Hairy Swimmers

I had spayed a cat and was giving the usual discharge speech – just give her something light tonight; a little tuna, scrambled egg, plain chicken. Plenty of TLC, keep her in for the next few days, warm and dry.

“Dry? Can she not go in the bath?”
“Why would you put your cat in the bath?”
“We don’t, but every time we put the bairns in the bath the cat jumps in with them”

Paris, August 2013

Embarrassing Client Moments

Me (reaching down into lower drawers in consult room) : 

"If she could just turn so her head is facing the wall, please."
As I stood up straight I saw the woman turn around.

Husband: "Not you, the dog!"
*red face*

Haunted memories

   He was a whippet puppy of maybe 7 months old. He arrived the charity clinic with a broken leg, brought in by a female owner who was sporting a pair of black eyes and a new gap in her mouth. We fitted him up with an external fixator, crafting a metal scaffold to bear the weight and hold the broken ends together so that they could heal good as new. He was supposed to come back for a check-up to make sure it was okay, then a month later have it taken out. He didn't.

  Two months later he arrived back with his skin growing over the metalwork, the bones deformed and twisted by pinning down a growing leg in a frame. We fixed him up. The owner couldn't have brought him any sooner, she was in hospital with broken ribs and a messy face. When she came home, her man wouldn't let her out. 

  I named the pup Slinky as he was skinny and wriggly and slippery, loved any contact and was a joy to be with. I looked after him for a week, constantly nipping into the kennel for a hug. The owners did not return, she was in hospital again. And I finished my shift.

Two days later I came back to claim him.

He was gone.

Jamilicious

Anybody who's spent much time on this island recently will be able to tell you with some confidence that the weather has been crap. We got all our summer done whilst I was still studying for my last ever exams and couldn't really enjoy it, and then as soon as they were over and I was a free woman the sun disappeared and stayed away for a long time. Having lived in the West for 10 years now I have just gotten used to the fact that it rains every day, I barely even notice now. An early burst of summer, then it's over until the magical Indian Summer, then solid rain until we're lucky enough to get some snow. I enjoy moaning about it to weegies, saying - it's not like this back home, it may be cold and so windy you can't stand some days, but at least it's not manky wet every day!
However this years spectacular feat of raining every day of august has produced a welcome bonus. Have you sen the rowans? All the trees have made great use of the warm wet conditions and excelled themselved with a glut of fruit. Everywhere I go people are offering me bags of the stuff, yesterday it was apples from Dunbar, through the week it was plums from Milngavie. And walking the dog along the canal I discovered that the elderberrries are in fine form this year, ot to mention that the gloriously red rowans are literally bowing and breaking the branches that hold them. All this can mean only one thing - jam.
Never being one to see things through I teemed up with a pal who is more fastidious and just as daft. We decided on her kitchen, my jars, and every pan we could find. I set to work with a wee knife, stoning the plums and chopping the apples, made a royal mess, flung it all in the pan and set it boiling, looked at my watch and said - right hen, you're on your own, I'm off to work! Helpful, I know. So the first batch is made, plum and apple. Coming this week to a kitchen near you - elder, then rowan and apple jelly.

I love autumn. The way it smells, the way it feels, like you can hold the air in your hands.

I'm just back from a few days away on Arran, my first visit believe it or not. I can see why they call it Scotland in minature (although with less buckfast) . The only time the sun came out was when we went to get the ferry home - typical! I was very pleased to be reunited with an old friend though; having missed the sailing we were booked on in the big boat, one of those huge efforts with the hinged bow that lifts up to let the cars drive off, we had to wait for the wee boat. I hadn't seen it yet and was slightly nervous, not being the best traveller and knowing that the wee boat only sailed in good weather as it didn't cope with the rough stuff. I can't tell you how pleased I was to find that it was my old friend the MV Saturn. In a minute all my apprehension melted away, I have sailed on her across to Bute many times in all weathers, once when there was an inch of ice on every railing, and had a safe and comfy trip every time. Today was no different. Roddy and I sat up on the deck, looking back across the bay to the hills unclimbed, and longing to be in the shining green water that looks as pure and sharp as crystal.

This is Glen Sannox (which sounds vaguely like a hygiene product for ladies) where I was gorge walking with the kids on Monday. It was baltic.

I'm looking forward to a return trip some day soon, but without the kids and noise, a much more solitary venture. I'm learning that I'm a much quieter person than I thought and although I enjoy company I need time alone, just me and the hound. Time in the hills has given me much to consider this week, the choices I have made, decisions I have taken, for the most part it feels like there was no thought at all, things just happened and left me to deal with the results. My feeling just now is that perhaps I should be holding the wheel a little firmer and drifting less - I need to decide what I want and if I am prepared to do what is needed to get it.