Dirty Dog

Olive, our little terrier, or terror as she’s referred to lately has a penchant for rolling in things, usually it’s the builder’s pile of sand but today it was time for a roll in her other favourite rolling stuff – fox shit. (sorry there’s no way to dress it up, it’s shit). She seems to seek it out and revels in rolling in it, getting it up her flanks and between her ears and she’s not content until it’s well and truly ground into her collar.

This morning she decided to have a run down to the bottom of our land where it’s overgrown and unkempt, We could hear her yapping as she chased after Alfie who had also decided it would be fun to run through the undergrowth. When they returned, tails wagging and tongues lolling out of panting mouths, they both reeked of fox. The smell is so pungent it fills the house and there’s nothing for it but to bathe the mutts.

Both of the dogs hate being washed, and protest as shampoo is worked into their coats. Alfie being bigger gets hosed down outside while Olive is whisked downstairs and popped under the shower, after she’s smelling sweeter I clean the shower, and am amazed at the pile of sand and grit that has been rinsed from her coat. How can such a little dog carry such a mountain of grit and sand in its coat is beyond comprehension.

As I sweep the dirt into a dustpan, I hear barking and yes you guessed it, she’s outside rolling in the sand.

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Man in a Can

As a writer myself, one piece of advice I always give fledgling writers is, read. Read what you have written carefully, read it aloud, put it away for a day or so and read it again. You need to be sure before you submit anything that you have ironed out an imperfections, corrected grammar and given the spelling a good going over. If only in my day to day life I followed my own advice. We’re surrounded by signs, and being in a foreign country you’d think I’d take extra care while reading them. Not a chance.

Now bear with me while I explain the title for today’s entry. There are many foods that can be purchased in a can and cooked within it. Sponges pudding and those dreadful pies in a tin. Today because I didn’t pay attention I came close to discovering just how that steak and onion pie feels inside its tin prison.

A few days back I commented on how the locals are regular visitors to the car wash nearby. So today I thought it’s about time I washed the sand off my car, so It can shine in the sun as I’m pootling down to the supermarket or builders’ merchant. So I’m driving back from Eurospin, the iPod is playing Shangri-La by Nightmares in Wax (Pete Burns, pre-Dead or Alive guise) a song that I always feel has 41 seconds of unnecessary shenanigans at the end, when I pass the car wash. I pull in and glance at the bays, one is taken by a young man who’s power washing his car, another is free and so is a conventional drive in one, designed for the lazier driver. As it’s sunny I opt for the conventional drive in one, thinking I can’t be bothered wielding a shampoo brush and pressure washer in this heat. I glance at the board telling what’s on offer, but I don’t read what’s written I just look at the range of prices. “Ahh,” I say to myself, “Two euro, must be quick wash.” I drive in, the red lights asks me to stop, I insert a coin and press the button, then wait.

The machine rumbled into life and began moving towards me and I waited for the water, only it didn’t come. The lad across the way looked up and shook his head and then went back to his pressure washing. The machine moved over the car with me inside but instead of washing it was blowing hot air, I’d only set it to dry mode. So I sat inside my car on a hot day with an industrial sized hair-dryer above me increasing the temperature inside making me feel like a pie in a tin inside an oven. Next time I’ll take my own advice and read everything carefully.

Needless to say after the young man had left and the dryer had completed it’s actions I drove into a bay and did what I should have done in the first place, grabbed the shampoo brush and did the job by hand.

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Macchina senza sabbia