Thursday, September 16, 2010
I love a good walk. When I have too much on my tiny mind, a good walk helps me to sort it all out. In the past ten years I've had quite a few instances where I've had to deal with shabby shite hitting my fan. (Show me the grey-haired grown-up who hasn't?) I'm one of the lucky ones who finds that my most effective coping mechanisms are simply a good walk and a good talk (well OK, there was my Single Malt habit).
Shortly after we moved here yet another bit of shabby shite hit our fan. My plans for getting an O-job, starting a business and buying a house are on hold until we get this latest health issue sorted. This time around I haven't found things quite so easy to cope with because like a daft egg I stopped walking as much as I should and I'm here without you lot to talk to (plus those of you in Christchurch are now all dealing with your own rubbish situations).
Well, I love lists and I love a bit of irony. I made a TO DO list called "Sort yourself out lady lest you should get a black dog". One of the things on the list was to go around and meet our neighbours. I did and I met some lovely people, including an elderly lady with ..... a black dog she is unable to take for walks anymore. Well, my children love dogs and are desperate to get one but sadly they a) live in a no pets rental home and b) know very little about looking after dogs and c) have a mean mother who says they can only ever get a dog if it is either bald or matches our sofa (green). So now we are fortunate enough to regularly enjoy the company of a gorgeous, big, black, hairy, beautifully-behaved and very grateful dog called Tammy. We walk around the neighbourhood with her then take her home again.
And as luck would have it, Tammy is also a very good listener. Sadly her side of the conversation isn't up to the usual standard I'm used to from you lot (her jokes are rubbish), but we'll keep working on it.