Bertie's complaint

When we came home from our run yesterday we looked for our beds because we were tired but they had all been moved into the kitchen. There was talk of washing all the bedding. I don’t know why Mrs Boss does it, just when we’ve got it smelling the way we like it. Anyway, we decided we’d leave the comfort of the sitting room with its warm fire and slum it in the kitchen.

It wasn’t too bad because the bedding was next to our freezer. (We have our own freezer for all our food. It makes sense. Boss and Mrs have theirs and we have ours.) 

Frodo came with me to keep me company and we were soon fast asleep and dreaming.

 Then Gus barked and woke me up – he frightened me. 

So I cuddled up next to Frodo and I was able to relax again. Frodo looks as though he’s got devil eyes in this photo but he’s all right, really. 

We were soon asleep once more.

I don’t know what happened next but I woke up to find Gus had taken my place and pushed me onto the floor – the floor without any bedding. That was a bit mean but I am the youngest, nearly eight months old, and Gus was here before me and he really likes Frodo. It was quite brave of Gus, really, because that noisy floor-cleaning thing was nearby and he's frightened of that but Frodo was between it and him so I suppose that was all right.

ps: I must admit clean bedding does feel nice and it doesn’t smell bad, either, so I don’t think I’ll complain again, not about that, anyway. 


pps: Jenna was on a chair somewhere, naughty girl!

Washing my hands

I used to joke that my hands were twenty years older than the rest of me because I washed them so often. Now I think they’re more like fifty years older. 

Apart from the usual handwashing rituals following ‘comfort breaks’ or ‘bathroom visits’ (quaint expressions, eh?) I’ve always washed my hands after handling animals, including small children. Working with young humans sharpens one’s observational acuity and it’s hard to avoid noticing where their fingers are going and what they’re doing. You can’t see dirt, right? Well, obviously, sometimes you can but you know what I mean.

I wash my hands before preparing food and again afterwards. I wash my hands after blowing my nose (I wish doctors would!) and I’m doing a lot of that now since Barry kindly shared his cold with me. After I’ve loaded washing in the washing machine or filled the dishwasher I wash my hands. Just put out the rubbish? Wash your hands! If I handle money (filthy lucre!) time to wash. Travelling on public transport or opening doors to public buildings – shops, for example – causes an outbreak of hand-washing. Naturally I can’t always access soap and water so I carry hand wipes for those occasions. Sometimes I avoid the problem by using my elbows.

In the last couple of months I’ve developed a worrying habit. Since we do most of our shopping online we have a lot of deliveries. When I go to the door to accept the parcel, frequently I’m asked to ‘sign for it’. This makes me think I should be performing some elaborate ritual mimicry involving fingers in unusual combinations but actually involves grasping a pen attached to a clipboard or more usually a miniature screen display and scrawling an unintelligible signature. Then I have to wash my hands. I know it’s illogical but I can’t stop myself.

When I was teaching I used to encourage the children to wash their hands at appropriate intervals. Then I would remind them to ‘wash the soap.’ Some of them understood immediately the reason for that – maybe their mothers had the same rule. The rest looked incredulous but obeyed anyway. (Oh, the power!)

More tales from the Land of Clean can be found here and here

What foibles or compulsions do you have and are you willing to share them?

Gus and the airer

Gus has a very long tongue and it seems to lengthen when he's excited - or apprehensive.

It’s easy to forget how young Gus is – just 16 months old. He’s a very exuberant pup and gives the impression that nothing fazes him, apart from the vacuum cleaner. He’s a bold and fearless guard dog, though we know that should any stranger come through the door, Gus would greet him with open paws rather than slavering jaws.

The infamous airer! Gus was convinced it was waiting to pounce.

So it came as a surprise today when the clothes airer spooked him. I have a backlog of washing to dry so decided to supplement the tumble dryer with the airer. There is absolutely no point in hanging the washing in the garden – it wouldn’t dry and would probably be brought in wetter than it went out. The solution Barry found last year in 2009 was hailed with much rejoicing but turned out to be less than satisfactory (slight understatement there!) 

As a refuge for the smaller forms of flying wildlife it was unsurpassed. It was almost a case of standing room only. Much as I admire and am interested in winged beasties, I have no desire to get up close and personal with them, but was forced to confront them as I wrestled the washing from the rotary dryer. Lifting the skirts of the cover to gain access to the laundry was difficult if even a slight breeze was blowing. Eventually, a stronger than usual wind happened along and tore the whirligig from its moorings. So now I have reverted to a naked carousel which is used only when rain isn’t falling.

Today, however, was not such a day. The ground is soggy, the dogs’ paws dig deep; consequently, things with which they come into contact when they come home – mats, chair covers, dog bedding – are soon rejoicing in a new guise, the ‘clean dirt’ look. Mud is ‘clean dirt’ – I leave you to imagine what might be classed as ‘dirty dirt’.

If damp items lie sullenly in laundry baskets too long, anticipating their turn in the drying machine, they sometimes rebel and develop an unwholesome odour. Then they have to be washed again because musty linen smells most unpleasant. Thus the task sometimes seems endless. I do occasionally complete all the washing so that none is left sadly awaiting its moment in the spotlight, its fifteen minutes of fame (actually, that should read ‘its moments in the washing machine, its anything from forty-five to ninety minutes of attention’)  

Gus relaxing during Frodo's ministrations

Anyway, as I was saying, Gus was frightened when the clothes airer appeared. No, it didn’t come stumbling out from the cupboard unaided but had to be wrenched from its lair under the stairs. It’s a harmless piece of equipment but Gus didn’t know that and had to be comforted by Frodo.

I’m linking to ‘Camera Critters’ and ‘Pets Forever’. Why not take a look and see what other folks have to offer?

Postscript to 'I live to launder' March 2009

One of the 'joys' of laundering is drying items in the fresh air. The trouble with living on a relatively small island (or collection of islands) is that the weather can and freqently does change rapidly bringing several varieties in the course of one day. Thus hanging out the laundry is chancy particularly if I intend to go out for the day - or even for an hour or two. Telling myself that soft rain will rinse the washing again isn't really very helpful especially if said rain drops relentlessly for hour upon hour.

I think I now have the answer. It is a rotary dryer, sometimes referred to by me as a whirligig, otherwise as a carousel, bringing to mind prancing fairground horses - now wouldn't that make a necessary chore more fun? Would I sit on each bright steed in turn, pegging clothes to ears and reins, stretching sheets and towels across the saddle pommels of the nags next to me and going UP and DOWN and UP and DOWN and ROUND and ROUND and ROUND and ROUND to the unmistakeably cheery sound of a fairground organ. Now that I think about it the flying chairs - Chair-O-Planes - could be brought into play. Think how quickly the washing would dry on those! Swing Boats would be all right for hand-held things - tea towels and dish cloths perhaps - hold on with one hand and flap the washing with the other? I don't think the Big Wheel would be much use, except at the immediate approach and departure of the zenith and at the zenith itself and the Helter-Skelter would barely have begun its work before the bottom was reached. Shooting Galleries and Lucky Dips wouldn't afford any help though perhaps the Bumper Cars might be called into action. The drawback with those would be the soiling that might occur as cars battered into each other! I remember my brother received a nasty cut to the eyebrow on a Bumper Car - blood everywhere and a lifelong scar! The Tea Cups might be useful for small light items - not enough height or space for larger things.

I digress - the rotary dryer we erected yesterday requires an extension pole as it appears to be designed for the (much) shorter woman but we purchased a rainproof cover with mesh skirts so that the washing can remain out in even the most inclement weather - apart from a howling gale, of course. (There's a boat at our marina called 'Owl in Gale'!)

This YouTube clip made me giggle - I'd like to see the house that has a garden like this!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mn0s9kTg2FM

Near the top of the instruction leaflet accompanying the DRYLINE is the advice - 'AVOID FITTING IN HIGH WIND'. Visions spring to mind of a Mary Poppins-style sailing up into the ether. Its efficacy is being tested today as drizzle is falling determinedly and the sky is grey. Wet weather gear will be required for walking the dogs. Barry chose the one dry spell to cycle with them earlier (and met a lady 'dog-scootering' of which more anon.)

Postscript: it is now definitely raining - no more of the wishy-washy precipitation that fools you into thinking you're not getting wet - this is the real, heavy-dropping stuff.

Haiku Friday - washing

Washing on the line

Dries quickly in the brisk breeze

And smells wonderful.

Visit here to read more haiku

In the garden, hanging out the clothes

Though it indicates the paucity of my daily life I must confess that one of my small joys is hanging out the washing and then watching it as it dances on the line. Sometimes, of course, it hangs sullenly refusing to dry but even then it attains a wonderful clean smell that no tumble dryer could ever achieve. When I'm in the garden arranging the laundry – socks all marching in the same direction, towels snapped straight and then pegged, shirts and blouses with their sleeves pulled into shape – I relish the fresh air, sometimes by the bucketful, sunshine if I'm lucky and always birds. Yesterday my ear caught the distinctive sound of a distressed Crow. I looked up and saw a Crow chasing a Sparrowhawk. A Sparrowhawk's diet is largely made up of small birds caught on the wing but even a young Crow would be too big for it to catch. Perhaps the Crow was indicating that it had first call on any small birds in the vicinity though I think it's uncommon for Crows to prey on young birds that have left the nest.

March butterflies

The only butterflies I can identify with confidence are the Cabbage White and the Holly Blue. I have some classification books but am never sure if I'm making the correct identification.

Hanging out the washing this morning I saw a beautiful butterfly and rushed indoors to fetch my camera. The butterfly waited obligingly while I found the right setting then flew away just as I was focusing on it. Later I saw an orange-brown butterfly on the woodpile and then one that was lemon yellow. I had ideas of posting photographs on the blog but alas, it was not to be – not today, anyway.

So, there you have it, a pretty butterfly with red, black, white and blue, an orange-brown one and a lemon yellow. If my butterfly identification proceeds at the same breakneck speed as my ability to name wild flowers I shall need another lifetime!