What do you mean you know about it? Look do you want me to post another story or not?
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Another dark wet morning here – not that it matters when I’m at work, other than the fact if it rains too much the roof leaks. It’s a really old building and has seen better days – there’s talk of us moving, which is bloody typical now I’ve got all the computer network set up how I like it.
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A belated Happy Birthday to Kirsty, hope you had a good time last night. It’s Montgomery’s Birthday this weekend, a special ‘0’ milestone. So Happy Birthday to him and also my niece Chloe's tomorrow. She has reached the grand old age of 8.
I very rarely remember what presents I received for past birthdays, to be honest the cards are more important to me. I can spend hours choosing the right card, and wander from shop to shop in the process. I do remember one of my 30th Birthday presents – it hard to forget, he follows me around for a start.
I was job coaching a girl at an animal rescue centre at the time. Himself had said quite clearly – DO NOT even think for one minute that you are bringing a dog home. Which was fair comment. We had Bramble, a spaniel (our 1st dog as a couple LOL) and Sam, a Labrador, at the time and were living in a ground floor flat. A very big flat mind, the living room alone measures 16ft by 25ft – so plenty of room. We also had a garden out the front and back and fields behind, so space wasn’t that much of a problem. But he was right and I didn’t want another dog anyway – I had enough to do, with my job, family and the Brownie Pack I was involved in – stories for another day there.
So I took Debbie to her job and started to get her settle in, which basically involved feeding and walking the dogs and shoving shite – but she was happy. Whenever you went into the sheds, the dogs would start barking and jumping up the front of the pens. All the dogs that is, except one. Whenever the door opened he looked up expectantly, but on seeing it wasn’t the person he was waiting for, he put his head back down. He never tried to jump up the front of the pen, he just lay in his basket, waiting. He’d been found in the centre of a local town – painfully thin – you could count his ribs which zig zagged under his coat. OK, the jumping up and down dogs I could ignore, the little stray in the corner who was lost without his owner, I couldn’t. It look me nearly three days of working on Himself to get him to agree to me bringing him home – if it hadn’t been my birthday I don’t know if I’d have succeeded. I brought him home on my actual Birthday, it was also the first day he got out of his basket and put his paws up the front of the cage when I walked in. He had such a haunted look about him and that stayed with him for quite some while – he can still do the sad eyes when he wants. He wasn’t a dog that had been mistreated – someone had loved him. They’d taught him to drop a ball by your feet, ready to throw for a start. I often wonder what happened to his owner, because he was dumped, there’s no doubt about that. I did think that maybe he belonged to a pensioner who had either gone into a home or died, and the family had then taken the easy way out. They probably didn’t want to pay the fee for rehoming that the rescue centre charge or couldn’t be bothered to take him there. He’s getting on now, I would guess he’s about 13 - the vet thought he was about two when we had him – but he's still very active, especially when he and George the duck get together. It’s still a case of top dog with those two. George is convinced he’s a dog by the way – if I leave the back door open when he roaming around the garden, he’ll walk in the house and make himself at home. But that’s another story for another day.
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To finish on a funny note, Scally sent me the following link
http://www.theregister.co.uk/2006/05/26/ebay_email_trauma/
I'm still laughing!
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