Woofmorn, Lady Doodles here – doggy blogger extraordinaire at your service. It’s been a while, I know. I woofologize, but Pack mistress went away and left me in dog lodgings and there was no woofi available.
Now listen up hiviners - I have some serious issues to report. Firstly, I do not approve of all this coming and going. Pack mistresses should stay put, like we have to do when being offered a treat. Aside from that, since she’s been back she’s done nothing but complain.
This is what she complains about - walking (as in putting one leg in front of the other) she says having to take me out every day is wearing her legs way.
The next complaint is that I follow her around wherever she goes like a constant shadow. That’s so she doesn’t get chance to bugger off to Holland again without telling me.
As for the dog hairs – well she shouldn’t kiss me with lip gloss on, I’ve told her a thousand times.
Then there’s the weather, she moans about having to take me out come rain or mud and that having to constantly throw sticks is giving her stick throwers elbow.
I can understand the mud, but the sticks. Sticks are my life. She pretends to be interested in them, but is she really?
You know us labradoodles are known for being high energy dogs. The trouble is I’m not sure she’s a high energy pack mistress. This leads me neatly on to my main ‘bone’ (I wish!) of contention, which is this recent article published in the Sun newspaper (the woofin’ Sun, what was she thinking – nothing obviously!) She apparently bought it to while away the hours whilst she was travelling back on the plane - sitting down I might add, so at least she got ample opportunity to rest her ageing pins.
The highly offensive headline reads – I’M SORRY FOR CREATING THE LABRADOODLE SAYS WALLY CONRAN.
Sorry? You will be woofin’ sorry mate if I get my gnashers on you - Wally by name wally by nature is obviously the case where you’re concerned.
“They look cute and fluffy, but to the man who bred the first Labradoodle they are ‘Frankenstein’s monsters.’”
Monster – moi? How very dare he!
“By creating the first labradoodle, Wally (by name and by nature) fears he has created problems by sparking the craze for designer dogs.
“I’ve done a lot of damage,” says Wally, “For every perfect labradoodle, you’re going to find a lot of crazy ones. I released a Frankenstein.”
"Unscrupulous breeders are now cashing in on the craze and turning out unstable dogs riddled with health and mental problems. Re-homing charity the Labradoodle Trust has seen a huge rise in their intake. Last year over a hundred labradoodles were abandoned or disowned."
Well at least I haven’t been disowned (yet) but I’m sure, as Pack mistress is always telling people, there were times! And I’m not one of those trendy poo something dogs, cockapoo, peekapoo, maltipoo – although I can on a good day, depending on what she feeds me.
What do you get if you breed a cocker spaniel with a Maltese terrier – a cock teaser; sorry that’s an in joke!
“Labradoodles are big, strong and clever,” quotes one satisfied but wary owner, “and people just aren’t geared up for them. When they reach adulthood, they’re big, bouncy and need a lot of attention. You’ve got to show them who’s boss,” she advises. “Once you do, you’ve got the most fantastic dog you can think of.”
I hope PM has taken note. Mind you, she only thinks she’s the boss, she’s not really. She’s going to have to stop complaining though, especially when we’re out in public - or worse singing. Yesterday in the park she was shadow dancing and filming herself singing, ‘me and my shadow’. I am not a boxer (shadow boxer – get it?) and neither am I Bing bloody Crosby - and neither is she for that matter. Talk about re-homing. I think she needs re-homing which is a polite way in doggy terms of saying sectioning.
Wow! My ears must have been deceiving me - like my cheating partner had, which was why I was here in the first place! One thousand and fifty seven, that’s the highest my CD4 count has ever been. My doc didn’t seem as excited as I was.
“It’s more important to pay attention to the pattern of results than to any one test result,” He smiled in a kindly almost paternal fashion, even though I am probably a good few years older than him.
“Well, to me it means that I’ve got even more soldiers on my side,” I told him, punching my fist in the air in a sign of triumph, "A bigger army. That evil dictator and control freak HIV has got no chance. Bring it on!”
He looked at me a bit strange but I think he’s used to me by now.
When I was first diagnosed and having trouble taking the medication, which was a lot worse than it is now, I was advised by someone to think of the toxic pills as my 'little soldiers.' Well, they were hardly little in those days; they were more like horse pills and a bugger to swallow.
I wasn’t really sure what a CD4 count was at the beginning, you don’t pay much attention to the medical facts, you just want to know if you’re going to live or not. Like the age old joke.
How long have I got doc?
Hard to say but don’t start reading War and Peace.
Eight to ten years was my prognosis back then, but I’ve already surpassed that by three years. My poor First World War soldiers, who were not as well armed as the modern day medication brigade, had to march into battle against over two million of the slimy viral bastards (sorry war talk!) And what a battle they had, it was a real charge of the light brigade.
“Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred. Forward, the Light Brigade!”
After eleven years of the virus being undetectable I will of course keep taking the medication, 'my little soldiers', without question, even though I do worry sometimes about their toxic side effects, because to quote once again from Lord Tennyson’s famous poem, there’s no choice really it’s simply a case of -
"Their’s not to reason why, Their’s but to do and die." (change the 'and' for OR)
He also wrote -
"Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them "– Here I am stuck in the middle with you – sorry couldn’t resist that.
I came home with a sack of medication under my arm, six month’s suppy to be exact, enough to feed an army! Keep those army boots marching into battle - these boots are made for walking and that’s just what they’ll do, one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over HIV.
Are you ready boots – then start walking.
There was a comment in regard to the previous article about the HIV vaccine in the Mail that really got my back up, questioning why didn’t they spend the money on cancer research instead – was it because HIV was a fashionable disease?
A fashionable disease – I beg to differ, what the hell’s fashionable about being a social outcast, isn’t that a contradiction in terms?
Talking of fashion, who came up with that ridiculous item of clothing the onesie? What an ugly unflattering garment it is. I have yet to see one person who actually suites it and why do they have to have ears and tails and in some cases, as pictured above, udders? Do the fashion designers really believe that we women (or men) want to disguise ourselves as sheep or cows when we go to bed? Whatever happened to frilly nighties and baby doll pyjamas? Now it seems we are all harbouring a secret desire to be zoo or farm animals.
And talking of animals and farms, Emmerdale that eventful (or not!) agricultural village in the Yorkshire dales is currently featuring HIV as a storyline and what’s more with a woman, an older woman in fact (although I wish it wasn’t that stupid would–suit-a– cow-onesie Val) who fears she has contracted HIV from an old lover.
“I’ve got HIV or maybe even.......her lips curl in total disgust as she mouths the dreaded AIDS word in horror – gasp of indrawn breath from the viewers. But in fact, turns out she hasn’t even had the guts to get tested, so she doesn’t even know.
She won’t have it - of course she won’t, it’s only a soap and a bad one at that. It’s not real life where unfortunately the outcome, as we know only too well, can be a very different matter. It will just be a cunning ploy to encourage older people to get tested, or more likely to boost the viewing figures. Must tune in tomorrow, the next night, the night after ad infinitum (because that’s how long they will drag it out) to see if she’s really got THE AIDS.
It’s been a long time since any of the soaps have featured HIV as a storyline, in fact I think Eastenders has been the only one, with poor ol’ Mark the barrow boy, who at least, going against all stereotype, was not gay. But they must have got bored or not known in those days how to finish him off because he just disappeared into the blue and we never really found out what happened to him. He must have survived however because he was later to be spotted as a copper in The BILL.
Unless you are a regular viewer of ‘Enders you probably won’t think the following clip I chanced upon on YouTube is funny. But we have to keep our sense of humour as well as keeping up to date with what’s trending in the fashion/onesie world if we are to be true leaders of fashion ‘modelling’ this disease, otherwise we might go completely mad and grab a mad cow onesie off the rack (which is where I found it) at Asda.
Do you remember the song by The Kinks – Dedicated follower of fashion?
They seek him here – they seek him there..... Well I’ve changed the title to ‘Medicated Follower of Fashion’ especially for us.
Oh yes he/she is (oh yes he/she is),
His/her world is built 'round G-U-MS and clinics
This HIV pozzer always has to look his/her best
'Cause he/she’s a medicated follower of fashion.
The HIV song - Eastenders style!
This bears an uncanny resemblance to me - but I swear its not!
"A vaccine which could prevent HIV infection (pictured above) is on the horizon.
Scientists have begun to understand the structure of the virus’s ‘envelope’ which helps it enter human cells. This will enable them to identify parts of the virus that could be mimicked by a vaccine to elicit an immune response."
Mmmmm ...... seems like that crafty HIV can sneak in any way it can. First they found it was lurking around in HIV reservoirs, now its mailing itself in bloomin' envelopes.
I know what I’d like to do with my HIV envelope – send it back from whence it came.
Da da da da da....... Return to sender, address unknown.
No such number, no such zone.
But even if like Elvis I write ‘I’m sorry’, knowing HIV, it would just keep coming back.