May was a strange old month, I managed to get through it almost alcohol free, something of a major achievement for me.
The reason for my abstinence, our impending house move. Quite how I managed it I am still trying to figure out! The trials and tribulations, the stress and the strain of dealing with Estate Agents, phone companies, utility companies, mortgage lenders, banks, ect ect.
I am certain that no matter which company you are dealing with, be it BT, to Barclays bank, all your calls are directed to one poor chap in Calcutta, called Steve.
Of course he is not called Steve he is really called something like, Apugh Nahasapeemapetilon, but when you are trying to relocate your broadband, or organise your mortgage, Steve is a little less of a mouthful.
The give away is when you actually address Steve, with his name, there is a deathly silence on the other end of the phone, until he finally realises that you are talking to him.
Anyway, the temptation to down a full bottle of 40% proof spirit, after all my conversations with Steve was nothing to the cravings I got after we had to sort our poor old dog out.
Since the turn of the year, it had become apparent that old age was catching up with the old girl. She had lost weight, and she had become almost totally incontinent. Her old limbs could hardly carry her up the stairs and since we were moving to a 3 story property, we were both coming to the conclusion that something drastic needed to be done.
The clincher came 2 weeks before we moved, my wife and I had decided to take the dog for a lunch time walk. What neither of us had realised, was that she had gone completely blind, when we took her lead off so she could have a run, she was totally lost, she just stood there routed to the spot, not knowing which way to turn.
When she did finally move, it was in completely the opposite direction to where we were headed.
Both the wife and I looked at each other and realised that the time had come, no more putting it off. Not only was our carpet smelling like a urinal, but the poor old dogs sensors were failing.
As soon as we managed to drag her back to the house I rang the vet. I explained the problems, she asked the dogs age, (14 years old) and she quickly came to the conclusion that there was possibly only one solution.
So we took her down to the vets, fortunately it was only a short drive, and she only had time for one piss on my wifes knee.
It was mercifully quick and painless, both my wife and I stroked her as she slipped away. Then one final indiscretion on her part, as the toxic mixture passed through her veins and her body relaxed as she slipped away onto a deep sleep, her bowels, also, relaxed one last time, and she did the most enormous crap all over the vets table.
Anyway despite the brevity of events, we were still presented with a bill for ?75, ?22 of which were for disposal of the body.
"Christ" I said, "You dont have to give her a state bloody funeral"
"Hope the old girl gets a nice casket for that" I added.
I hate to think what did happen to her after we left her with the vet, for all I know she is winging her way to South Korea to be served up with noodles. I hope not, as I cant help but think that at 14 years old she would be a bit chewy.
RIP Lottie.
The reason for my abstinence, our impending house move. Quite how I managed it I am still trying to figure out! The trials and tribulations, the stress and the strain of dealing with Estate Agents, phone companies, utility companies, mortgage lenders, banks, ect ect.
I am certain that no matter which company you are dealing with, be it BT, to Barclays bank, all your calls are directed to one poor chap in Calcutta, called Steve.
Of course he is not called Steve he is really called something like, Apugh Nahasapeemapetilon, but when you are trying to relocate your broadband, or organise your mortgage, Steve is a little less of a mouthful.
The give away is when you actually address Steve, with his name, there is a deathly silence on the other end of the phone, until he finally realises that you are talking to him.
Anyway, the temptation to down a full bottle of 40% proof spirit, after all my conversations with Steve was nothing to the cravings I got after we had to sort our poor old dog out.
Since the turn of the year, it had become apparent that old age was catching up with the old girl. She had lost weight, and she had become almost totally incontinent. Her old limbs could hardly carry her up the stairs and since we were moving to a 3 story property, we were both coming to the conclusion that something drastic needed to be done.
The clincher came 2 weeks before we moved, my wife and I had decided to take the dog for a lunch time walk. What neither of us had realised, was that she had gone completely blind, when we took her lead off so she could have a run, she was totally lost, she just stood there routed to the spot, not knowing which way to turn.
When she did finally move, it was in completely the opposite direction to where we were headed.
Both the wife and I looked at each other and realised that the time had come, no more putting it off. Not only was our carpet smelling like a urinal, but the poor old dogs sensors were failing.
As soon as we managed to drag her back to the house I rang the vet. I explained the problems, she asked the dogs age, (14 years old) and she quickly came to the conclusion that there was possibly only one solution.
So we took her down to the vets, fortunately it was only a short drive, and she only had time for one piss on my wifes knee.
It was mercifully quick and painless, both my wife and I stroked her as she slipped away. Then one final indiscretion on her part, as the toxic mixture passed through her veins and her body relaxed as she slipped away onto a deep sleep, her bowels, also, relaxed one last time, and she did the most enormous crap all over the vets table.
Anyway despite the brevity of events, we were still presented with a bill for ?75, ?22 of which were for disposal of the body.
"Christ" I said, "You dont have to give her a state bloody funeral"
"Hope the old girl gets a nice casket for that" I added.
I hate to think what did happen to her after we left her with the vet, for all I know she is winging her way to South Korea to be served up with noodles. I hope not, as I cant help but think that at 14 years old she would be a bit chewy.
RIP Lottie.
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