I decided to do my writing warmup pages on the blog today - because currently it looks a little monotonic with all the writing stuff.

But then I realised, my week has been a little odd-ball to say the least, and there appears little of happiness - other than the lovely temperatures and sunshine between April showers - to write home about. Still…

My dog, who I had neutered two days ago, hates me. In fact he hates the whole family, and he particularly feels sorry for himself in his hatred, for 24/7, including a wake-up whine and bark at 3:15am last night as he’d escaped his room. He doesn’t greet us anymore, he lurches past us, somehow the operation affected his eyesight also. And he still is not eating or drinking, just licking - his non-existant balls. He was put in one of those plastic collars to stop him reaching around to do that, but the vet either didn’t give him a big enough one, or when in such pain, a dog will find a way anyway. Because he can. Before, he never knew they existed, those things. Not in all that fur - but now that the vet has handily shaved away all his hair from his belly (which is itchy as heck, I presume) my dog has suddenly found himself, and he’s in pain.

I don’t blame him for hating me, I feel bad about taking that decision myself now. Very bad. He’s in pain, he’s miserable, and he’s not sleeping, which means we’re not.  

What’s worse is that the collar stuck his hair down over his eyes (he’s an Old English Sheepdog, so can’t see well at the best of times) and he was hurtling around completely blind, banging into anything, including legs. The collar did a good job of not allowing him to eat or drink either - he couldn’t get his mouth down to anything, and without being able to see, I had a miserable time of it babysitting this whining infuriated and wet blind dog yesterday. The walk was interesting, but at least it took his mind off a few little missing things.

He’s still the same today. He hates us, I tell you.

In sympathy perhaps, my own period came a week early, not that it ever stopped from last time, and I’m weak from the loss of it all. Including my credit card.

Someone somehow got hold of my credit card details, and I noticed a couple of large transactions on an online statement, made on days I was at home entertaining my daughter on her school holidays. Perhaps I’d forgotten something big like that, I thought, which didn’t seem likely at all, because I seldom use it anymore, but maybe I did, you know? But my husband had more faith in the state of my mind than I did, and suggested I look up the company on the web. It turned out to be a Motorcycle shop in Wales, hundreds of miles away from me.

I rung my bank, of course, and they put the two transactions into dispute for me, firstly asking me if I didn’t recall buying automobile parts that day. No, I said, although on hindsight I’ve got to admit that once you hit your forties, the thought of racing around on a thumping great engine wearing tight black leathers has some odd appeal.

I found another transaction on my card on the online statement yesterday, this time for a German computer shop. That biker chick running around saying she’s me sure does get around. My card is now stopped (it only took the two calls before the bank decided that would be for the best) but it leaves me dangling, without a payment card at the moment for certain transfers - like the monthly blog bill. So if this blog suddenly disappears for a while, blame it on that biker chick, and if my dog suddenly disappears for a while, it’ll be because I rented him out to a dog borstal to get some sleep.