Big and beautiful

We are weaning Evie off her mom in the most relaxed way possible. We started to feed her in her own stable last Friday. And we will continue feeding her in her own stable and then moving her back to mom again, leaving her longer in her own space every time. So she still can drink from Naloma, but she is getting used to being on her own too. We have to separate them completely some day because Naloma has to stop feeding Evie. Giving milk is a real strain on a mare and I want to ride more again, so Naloma's 'udders have to dry up' and we have to keep Evie from her for a couple of days then. But we will try to make this as less stressful as possible (does that make sense? I'm a bit tired and can't think straight, but you will know what I mean I hope). The usual way of separating a foal from her mother is just taking the foal away. That's it. So both mare and foal get really stressed and keep calling each other. I didn't want to do it that way, so this is our way of separating them and I hope it works. Anyway, this was the first time we had Evie in her own stable. We closed the shutter (?, it's the square next to her window) to keep her from jumping out of the stable (you never know how mad they react), but she was quite happy and relaxed being on her own. Her stable is next to Willem. Naloma is on the other side of Willem. This morning I opened the stable door to take Evie from Naloma to her own stable for her breakfast and Evie just walked there all by herself. I guess she likes it. So far so good ;-) The pinkish round thing hanging on the bars is a salt block. Horses like to lick the salt. It provides them with useful minerals and it also keeps them from getting bored. She's getting big! And beautiful ;-)

Hubs took these photos with his mobile phone. He has a very sophisticated new one. He can take photos with it, make movies, email, search the internet, make coffee (just a joke). I've understood he can even call people with it. Amazing! What will they think of next. (Reading these last sentences back I just realised... I'm old!)

Camera Critters & Pet Pride: Unlikely friends

Our pets all like each other. A lot.

Check for other Camera Critters this blog and for other Proud Pet owners this blog.

Honest scrap

Mara was having a bad hair day, or she just doesn't like me (can you imagine that?) so she decided to give me an award with a HUGE string attached! The recipient of this award has to list 10 honest personal things. I feel this is more of a tag than an award, but hey, I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. *very deep sigh* I liked reading Mara's personal confessions, so wasn't it just fair to list some of my own? And I do appreciate people who give me an award. And I didn't have this award yet. So I sighed again and decided I would not ignore this one. Previous results however are certainly no guarantee of future ones. This will most probably be my last acceptance speech for an award or a tag.

Sad thing is that I have to pass this award and the HUGE string attached to it on to other bloggers. More or less fortunately a very dear blogfriend of mine, who shall remain nameless because she might JINX ME if I say who she is, asked me to tease another very dear blogfriend by "threatening" him with an award of some kind. She can't do it herself, because she is a very wise woman and doesn't accept awards or tags.

And I am too nice for my own good.

Actually I hardly dare call the person I/we would like to pass this on to, a blogfriend, because he is actually my Blog God and a certain respectful distance would be in order if he wasn't the sweetest and funniest guy I know in Blogworld which makes it hard to keep that distance. I'm already groveling, have you noticed? And I think I can't even knit a meaningful sentence together anymore. It is sheer fear. I will reveal to you who my Blog God is at the end of this piece. First you have to plough through my

10 honest things: 1. Brinkbeest is a nickname given to me by an English teacher. My last name begins with Brink... and beest means animal or beast. Thank you English teacher! 2. When I hang the multi-coloured washing out to dry, I colour coordinate it. How sad is that? 3. I have a carpenter's eye. It is a blessing and a curse. 4. I don't like shopping. Hubs is very pleased with me. 5. I hate talking on the telephone. One of the reasons is that I don't like talking to people without being able to look them in the eyes. 6. I'm always in doubt. 7. A couple of months ago our piano-tuner called to make an appointment and he is a really nice guy, but always stays far too long and talks too much, and I really wasn't in the mood for that, so I lied and told him we sold the piano, which is rather stupid, because all piano-tuners in our part of the world know each other so he's bound to find out that I've lied. Now I can't bring myself to call another piano-tuner and our piano will remain out of tune for some time to come. 8. I don't lie, except for that one time mentioned in point 7. 9. I think I might have to start wearing my glasses. 10. I 'don't do' numbers. I can't add, divide or deduct. I just can't count! This is the award. I feel I've really deserved it now:

So, now I have to pass this award on to someone else. As I have told you I am going to pass this on to a very sweet guy, who has already received lots of awards, but I couldn't find this one in his award list. Amazing, because if anyone deserves an award for reveiling honest things (I would not call it scrap in his case) about himself...it is of course Suldog! While I'm hiding under my desk for fear of what he might say I would like you to pop over to his place and read this. And, dear Suldog, if you choose to accept this Honest Scrap 'award', you have to list 10 honest things about yourself. Sorry ;-) Personally I am very curious what you will come up with (nudge nudge wink wink).

Would you like to know even more about me?

Beyond all hope and expectation, yesterday afternoon the washing machine repair guy arrived! He turned out to be a really nice guy, so I didn't have the heart to kill him in a medieval way. Or in any way really. So he's still alive and kicking. And the machine is too. So, dear Jinksy, I'm happy to say that we are no longer honorary members of The Knights Of The Square Drawers. Last week Cece tagged me. Thinking about describing personal things, like for instance: 'things that make you happy', gives me a headache. Which in itself says a lot about me I guess. But, although this one is about 'personality' too *sigh*, and I already felt a headache coming up, I'm still posting it. Because suddenly I remembered that I am 'a Doris'! And the 'what makes me a Doris'- characteristics describe me better than I could have ever done myself. And I like Cece. So if you want to get to know me better, read on. (The personality traits are listed in no particular order and I have personalised some of them even more. Well done to me!) Seven Personality Traits 1. I have low self-esteem. Odly enough most people think I have a lot of self-confidence. 2. I like people to take an interest in my problems, though I will probably try to focus on yours. I don't like to talk about me. I'll tell you what happens to me, but I won't tell you how I feel. 3. I am able to relate easily to people and to make friends. But I won't let anyone get too close to me. 4. I'm sensitive and perceptive about others' feelings. 5. I'm enthusiastic and fun-loving, and have a good sense of humor. 6. I need constant reassurance. Yes please. 7. I am very sensitive to disapproval and criticism. Handle with care. I would like to refer you to points 1 & 6!

A- Available/Married? Neither. But 'hubs' and I have been living together for about 24 years now. B - Best Friend? Me. C - Cake or Pie? Difficult choice to make. If I choose cake I feel sorry for the pie. And the other way around. Honestly, I like them both. D - Drink of Choice? Water and wine. E - Essential item you use everyday? Towel but I so would like to say washing machine ;-) F - Favorite Color? Another difficult choice to make. I like them all, except Tax Office Blue. G - Gummy Bears or Worms? What, to eat? I guess Gummy Bears. Although I don't particularly like them (sorry Bears). But I prefer them to worms. Or did something get lost in translation here? H - Hometown? Amsterdam (birthplace), Edinburgh (great place), a little village in Groningen (house place) I - Indulgence? Crisps, but the low-fat variety. I like to cheat myself into thinking that it's not thát bad for me. J - January or February? Definitely February because I hate January with a passion. K - Kids and their names? No, but if you count the dogs, cats, horses and pigs: Phoebe, Holle, Biggles, Bengeltje, Petje, Mozes, Snoesje, Naloma, Willem, Evie, Nufnuf and Tumtum. And a rooster called Van Woerkom and six nameless chickens. L - Life is incomplete without? Me. M - Marriage Date? Not married, but if I were I'm sure I couldn't remember the date anyway. I can't remember birthdays or other dates people find significant. N - Number of Siblings? I always find that a difficult question. I have a sister. But I also have a brother who died about 10 years ago. I can't even remember the date he died. Don't be shocked. I just don't think a date is the most important fact to remember. O - Oranges or Apples? Oh dear, another choice. Probably apples. Especially in pie ;-) P - Phobia's/Fears? I'm always afraid that something happens to the animals. And I so dislike loud chewingsounds made by people (not by animals, I don't mind them having bad table manners) that you could call it a phobia. Q - Quote for today? Shit happens but there is always hope! R - Reason to smile? Come to think of it, the animals often make me smile. S - Season? All seasons or seasalt and black pepper. T - Tag 3 People? You see, I'd rather not. But if someone wants to get a headache, be my guest and answer these questions. Be tagged! U - Unknown fact about me? I hate (and I mean: h a t e) going to parties. V - Vegetable you don't like? Broccoli. I eat it because it's healthy, but I haven't found a way of making it taste nice yet. So, if you have a great broccoli-recipe... W - Worst habit? I burp. But not in public. And I often use the word 'so'. X - X-rays you've had? Teeth, wrist, a couple of fingers. Y - Your favorite food? Apart from Broccoli and Hutspot (a mash of carrots, onion and potatoes) I like most things. I don't eat meat. Z - Zodiac Sign? Gemini. IF YOU LIKE ME, HAVE SYMPATHY AND PLEASE DON'T TAG ME AGAIN. IF YOU DON'T LIKE ME, OR IF YOU ARE HAVING A BAD HAIR DAY, FEEL FREE TO TAG ME. I WILL PROBABLY IGNORE IT ANYWAY.

Camera Critters/Pet Pride: Is it a brown giraffe?

What kind of critter is this? It could be a brown giraffe...

...or perhaps some sort of camel...

...wait...I think I know what sort of critter this is...

...it's our cute little foal Evie, pulling funny faces while enjoying a nice scratch!

See for Camera Critters from all over the world this site, hosted by Misty Dawn. See for other "proud pets" Pet Pride, hosted by Bozo (and Magiceye).

Back to the dark ages?

Last Friday our washing machine shouted: "bleep bleep bleep" and it's display said "F18". It wasn't supposed to say: "bleep bleep bleep" and certainly not "F18". It was supposed to say: "bleep" and "ready". The instruction manual revealed that F18 meant there was a blockage somewhere. As it is not safe to let me near the insides of any machine, people and/or machines could get killed, I waited for hubs to come home. He is the person with the technical know-how and the blockage removal master in our house. At least, that is what I hoped for. Hubs came home and started operating on the washing machine. But the machine fought back. Hubs lost the first round with a bleeding finger. Some strong language and half a first-aid-kit later the fight continued. This time hubs won the round and opened the filtersystem. There was no blockage in there. He continued to check other intestines of the machine, but couldn't find any blockage. We told the machine to finish it's job, but it kept bleeping at us and persisted it had an F18 somewhere. We decided to notify the manufacturers and ask for professional assistance. Some emails and phonecalls later we were told that the washing machine repair man will be here...wait for it...next tuesday! NEXT Tuesday! Not THIS Tuesday. Nope. N E X T Tuesday. That means 12 days without a washing machine. Twelve days! Or eleven if you want to be an optimist and don't count the black Friday it broke down. I asked the nice lady if there was any possibility to get a mechanic here earlier, please? "I will notify the planning department that this is a 'rush job', but I can't do anything more", she said. You see, I would have said the same thing if I was her. So I don't believe that there will be a mechanic here a day earlier than next tuesday. History has taught me that it is even questionable there actually will be a mechanic here then, but let us not be too pessimistic. Now, I don't want to be a nag, but eleven/twelve days without a washing machine isn't easy. Not if you are used to a machine doing your laundry. And a dryer doing your drying. And a dishwasher to do the dishes. And a very sophisticated espressomaker to make the coffee. You get my point. It feels like going back to the dark ages. The laundry-basket is full to the brim. In fact it is overflowing. I try to do most of the laundry in the weekend (cheaper electricity rate), and since the laundry basket was already full to the brim last Friday, when the machine broke down, we now have a problem. I remember the first washing machine my mother had in those dark ages. It was open on top and had sort of a mixing appliance inside. She would fill the machine with warm water, put detergent and the laundry in it, turn it on and it would mix and whisk happily away. She was highly pleased with this new invention. Now I know why. But I had a brilliant idea. If I say so myself. This morning I filled the whirlpool bath with some of the laundry, added detergent, switched on the bubbles and pretended it was that first washing machine that made my mother's life so much easier. It didn't work as well as I had hoped, but at least what went in came out somewhat cleaner. I forgot that I don't have a wringing machine (who does these days?), so I had a good workout. At least the dryer is still working (knock on wood).

Horse driving trials, the marathon

Yesterday we went to see the marathon of horse driving trials that were held near where we live. Horse driving trials, or combined driving, consists of three phases: dressage, obstacle cone driving and a cross-country marathon. On Saturday the competitors had to do the dressage and obstacle cone driving part. For more information about horse driving trials: see this wikipedia entry. The marathon is the most spectacular part. The photos speak for themselves I think. Every obstacle has to be negotiated at great speed, because the fastest time counts. And although every driver has a whip, they don't hit the horses to make them go faster. I've not seen it used one time! The drivers mainly use their voice to make the horses go faster or to slow down. It's really fantastic to see.

Every carriage has a driver and one or more grooms. The grooms play a very important part in keeping the carriage upright and pointing out which direction the driver has to take. Humans and horses work together like a well-oiled machine. Great to watch!

And it's a sport for all ages. If you want to take your grandfather out on a Sunday, make him your groom. This poor old man was clinging on for dear life! At least it looked that way. In fact he is a highly skilled groom of course. An unmissable part of this team. And clinging on for dear life. These photos will hopefully give you a good impression of the speed and agility needed for this event. Enjoy!

Oh, the very exciting life I lead

I should change my blogheader. 'Not that anything interesting ever happens to me....' HA! It should read: 'The very exciting (not to mention glamorous) life of Brinkbeest.' You see, last night the horses were a bit restless. I heard some bangs and usually that means that Naloma is having a heated discussion with Willem. So it didn't really worry me. I kept one ear open however, while the rest of me was fast asleep (yeah, in my dreams). Then, at about half past three a.m., I heard Willem whinnying. That was very unusual. So I went out of bed, put on my dressing gown (meanwhile the whinnying had woken hubs too and he asked if I was going to check the horses), went downstairs, completed the outfit with my very solid stable boots (I told you I'm glamorous) and went outside. We leave a little light on in the stables since Evie's birth, so that Naloma can see where Evie's legs are if Evie is lying down. We wouldn't want Naloma standing on them. When I walked up to the stables that little light in an otherwise pitch-black night allowed me to see that their stable door was open! And when I came nearer I could see that both Naloma and Evie were gone! My first thought was: "they're stolen! My horses are stolen!" Then I thought: "no, can't be. They must be somewhere on the grounds." We keep the garden gates locked and we would have heard something or the dogs would have barked if someone had forced the gates open. I went back to the house to get a torch. Halfway back hubs came towards me, with a torch. Very gallant of him. "Evie and Naloma are gone!", I said. "WHAT?" "Stable door is open. They are gone." (To let you know that hubs is also very fashion conscious: he was wearing a dressing gown, his wonderful dark green rubber boots and, just like me, not much else.) We went back to the stables and switched on the other stable lights and the manege lights. I grabbed their halters and some bribes in the form of horse sweets and followed hubs into the night to search for our horses. We soon found them, Naloma happily nibbling on a beechtree and Evie standing next to her, just looking around if there was something fun for her to do. Fortunately our horses like us and don't run away when we approach them. The bribes we usually carry will have something to do with that. Soon we could take them back to their stable and hubs could get some control over his breathing. He is quite easily panicked and since it was him that fed them last and probably hadn't closed the stable door as well as he should have, panic and guilt made him not the most relaxed person. Willem finally stopped whinnying, great horse that he is. He doesn't like it if he's left alone and if he hadn't mentioned it, we would have never known that the girls were on a night out. Well, we would have probably found the empty stable the next morning *shudder*. You see? Glamorous AND exciting my life is! Have I told you about the night we went burglar hunting? No? Or the night that we had policemen patrolling our garden while we were fast asleep? No? Why do I always think that nothing happens here? I must be delusional! I'll tell you about those action packed nights later. And tomorrow I will post some great pictures I made today when we visited a horse marathon. Gripping stuff!

Oh, the glamorous life I lead

Our chickens were not alone. They had tiny little visitors called lice. This morning hubs and I declared war upon the little buggers. We bought something very toxic in a spray can and made a plan. The chickens were still in their coop. (We open the door of their coop every morning to allow them to roam free and close it every night, when they are all inside again.) Our plan was ingenious. Hubs would open the door, catch a chicken, close the door, keep the chicken upside down holding it by the legs and I would spray the lice to a certain death (not the chicken). Next chicken please! Hubs was dressed for the occasion in jeans, a T-shirt, rubber gloves up to his elbows and a dust mask with the necessary filter. His job is all about safety at work you know. I wore my gown and the expensive jewellery I had borrowed for the Oscars, which turned out to be the OsKars, also not to be sniffed at, and Cece suggested that I could still wear the gown around the house. This seemed the right occasion. No rubber gloves and dust mask for me though. (Suddenly I'm wondering why not. Some things take a long time to sink in with me. Hmm.) Our plan worked remarkably well. Soon we had sprayed all 6 chickens and the rooster and they were only slightly upset. Then we cleaned the coop thoroughly and sprayed that too. After that we mucked out the stables of the horses. Then I mucked out the pigsty. This wonderful and exciting job was followed by my daily rounds scooping up the dogpoo from the strip of woods that surrounds our grounds. Then I had some coffee and cleaned the cat litter boxes. I don't know. Some days I have the feeling I'm always up to my knees in poo! Still, it could be worse. I could be having a job I hated. Dreading every morning that I'd have to go to that office again. For instance. Actually, come to think of it, I quite like my life. Please remind me that I wrote this if I'm ever complaining again.

About Biggles and who would like to accompany me to the Oscars?

I've mentioned Biggles having OCD (Osteochondrosis dissecans) in both heels in yesterdays post. Just now I've added some additional information about OCD in a footnote, but I feel I have to tell you a little bit about Biggles. If you are interested, read a short explanation about OCD in 'Yesterday evening'.

Who can resist this little cutie? This is Biggles. Full name: Boy O Boy Biggles of Towns Channel. He's called lots of names now, not all of them very flattering. But we mostly call him just Biggles or Binkyboy or just Idiot. He was born with people we know very well, who have been breeding labradors for years and years. Always according to the rules of the Dutch Labrador Association. The parent dogs are screened if they are healthy and don't have hereditary diseases. So were Biggles' parents. Both lovely dogs and completely healthy. No bone diseases or eye diseases. Their pups promised to be a healthy bunch of labradors. Of course you can never be sure. So when we totally fell for this little cuddly bundle and we took him home when he was ready to leave the nest, hubs was hoping to do lots of hunting training with him (we don't hunt, but we train the dogs to be real retrievers, because that is what their breed is and what they want to do). We carpeted all the hard flooring with cheap carpets, to prevent him from sliding and hurting his joints. We didn't let him play too wildly with the older dogs for the same reason. We gave him the best food, especially for large breeds. In short, we did everything according to the 'be a good human to your dog'-rules. After about 6 months we noticed he didn't really use his hind legs as he should do. The joints were a bit weird. The vet had already mentioned that as a small puppy his hindlegs were a bit too straight. So when we went to the vet with our concerns, he immediately referred us to a specialist. There we went with our happy, bouncy not so little pup. To a specialist clinic. The same clinic where I had been to with my first dog, a couple of years earlier, who turned out to be suffering from liver failure and acute leukaemia. She was the best dog you could ever have. But she died just before her 6th birthday. I have tears in my eyes writing this and she died about 8 years ago now. That is how much impact such a thing can have on someone. You can imagine that it wasn't a great feeling to be there again, with another great dog. Biggles was diagnosed to have OCD in both heels. Which isn't a very common thing. According to the specialist he was inoperable. We were devastated. But the specialist said that Biggles could get very old with it, although he probably needed painkillers for the rest of his life and supplements through his food in order to make his joints work more smoothly. And when he would be old enough (1 year) we could take him trotting next to a bike to strengthen his muscles. Also he told us not to keep him on a leash all the time and to let him play with other dogs. Rather a short and happy life than a long and miserable one, his philosophy was. And we agree.

The training however would be not so good since that involves a lot of jumping and running with sudden stops and turns. Not good for his joints. We took Biggles home and notified the trainer that we wouldn't be coming again. Then we started to do some research and found that there is a pool especially for dogs who need physiotherapy, near where we live. One of the two special dog pools in the whole of the Netherlands. We took Biggles there every week, for about a year. So he could swim in warm water to strengthen his muscles. That was a great therapy. We noticed so much improvement and he clearly enjoyed it.

Biggles now gets a painkiller every morning, combined with anti-inflammatories and a glucosamin/chondroitin supplement through his food. And you have never seen such a bouncy, happy, sweet dog. And finally, someone decided to nominate me for an Oscar! So, who would like to accompany me to the Oscars? I've got a wonderful dress, borrowed some lovely jewellery worth millions, took out a second morgage and bought Manolo Blahniks. Can't walk on them, but there are chairs I'm told. However, I need someone to hold on to on the red carpet.... "What? You've told me I'd get an Oscar! What do you mean: an OsKar... Not an OsCar? But... Oh heck!" Sorry, forget what I said. It isn't an Oscar after all. It's an OSKAR!!!!! And if I'm honest, I'd rather have an Oskar than an Oscar. My Manolo's will be on eBay soon, but I'm keeping the dress! Oskar, the coolest schnauzer ever, and his mom Mimi have generously awarded the very cool people (yes, me too) who follow Oskar's blog, with this wonderful Oskar award and they have asked us if we want to pass it on to bloggers we think are super cool. Since I think each and everyone of you who read my blog are: IF YOU READ THIS, PLEASE ACCEPT THIS AWARD AND POST IT ON YOUR BLOG. Make Oskar happy ;-)

Yesterday evening

Yesterday evening Biggles, our crazy labrador boy, suddenly walked on three legs. He had been outside; if the weather is nice, the French doors are usually open and the dogs can walk in and out of the house whenever they want to. So whatever he had been doing outside, he hurt his left front paw. I checked his paw, no thorns or other nasty things in his foot and when I touched his wrist, it clearly hurt. Since our vet had his consulting hour just at that time, I decided to take Biggles to the vet to check him out. Unfortunately it turned out to be 'boy's night' at the vets. The waiting room was packed with male dogs. One of them immediately started growling at our Binkyboy, who didn't appreciate the hostile attitude and growled back. I told him not to do that, and he settled down at my feet, back turned to the growler. Then another dog entered. He looked at Biggles, Biggles looked at him and then they both went WHAWHAWHAGRRRR. So the owner took the other dog outside again and waited there for their turn. Then a guy with two very cute little terriers came in. A boy and a girl. He sat next to us, which I thought wasn't a great idea, so I moved a couple of chairs, explaining that I didn't want to take the risk of Biggles eating the cute boy terrier, to where the first growling dog had been waiting for his turn. Biggles sniffed and sniffed and then decided to remove the smell of that other guy and put up his paw. His hind one. You get the picture. So we had to own up to the vet nurse that we had a little accident and she cleaned it up. Anyway, after a while it was our turn. Usually the vet comes to our house, we know him quite well and regard him as a friend, so when he opened the door and said: "Hey Biggles, your turn!", Biggles stormed in on all four legs and wildly enthusiastic greated his friend. He totally forgot he couldn't put weight on his front paw. "So, what's the matter?", vet asked. "He can't stand on his front paw", I said. "His left one. Only, he has forgotten it now of course." We both watched Biggles jumping up and down and wriggling his whole body into all sorts of bends. "Are you sure?", vet asked. "Yep! His left paw." Vet frowned. Biggles wriggled. Vet tried to lift Biggles up on the table. Biggles wriggled even more. Not an easy task to lift 30 kilos of wriggling muscle onto a table, but vet persisted and soon we had Biggles lying on the table, me performing 'the dog hold' to keep him there. Biggles sighed. Vet kneaded Biggles' toes, pulled and pushed the leg, and concluded that he had hurt some tendons (?) near his little pinky equivalent quite badly because when he touched that Biggles closed his mouth, while during the rest of the examination he kept breathing heavily, tongue hanging out. Biggles, that is. Not the vet. "Since he is already on painkillers (he has OCD in both hind heels and gets a painkiller every day along with supplements to make his joints work more smoothly) I can only prescribe rest", vet said. Then he wanted to lift Biggles from the table again. But Biggles decided to jump off from the other side of the table, where I could just catch him and prevent him from falling on his stupid head. He suddenly remembered that he had a sore paw and we left the vet on five legs and went home where we settled on the couch and turned on the tv. An episode of NCIS had just started. There was a dead man's body lying on the coroner's table. Cut open from head to waist. Skin and most of the flesh folded aside, with the camera closing in on the ribcage. When it panned out again and you could see the total bloody mess in all it's glory lying there on that metal table, I noticed that his private parts were sort of Ken-of-the-Barbie-kind. You know. Just sort of a bulge. Nothing more. I've noticed before that private parts are obscured in American crime investigation series. Either by a very bright light that shines exactly on that spot, so you can only see a white glare, or by someone standing in the 'right place', or by the Ken-of-the-Barbie-kind 'solution'. Which amazes me. Apparently the producers have decided that seeing a dead body, cut open, the bloody mess inside on show, or a person falling from a roof (same episode), gallons of blood gushing from his head, isn't half as shocking as actually seeing someones penis. Or, heaven forbid, pubic hair. It's a strange world we live in. Additional information, thanks to Don't Bug Me's comment: OCD: Osteochondrosis dissecans Osteochondrosis dissecans, commonly known as OCD, is a disease of the cartilage that can affect various joints in a dog. In any joint in the body two bones come together and movement is allowed between them. Where the two bones meet an exceptionally smooth area of cartilage covers their surfaces. This acts as a cushion and protects the underlying bone. If anything disrupts this smooth cartilage surface, movement of the joint becomes painful. In a dog with OCD, this cartilage is damaged or grows abnormally. Instead of being attached to the bone it covers, it separates or cracks, causing great pain. In some cases, small pieces of cartilage break off and float free in the joint. These pieces of cartilage do not die, but rather continue to grow and increase in size. These are known as joint mice. source: www.peteducation.com

A visit from a vampire. Oh, and an award!

Nothing interesting to tell you, I thought. HA! I had totally forgotten about Count Dracula visiting us. No really. There we were, on a warm summer's night, French doors open, comfortably nestled in the corners of the couch, watching something interesting on tv, when suddenly a shadow moved along the walls. And again. Turned out a bat had decided to pay us a visit. I'm really not that easily scared by animals. I pick up frogs and toads for instance. Wasps can land on my hand and I will look at them closely (they feel quite warm, did you know that?), while hubs is doing his hysterical 'aaarggghh a wasp' dance. I felt quite offended actually when two weeks ago I got stung by a wasp. Me! Who always treats them with respect, rescues them when they fall into my drink, puts them out into the sun to dry, lets them walk on my hand. And just for once I don't notice one landing in my neck, I turn my head and OUCH. It stings me! And my father taught me that if there are bats flying around and you throw a small pebble up in the air, they dive for it thinking it's food. So my father and I (I was about 15) spent a couple of evenings confusing bats by throwing small pebbles up in the air and letting the bats dive just over our heads. While my older sister ran away screaming. I thought it was rather exciting. Outside.

Inside the comforts of your own home however...it's a totally different matter. Quite scary to have a HUGE bat flying inches above your head. They are FAST! And you can't hear them coming. The dogs thought it was quite exciting too, so we put them in the hallway. Safer for both bat and dogs. Hubs went out to get the big fishnet on a long stick, which we have to fish things out of our pond and went on the Big Bat Hunt. Really, while it was flying around it was like Count Dracula had decided to go look for another place to put his coffin. But when hubs had finally caught the poor creature, it was just a tiny little, quite cute furry little bat. Sadly you could hardly see it in the net, so I didn't make a photo. You have to believe me on my word. Hubs set it free again. Outside. I didn't throw a small stone, it had endured enough that evening. It wasn't the first time we had a bat flying around in our living room actually. A couple of years ago hubs had to go on the Big Bat Hunt too. When we told people our exciting adventure, someone said that we had to throw a white towel in the air. The bat would grip that and then you could put it outside again. No idea why the bat would fly into a white towel, but hey, worth a try I thought this time. Hubs wouldn't have it however. He put his faith in the net. Worked for him once and never change a winning ...uhm ...team. So I can't say if the towel does the trick if ever you need to catch a bat. And now for something totally different: Oskar, the smartest and most handsome schnauzer I know (visit his blog if you have the time; it's very funny) decided to give me an award. Thanks Oskar (and Mimi, Oskar's 'mom person').

The instructions apparently are to:

1) Put this award on my blog and a link to who gave it to me.

2) Give a nod to the purple hatter.

3) Tag five other doggies who you just can't get enough of.

I am honoured to receive this wonderful award of course. I've decided long ago (never to walk in anyone's shadow, if I fail, if I succeed......suddenly that popped into my head, sorry) to not give awards away in huge amounts, so I'll give this one to one very special person, a true animal lover whom I admire very much (did I use 'whom' correctly?): T from It Matters To Me. She deserves something pawsome!

Is it Alan? Or Steve?

I know some of you can't watch YouTube videos. I'm sorry for posting one, but if you can watch it... this made me chuckle!

Too late to escape!

Oh, you faithful bunch of blogfriends. You haven't left me! I am eternally grateful and have I mentioned that I love you all? Well, I do! Yep, I'm back (again). Blogworld will be a better place from now on. Haha. Sorry. Too much sunshine and I've dyed my hair. The radiation and the chemicals must have caused my head to grow bigger. Hopefully it will shrink in the current rain. I wanted to dye my hair a couple of lighter shades of blonde, but I chickened out and grabbed a darker shade of blonde from the shelf. Now my hair has the colour it would have had if I had never dyed it. But without the grey hairs. Next time I will gather all my courage and buy a lighter shade. All for the purpose of making me look younger of course. I have counted three grey hairs. I can only count to three so I fear there must have been even more signs of wisdom showing. The hairdye made them magically disappear and I'm back to being my not so wise self again. Being a (not so natural) blonde is a good excuse for lots of things. You will have noticed by now that I can't think of anything interesting to write about. But I just wanted you to know that I have moved back in to blogworld. Oh, and I will start doing a photography course in a couple of weeks. Looking forward to that. If I haven't a clue what to write about then, I can always post a picture and show you if I have learned something. Nice to be back!