A Lot Of Puppy, Butterflies, Poor Donkeys and Irish Mosquitos

Before we get started, hello, and welcome. But mainly, I'm trying this thing I hear tell people do, which involves having music on whilst writing... Weird. Normally I want quiet, because I'm speaking (virtually), and I don't want anyone else interfering with my right to speak, or distracting silly little me, or changing the tone or mood when I don't intend it to be altered. I don't know how long this horrific experiment will last, I can't hear myself think here.

Yeah. experiment over. I'm more of a speech giver than a conversationalist.
Ahhh... Peace...

So ladies and gentlemen, let's fill you in and get you up to date on everything you've missed these past couple days. I'm just warning all you cat-folk out there, my Puppy will be centre stage during this blog post, so relax and enjoy the canine.

Puppy is, in a sentence, a bundle of galloping energy, with the kind of fur you just want to ruffle and give scrunchie-cuddles to. He also happens to run so fast, and have such big paws (and a big self in general), that admittedly, he does sound like a horse when he legs it around the field. And in regards to his puppy-dog strength (he's nearly fully grown, but he'll always be my puppy), he could drag you down the road as if you weren't there at all, if you let him, on a walk. Ask le boif, who despite his cat-lover self, enjoys being hauled down the road by Puppy. Oh yes, and Puppy has a "real" name, but I don't like real names, and I like Puppy better.

While you may imagine this big doggy to be wild and relentless (which is mostly true), you have yet to hear about his adorable puppy-self. Puppy may sound like a horse, but when we went for a walk down to some local real horsies, poor Puppy was frightened out of his fur, but sat there like a good boy, albeit, quite far away from them. But perhaps the cutest thing of all, even beating his sitting beside me when he's finished galloping, while I read my book, is his adoration of flying creatures. If that dog had wings, he'd be dangerous.

Puppy's all time favourite hobbies are chasing and snapping at butterflies, battling and vanquishing bees and wasps, and watching the birdies fly around the sky, and galloping underneath them. I swear, you give him a butterfly in flight, and he'll give you a spectacle. He can never catch them though, he's too big to jump high enough, but that doesn't stop him of course. However, as cute as this pastime of his is, if you have him on the lead, taking him for a walk, and a butterfly crosses his path, Puppy's gonna chase that butterfly, with or without you attached to him. His battles with bumbly bees are very "kawaii" also. At first, he attacks, and snaps at them, jumping back after he delivers each snap, for fear of receiving a sting, and this dance continues until the bee's wings cannot support it anymore, and it falls to the grass, in despair. This is not the end however. Puppy will lie down, watching that bumbly bee, making sure it stays inanimate, and doesn't try to be a hero. If that bumble so much as twitches a microscopic leg, Puppy will pat him with his paw, to make sure it won't happen again, feeling like he is in control of nature itself. When Puppy is certain of his victory, he celebrates. He does this by flopping onto where the bee is lying, and rolling around, on top of him, with the happiest face you've ever seen. I am also certain that Puppy wishes he were a bird, because he stares up into the sky for minutes on end, and runs with all his might underneath the swallow he spies, swerving here and there, replicating the bird's exact flight pattern. All in all, what is he trying to do to me, this Puppy, kill me with cuteness?

One more thing, I'd like to share with you, if Puppy's actions aren't cute enough for you, allow me to introduce to you, Puppy, as an actual puppy. If that's not totes adorbs I don't want to live in this world. It's so strange to think, all those years ago, when we first got Puppy, he was so small, he would curl up on my chest and tummy and fall asleep, with his big baby paws. Nowadays, I could use him as my pillow.

Enough about my puppy (I'm done now cat-folk), on our walk today (I swear, not about Puppy), we came across a sad little donkey a few fields down from our home, all overgrown hoofed and little and neglected. It's enough to break a heart. We've called the ISPCA, and they put a notice on the gate, telling the owner to sort it all out, and the owner obviously just took the notice off his gate so nobody else would see it. We're going to call the ISPCA again soon. The poor little guy. Flat out braying he is.

I was being so attacked by flies and all those other flying insects that buzz directly around your head, that I couldn't stay with the donkey for long, sadly. These flies though. Holy Mary. Phew. Much buzz. Very bite. What is it with me and mosquitoes? Why do you fellows love my blood so? This is Ireland, not Spain. I did not sign up for this mosquito deal. So much itch.

I have to say though, the weather really has begun to behave itself. It's sticking exactly around my 17-19 degrees Celsius requirement.  

Oh and here's a picture of my cat as a kitten, for all you cat lovers out there. 

Disaster, Cute Couple Time, Common Sense and General Knowledge

Home at last! But not without calamity!

My mother broke her finger in a foreign land and has been flitting from doctor to doctor in search of adequate medical attention ever since. Also, my state of sanity is being tested by the scorcher of a day it is turning out to be. Not to mention I left my phone in le boif's car, and feel naked without it.

Regardless, the weekend came to a close on a positive note for me, myself and I.

Yesterday I had a very cute couple-y day, consisting of painfully giggly giggles, us two goggly glasses teens reading our books together like old age pensioner married couples, coffee, flicking through guitar, bass, Beatles and album cover books, and cinnamon buns.

Now, my boif ain't known for his common sense, but it's a whole 'nother story when you end up in his neck of the woods, topic-wise. He may have trouble applying butter to a slice of bread, or even toast for that matter, but ask him the year >insert name of some guitar< came about, who played it, and ask him to draw it and you'll find he's more than capable to make you feel like you're the one lacking in common sense. I'm not complaining, I find it quite an endearing thing. I'm aware of my lack of knowledge in the matter, and especially because of that I love to hear someone chat knowledgeably in their niche that is so foreign to my ears. To me, it's fascinating to hear le boif recite a load of specifics, and years of albums, makes/models and artists, that even if I read 10 books on each, from cover to cover, I wouldn't know a single solid fact, never mind any dates or years. But I guess that's the way my head works.

While le boif lacks common sense, I lack general knowledge. Don't ask me who Rolf Harris is, I couldn't point Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys out of a line up, despite the fact that I love them (I barely even know the lead singer's name), but I could recite whole script (or at least whole scenes) from Anchorman, Napoleon Dynamite or The Breakfast Club, and I'm quite adequate at solving equations, if I do say so myself.

I guess oddballs fall for adorable fellow oddballs; I'm not complaining.

Whilst looking through/looking at the pictures of the book Fab Gear, a very unexpectedly large book about the clothing of The Beatles, I began wondering how the authors could possibly fill a whole book with descriptions and such of the clothes, when all you need are the pictures. So I ventured into the dangerously comical world of reading the descriptions of each photo, and I was not disappointed. The analyses were splendidly hyperbolic and melodramatic, to the point of inducing stitches of laughter in both myself and my other, nearly wakening the entire household.

(All doodles are courtesy of le boif, thanks for that!)