Apricot poodle

I am just saying, this needs to be my fucking next dog. Not a boar on a leash, not a neurotic hound, not something whiny and needy. A golden poodle. 

For once a good dream

After a few days of dreaming of cub velociraptors loose in a petting zoo (am not even joking) and people being sick with Covid, finally a good dream for a change!

         I've mentioned how my brain looooves splaying tricks on me, right? How in the micro-millisecond between the time my senses pick on something and the brain analyses it, a part of my cortex forces possible alternatives right to the front: a Rolodex of horrific images and warnings. It only lasts a heartbeat, but it is designed to freak me out completely. Last night example, as Lyra and I were walking down the town square - which is slightly declined, so like a pleasant wide ramp and there was almost no people - it was already dark (to combat light pollution city lights are very dim.) I see something wildly bizarre crawling at some speed towards me, maybe about 30 cm high but about a meter wide, using four limbs to push forth, like a weird insistent spider. My brain screams: OMG it's a creature from the Thing!!

          Er ... no. It's a small kid lying flat on his skateboard, pushing himself up the slope with hands and feet, playing. But thank you, brain. I needed that blood pressure jolt. 

          It's been a long day, rather melancholy, as of course there's no way you can have a puppy for three days and not fall madly in love with it. Fuck but he was awesome. (I gave him to a young family with a country house and small kids). I keep seeing him everywhere, the idiotic bundle of enthusiasm, following me on every step, usually pulling on my shoe lace. It's really hard to poo when a puppy is biting your toes, just so you know. We've gotten rather good at walking on a leash, with Lyra leading, even if most his energy went for chasing dry leaves as they tumbled in the wind. The moment he wore out and I stopped anywhere, outdoors or indoors, he just gave the long heavy puppy sigh and passed out on my feet. That sigh, by the way, actually relaxes and settles your whole body, so now I'm doing it as well, after I lye down. 

         It's gotten a tad warmer, too, tonight, so, to cheer me up, brain gave me an Owen Grey dream - he's the ugly porn star with a spectacular dick I'm a fan of on Pornhub. In the dream he's this tall thin slimy-looking rogue, wearing all black, except for the inside of his jacket which is an odd pepita dull beige dull brown pattern, that makes him virtually invisible in a forest environment. We're standing on the edge of a dangerous, steep woods, with time to kill. We seem to be some kind of assassins or something. I propose we play-hunt and if we catch anything, it'll be a nice lunch, but if we don't, we can just fuck. The General's bought me a hunting knife recently, so I had that in the dream. And so, me in lead, we parkoured, jumped, slid, climbed, bounced and swung alongside the crumbling terrain, for the better part of the dream. It was great. I was good at it and had no desire to impress, which made me the boss. Plus, getting a guy hard at the very beginning is an excellent way to ensure no animals are harmed during a hunt :D

          Ultimately we had to climb up to the lege and interrupted some farmyard dog and drew the attention of the people, but even though we were muddy, we just amenably pretended to be looking for mushrooms. The farm woman gave us tips and her two sons, who were working on an old car, were sort of wrestling, wearing no shirts, sweaty and very large and handsome-looking. (It was a VERY nice dream.) The Grey rogue character and I made fast return to the woods, because we were both getting wildly horny by then, and started with oral, although by then I was shivering with pleasure and woke up, alarm sounding off a minute later. Pity the General has to go to work at 5 this week (consequently leaving the alarm as late as humanly possible, down to a minute, alas.). I'd have loved to tell him about this dream I just had. 

no good deed goes unpunished

Today was an odd day - scary, exciting, pleasant, overwhelming and depressing as fuck. The scary and exciting - I'm talking so scary that at some point I had to drive into the woods and poo - part was the fact we are not allowed to leave our city limits. There is almost no traffic and there are a lot of roadblocks - I saw three, yet, Hermes' fortune, always on the other side of the road. These are anti-covid precautions, as the virus is still spreading and killing people, more than those in charge can explain or act cool about.

The most pleasant part was the moment I found the perfect doggo for dad - a small brown mix with lagotto romagnolo, for almost no money, a boy, ready for pick-up. It was the perfect dog and I got so excited, I called instantly. There is a problem, though. My mum isn't too thrilled about having two dogs, even though the hole left behind by the death of their old rottweiler is palpable. But that was, in my design, going to all vaporise once she sees the adorable joy bundle. The General thought it was a tremendously bad idea, because the penalty for crossing city limits is 400 euro and I needed to cross more than one. Both ways. This stubbornness of mine caused him to lose complete control over my wellbeing and that does not sit well with him: he hates it.

I drove, petrified, for hours down the most pleasant, sunny, abandoned roads and it was lovely. The puppy was slightly less like the lagotto, but we liked one another instantly. A soft, clean, fluffy, calm, trusting puppy. He cried for a little bit, once we started driving, hating the transport box, but after five minutes of my humming and talking to him and listening to pleasant jazz, he calmed down and would just look at me or sleep in the nest of doggy toys I stuffed in the carrier.

More luck than brains, not a single patrol stopped me. I kept wondering if I should use the smaller roads, but every time I could see the smaller roads across the valley, more cops were there, expecting it. Once I reached my city, I called dad to ask, hypothetically, if he had a dog of his own, what he would name it. I wanted to keep the puppy for a couple of days and teach it some basic fun commands, but we were due to go uphill tomorrow, so that was the plan, to surprise them then.

At home, the puppy was awesome. Still too young to comprehend almost anything, but the stress of travel caused it to sleep, so once he rested, ate and drank and peed and pooed, and watched a movie in the General's lap, full puppy mode came on: he found all the old socks from under the bookshelves, he found that there is nothing more desirable than a whole box of packing peanuts and he really wanted to prove he can murder most of the toys hitherto serving as his pillows. He's sleeping now in the next room, with Lyra, the lights turned off. 

Alas, my sister reacted to the photos of the doggo like an onslaught of unexpected diarrhoea, forbidding me to take the dog up, calling me selfish for imposing more stress on mum, telling me to go visit them sometimes (er...), and see how old and unable to even take care of themselves they are, how I should take care of the animals I have (as opposed to what I'm doing now?) and how I'm making her furious with these crazy ideas of mine. My response that it is a dog designed for elder people, that it's a good one coming from someone who leaves her own dog up with them for four out of seven days a week to go party, and how I can decide for myself whether or not they can or cannot handle a Labradoodle.

But of course she called mum and that was that. If she allows it, then it's allowed, if she suggests it, than it's the right thing to do. Otherwise, door stays closed. Mum called not to even come up tomorrow. Of course, dad doesn't pay for her anything and thinks she should get a job, so, guess that explains most of her actions regarding him. 

Am not really interested in being a part of that family at the moment. Fuck 'em. I do miss dad and feel like shit about being treated like shit by a pair of reject side characters from Misery, but the next time he tells me how lonely he is and how much he misses his old dog, he should probably consider I'm the kind of a person who drives across the country to get a puppy to make an old man happy

Bitter glitter and the glitteratti

 

I managed to unhinge my brain the other day: I got so upset and roared furiously, my blood pressure either skyrocketed or plummeted - either way, I nearly passed out, started seeing double and nigh vomited. This was also when I was one foot in the bathtub about to take a shower, so it was extra tricky. The General had to try and balance me whilst I was wet and collapsing in slow motion. 

             Only I am able to get pissed off so much I damage my own neurological blueprint. 

Something isn't quite right - it's not Covid, even though hits have been landing close to home aplenty - but it is something. Maybe just simple vertigo. Strong coffee helps, and being careful with how I move. Sex has to be minus tussling. (Ah, the sweet, sweet simple missionaries...) Food can't be greasy. Salty, though. So it is pressure. Have I forgotten to eat salt again? Hm ... On the plus side, I am too tired to get upset again. But I have to find another coping method. What fun is being a tempestuous bitch if it makes me queazy? 

             -----------

        Delicious books have been arriving at my doorstep all week: I've re-ordered my long lost Mr.Punch, several illustration tutorials - usually regarding plants or fairy tales; some poetry, comics and a fancy paperback. Should I get everyone books for Yule? The same book? A Nightmare Before Christmas pop-up? :D 

          I've also discovered two shops for tiny packagings: one more serious and one more girly and the girly one has the precise minute boxes I need, together with pretty silk paper and decorative paper bags. I ordered 30 of each, so we'll see if my customer-service gets any classier. So far I've been keeping my "dug out from a necropolis" style intact. 

 

Aaah, the first hunt of the season. The one after which I usually look like I've been dragged twice around Troy. Yes, I did get lost and ended up in full Sleeping beauty-land, so entangled in thorns, I am now literally perforated over all parts of my body bar torso, which was clad enough. From neck, ears, to my fingertips - at the time in gloves, mind, and my head was in a hat - all covered in tiny stab wounds. I've a bruise and a thorn in the middle of it, right above my knee. The dog got lost towards the middle, failing to follow us across a wet field, so she kept going back and forth the first forest. We had to look for her afterwards, and did find the poor old thing frantically trying to find us on the trail, so exhausted she couldn't make it up the stairs as we got home. The forest is packed full of mushrooms, even some edible ones, I think, I just didn't have anywhere to put them. Some truly majesty moments, walking onto moss-covered clearings, or some small grassy swamps, or wonderful leaves-covered forest roads. Everything is orange and ablaze. SO beautiful. The General argued, as I was in a bad mood because they managed to shoot a bunny, (our time-old argument about me being a hunter who refuses to hunt and a soldier who refuses to follow orders) if it bothers me so much I will opt-out in the future. I asked if he agrees to come explore the woods for six hours every Sunday, which of course he won't. So, alas, I have to suffer through the gunfire to enjoy it, searching, wishing we cross paths and have secret sex. Ironically, I did come into his range today and he could see me, but I couldn't see him and couldn't properly hear him whistling. That's what you get for catcalling a deaf chick. 

The prodigal princes of Batch 6: Old Iron, Illyria and Fire