Six Weeks Later

Overdose

Amazing work, hand stitched by "You're lane's the middle lane"
Ahmed's family, back in Kashmir. The storks, for example,
takes one person four months to complete
and costs around four hundred pounds.  

Well that's been about six weeks since I, what in the past would have been, 'put pen to paper'. Yes I've had distractions with friends staying, and the internet connection is in the spare room, but to be honest I think I just went over kill before, writing six or more hours most days, and so in that one extreme or t'other manner I OD'd and didn't want to even look at my rantings. Another thing is that I didn't particularly like the way I wrote that last piece. I fully believe in what I was saying, but it just didn't come out in a very pleasant way. I'm not going to change or delete it as this is the whole point of writing this blog. Passion of the moment... But now I'm up and running again and have a few stories to tell.


Frankie

A black and brown mutt lies in the shade,
on the busiest road on the island!
What to say...

Life is ticking over nicely now, tick being an operative word as you'll see, I've met some good people, the grapefruit, mangoes, bananas, papayas and coconuts, in and around my garden, are ripe and delicious, and I can see where I stand financially, though I do need to start earning some more cash as my present monthly income is not quite enough. But I've got some time and I've got a couple of, what I consider, good ideas to alleviate any monitory problems. As it is I can't work at the moment as my pending visa is a retirement one which means working is a big no no, and if I did and got caught out, then I'd be in all sorts of shit and most likely get chucked off the island. But in time I can change my visa, and in the budget for 2011, the government has made a big point in stressing that the island needs to encourage new forms of entertainment to bolster the tourist trade, which seems to have taken a major knock this year with number's considerably down. Ok, Mauritius is not comparable to that big chitty of Dubai, but I see the promotion of entertainment comparable to what I saw in Dubai in the beginning of the nineties, when I was able to get away with doing the most appalling, amateur, shows, as no one knew any better! At that time I was only interested in showing off and not interested in promoting, and by the time I was, the market was saturated. Here and now though, I reckon I know things that no one else on the island has experienced. Anyway time will tell and we will update on this topic some time in the future.

Here comes Frankie!

Back in ninety nine my best mate Rosco headed off to the Pearly Kennels a month short of his thirteenth birthday, which is pretty good going for a Rhodesian Ridgeback, when the book stated they live around eleven to twelve years. He had never been ill or had any serious problems, but in those last few months it all just caught up and the hind legs went and finally, I believe, he succumbed to an aneurysm. It was all very swift, as he lay on the grass beside Phil's workshop outside Barao de Sao Joao, just inland from Lagos, on the South West tip of Portugal. I was desperately upset, but time heals and it had been building up to a change in my life for a while, as I'd outlived the traveler's way after nine years of Combies and converted long wheelbase Mercedes vans. Since then, despite having lived four years in Cyprus and the last seven back in the UAE, I never felt confident that I was settled enough to be responsible for a dog as, as we all know, a dog is for life... Well things might all drastically change tomorrow, but as it is I feel that now is the time I can have a new best mate and so let me introduce you to "Frankie". Taraa. Frankie is a German Shepherd, eleven weeks old and has been with me for the last seven days. She hasn't done any nasty business in the house since her second day here, she responds to 'Sit' and 'Come' and  she's accepted the fact that she's not allowed in the sitting room, though everywhere else is fine. The collar's no problem and the lead's no problem, though we haven't gone into that one yet, I just let her drag it around for now. Not everything is perfect though as she came from a garden infested by ticks and this has been a major battle for the last week, and I just hope my house and garden aren't infested. I must have tweeked off a couple of hundred, which of course you're not supposed to do, but I felt I just had to as the problem was so desperate. And she's had two heavy duty baths with shampoo the vet gave me, but still... Again time will tell. Another problem we're dealing with is that she nips in that puppy with first teeth manner. Playing really, but her teeth are like little needles and my wrists are lacerated. Understandable though as in the main it's been when her patience has given in when I've been plucking out the nasties. Still we don't want her to grow up into a biter and so are keeping on the case here. Present tactic being that I yelp in pain when ever she nips, so she knows she's hurt me and so starts licking me better instead! This is pack communication, so I've read, and actually I think it's working, though I can't imagine what the down to earth, no nonsense, neighbour thinks, if and when he hears my whining!

And without over doing it, just one more.

When I picked up Rosco from just outside Rotherham, aged six weeks, with his pedigree certificate showing his birth date as October 20th, auspiciously the same day as my birthday, I was driving back up North to Forres to start fitting out my restaurant that I had naively committed to, without remotely understanding the intricacies of running a business. Consequently over that crucial period when I should've been bonding with Woofer I was working eighteen hours a day, freaked out at the reality of being a restaurateur, and only giving him a morning, afternoon and evening walk, with my mind totally wrapped up over the all consuming business. By the time I was able to give him undivided love and attention it was too late and he had developed his character. Yes, trainer's would say it's never too late, but for us there was never any way back. He was a lovely dog and the worst he would potentially do would be to lick you to death, but I had no control over him and, boy, could he run. Even with the deer around our cottage all he wanted to do was play, but of course that's not how the game keeper saw it when the Belgian's, paying three thousand quid for a weekend's wholesale slaughter, were lining up to take a shot, and Rosco comes bounding out of the wood and over the fence. Then when we were living the life of the traveler, (I used to call myself the Upper Crusty to annoy the crusty Crusties), one thing I did see was that on the whole their dog's were very obedient, and I believe this is because they were with them all day, every day. In most cases I don't reckon they consciously trained them, but just the repetition of "Come 'ere" and " Down" was all their dogs knew. So we'll see, but I really hope I get little Frankie to walk along with me, without any lead, and that she'll happily do what I ask one hundred percent of the time. I can already see her challenging, but over all I reckon we've got off to a pretty darn good start.