6th July 2007

Well, I’m back for a whole new round of Riot Diaries and such a lot has happened since I last wrote.

*I got married to the Previously Single Dingle
* Flossom became F. Possovitz BFC – Attorney at Paw
*I had an operation, they removed all sorts of things including –

• A tumour which may have been a soccer ball
• A king-sized bar of Whittakers darkest chocolate
• Another tumour
• An old sewing machine
• The entire cast of the Sopranos

*I may have exaggerated about the bar of chocolate

*I have moved to Christchurch of all places

*Zeuss began his ‘Super Siamese Me’ diet/documentary

And loads of other stuff I can’t be arsed writing about.

As with previous  Riot Diaries I will endeavor to send these out every day. If you can’t be arsed reading them, let me know, in the nicest possible way and I’ll take you off my best friends list.

7th July
Nibbler received a visit from a horse dentist.
I took Nibs over to the stables next door, where the dentist was working on the race horses. As I was leading him over Nibbler became more and more excited, “Mares!” he roared, “I’ll be seeing MARES!” and he grew another few inches and swished his tail.
He bounced into the yard, shouting greetings to the mares who lined up at their stall windows to take a look.
I parked him in an empty stall and the when the dentist had finished the last race horse, he came over to take a look. “Crikey” he said, “that’s a big horse”. His Nibs responded by bouncing up and down and tossing his head, looking at the mares out of the corner of his eyes as he did. The dentist approached him and tried to open Nibblers mouth. A big mistake in front of all those mares; he raised his imperious nose in the air right up where no one could reach it and threatened death to anyone who approached (except his Mother of course) “OK”,  said the dentist, stepping back slowly,  “I think we’re going to have to use a heavy duty tranq here”.
The vet came out armed with Moose tranquiliser. It took two shots before Nibbler fell into a soporific state and the dentist could work unimpeded.
A 16.3 hand horse drunk in charge of four legs makes for an interesting trip home – leading of course.
Persil was waiting in the field – “well?” he said, “well? How did it go?”
“Mares”, sighed Nibbler before promptly falling asleep.

9th July
Brent got the car stuck.
He attempted to drive it across the paddock but it ended up motionless in the middle of a pile of mud.
“Oh dear”, I said helpfully, “shall I get the neighbour with his big tractor?”
He glared at me.
I thought it best to tip toe away.
It took the best part of the afternoon; I checked at every stage to see if he was ready to admit defeat and get the neighbour in with his tractor.
Brent went from the furiously revving the car spewing mud everywhere stage, to the letting air out of the tyres, to trying to tow it with the other car, to finally jacking each of the wheels up and sliding planks of wood under them enabling the car to finally drive out in style. No tractor involved, no other man needed thank you very much. Of course I could have had it out in 5 minutes with the neighbour and his tractor, but Brent is a man and men don’t ask for help unless someone is actually dying. Later that day, I did something silly which, of course, I can’t remember, because it wasn’t seriously stupid, and Brent magnanimously said that he couldn’t possibly give me a hard time after what he’s done with the car. I’m thinking now, that there might be some miles to be had over this…

10th July
Nibbler and I had words and it’s about time.
He’s been getting far too big for his boots. I needed to scare the b’jesus out of him in as ‘nice’ a way as possible so I told him that if he didn’t start to show me some respect, I’d have him gelded.
It worked a treat; he was a lamb for the entire ride.
When we got back, a nervous Nibbler told Persil what I had told him. Persil laughed so hard I could hear him from the house, “you already are a gelding”, he snorted.

11th July
The House God has taken to being wrapped up in a papoose.
It’s cold and Zeuss doesn’t ‘do’ cold weather.
He likes to be firmly wrapped so no drafts get in and he remains there for most of the day, snoring loudly.
He accepts kisses on his forehead and likes me to gently massage his toes.
His ‘Super Siamese Me’ diet is to blame, it’s making him lethargic.
As Brent said, last night, “I can’t believe how that cat went from being rabbit hunter/adventurer to this sooky nana blanky wuss!”
Well, I can’t believe he’s not a lion.

14th July
I’ve been seriously sick. I think it was food poisoning. I had a team of medical staff; it felt just like being in HB hospital.
Grommart was a terrific junior nurse – clueless but caring.
Nurse Possovitz stomped in, took one look at me, demanded to know what I thought I was doing and disappeared – “Off to get some pain killers” she growled, only I think they were must have been for her as she didn’t come back.
House surgeon Zeuss breezed in with a concerned expression on his dear little brown face, he looked me over as he sat on my chest. “What have we here?’ he bawled, “you look terrible you’ve got no fur on your face”, and with that diagnoses he rushed out, late, no doubt for his game of golf.
Specialist Mooster stayed away, no doubt receiving reports from the others.

Despite the dire predictions of my medical staff, I survived. I might even go for a ride today. Brent might even get a home cooked meal.

16th July
I appear to be alive, it’s hard to tell. This bug comes and goes and just when you think it has gone, you feel like crappola all over again.
Tap dancing around the paddock in a pink leotard will have to wait ‘till I am much better I’m afraid.
I have however been forced to stick to a diet for a few days in succession for the first time in my life and if I carry on like this, the pink leotard I intend to wear will actually fit me.  

18th July
Grommart has a tummy bug.
She hasn’t eaten for two days. Zeuss has very kindly loaned her his papoose. Even Nurse Possovitz is being uncommonly kind, at this rate she’ll be making Grommy some chicken soup.