HIVINE

 'Cos he's a medicated follower of fashion - they seek him here, they seek him there!

My sis said she would buy me a dog for Christmas - I know, a dog is not just for Christmas, it’s for life, but she knew that I really wanted one. Well, who wouldn’t want a daily offering of love and adoration, albeit not in human form, but let’s face it, at my age and with my medical condition, that’s probably the only offer I’m likely to get. 

 I fancied a Labradoodle, which is a cross between a Labrador and a poodle, but when we started investigating dog breeders on the internet a whole new world of puppy farmers and concerns about hip measurements etc opened up like a can of worms - and worms or being wormed (squirming at the mere thought) also had to be taken into consideration. To be frank, I didn’t care what size my dogs hips turned out to be, the bigger the better I say, it could sprout  hips for the both of us, as mine thanks to the meds, have long since  disappeared.  I lost the capability to hold my pinny, my trousers and even I’m ashamed to say, my knickers up at times since the dreaded lippodystrophy set in. But then again, I don’t suppose my dog would ever have reason to sport a pinny, or a pair of knickers, unless it was helping me clean the house or auditioning for Britain’s Got Talent. That’s after I’ve trained it to sing and dance of course. Simon does love his doggy acts!  

Disillusioned with the thought of puppy farming we googled every dog shelter and rescue home in the land, peering at line after line of mug shots; But they were all ugly brutes, pit bull terriers or rottweilers with terrifying expressions and stupid names like Rocky.

 Back to the puppy farmers who in terms of crossbreeding have, it seems, been going berserk. Aside from Labradoodles there were Spandoodles, Cockapoos,  Boxadors, Terrierdors (are they related to toreadors?) and even a Jackdoodle. Is that similar to a jimmyriddle, because if it is you can keep it, I don’t want something that is constantly going to be peeing all over the carpet. And as for having a cavapoo – nuff said.

Then I came across this advert – “Don’t miss an opportunity to own an outstanding Shar Pei from our adorable Issabella Dilute brush coat Bitch Tiger Lilly Lady; and a stunning Chocolate brush coat Busta from Chinadazzle. Only 2 stunning very wrinkly girls left, chocolate and lilac. Will be ready to take out for walks by Christmas!!”

As if you would!

I did venture out at one point into the snowy wilderness to view two cute Labradoodle boy puppies, but to be blunt the mum put me off. She was a huge white tightly permed poodle with pink eyes and was obviously the overbearing interfering type, whereas her offspring were as black as coal with not a notion of a perm in sight – mmmmm.

I finally found a golden Labradoodle close to where I live and at a reasonable price. Off I set all excited, this could be the one. But I wasn’t keen on the woman who was selling him and to be quiet frank, he didn’t really look as if he had any kind of pedigree whatsoever, not that it mattered, I was hardly going to show him at Crufts was I. Anyway, I didn’t care. He’d stolen my heart. He brought me his sunflower toy, laid it at my feet, then sat contentedly on my knee being stroked and didn’t seem bothered about frenziedly racing around skidding across the wooden floor with his sister and four scruffy looking black bros, whilst simultaneously jimmy riddling, or shagging the odd cushion like his sister, who aside from obviously suffering from sexuality and gender problems, I would have thought was a bit young to know about such antics. She’d obviously been watching the X Factor finals or listening to the complaints the programme was bombarded with after the show about lewd and provocative behaviour - and that was only by  the judges.

Being a Libran, in other words not capable of making a decision and also plagued with doubts about spending the hard earned cash of my sis on a dubious mutt posing as a pedigree, I told Mrs Puppy farmer I would go home and have a think about it.  Before I left I took some photos.  In the meantime sis emailed Mrs Puppy farmer and asked if we could have a vet check.

“Puppy your sister liked is gone,” she immediately wrote back.

Hmmmm – we didn’t believe her, we were sure Dood (that would be his name of course, as in hey dude) was still there waiting for us to rescue him. We then hatched a cunning plan – Willo, my best friend and neighbour, would phone up and enquire about golden boy doodles. She was informed by Mrs Puppy farmer that there was one golden boy doodle left. But  there had only been one to start with. Then a man from Liverpool i.e. my sis, made another email enquiry from a different address, at which point the plot thickened as there were now apparently two golden boy doodles, whereas there only been one before. The other golden dood was the scruffy female, or to speak in correct doggy terminology, the scruffy bitch cushion humper. 

Confused – so were we. What was going on?  We thought about sending Willo up with the cash to buy him, but if there were now two golden male doods she might come back with the wrong dood.

I look longingly at the photos of Dood on my PC and I am haunted by his sweet hairy face. I even dream about him. For a few days I imagined I actually owned him.  I took him for imaginary jimmy riddles and talked away to him to the point where people started looking at me as if I was a bit mad, especially my son. But hey, what’s new there!

Perhaps I am going a bit daft? It’s probably my age or the meds. Maybe I need some added medication to stop me going loopy.  I saw a black fur coat in the charity shop which I thought would come in handy, especially in these current freezing conditions, for taking Dood for walks. But it was black and it needed to be a golden colour in order to match Dood.  I know a dog is not supposed to be a fashion item, (although then I’d be a medicated follower of fashion wouldn’t I) but being a Libran, I do like to colour coordinate. They say, don’t they, that people tend to choose dogs that resemble themselves, in which case Dood with his scraggy golden hair would be the perfect match.

Talking of hair and the X Factor, why has Cheryl Cole taken to wearing her hair piled up in two huge rolls on either side of her head? Looks bloody stupid if you ask me, but then I’m probably jealous. I could always stuff some rolled up socks under my thinning mane I suppose, to pad it out a bit like they did in the war. You can actually buy hair frames now in Claire’s Accessories (not poor Claire of Corrie of course, who is far too traumatized to even think about her hair)  to stick on the top of your head like they did in the Victorian days.

The Victorians were obsessed with hair. They even made things out of it such as brooches or baskets – not to mention hair shirts! In the interests of economy, you could always utilize a bread basket or a sawn off colander, or a sawn off shotgun I suppose if you’re the gangster type, or a fan of Mae West – “is that a sawn off shot gun on the top of your head or are you just pleased to see me?” Oh dear, how many times have I resorted to using that old one liner on this blog and what does that say about me!

Because my hair has become so scraggy of late, either due to my advancing years or more likely the toxicity of the medication, I tried googling some hair related beauty tips.

“Use fabric softener instead of conditioner,” one source suggested.

 “Brunettes, instead of drinking your morning expresso, pour it over your head.”

And they say blondes are thick.

Rubbing alcohol as an ear drier was another handy tip – was that Cheryl Cole trying to say hair drier?

“To evaporate water from your ears use an ear dropper to insert a few drops of rubbing alcohol into each ear canal.”

Where alcohol is concerned, rubbing or otherwise, I’d prefer chucking it down my neck to be honest.

This helpful tip would come in especially handy after consuming all the rubbing alcohol – “Mash 30 aspirin tablets and add to shampoo to get rid of dandruff” - or a hangover presumably.

 Ear canals sound horrible - don’t like to think of my ears as having canals, or drums for that matter.

Did you know that some people who spend a lot of time sitting on an office chair spray Hairspray on their bottoms to stop static?

“Banish static cling with a quick spritz of hairspray in the areas that are bunching.”

This tip is obviously aimed at Ladies who bunch as opposed to lunch.

Nothing to do with hair or hairspray, but I thought this was quite a good idea – “Scour crevices with a battery powered toothbrush.”

Health and safety warning – before you try this on your own crevices, they meant as a grout scrubber.

Oh well, only a few days to Christmas and still no Labradoodle, but we’ll keep on searching and googling of course – labragoogling indeedie.