children’s song,

‘Mein Hut, der hat drei Ecken,
drei Ecken hat mein Hut.
Und hätt er nicht drei Ecken,
so wär’s auch nicht mein Hut.’

which in English translates as:

‘My hat, it has three corners,
Three corners has my hat,
And had it not three corners
It would not be my hat.’

and in Swedish as:

Min hatt, den har tre kanter,
tre kanter har min hatt.
och har den ej tre kanter,
så är det ej min hatt!

  It is sung to an old Neapolitan melody, and is popular in Sweden, Norway, and Portugal, as well as Germany and Britain, as an action song for young children.

The tune is known as a ‘wandering melody,’ and can be recognised in the works of composers, like Kreutzer, Chopin, Strauss the Elder, and Paganini.