How to...

When Molly was very small I took her to a puppy class where a smart lady of a certain age was complaining vociferously that her cocker spaniel wouldn't "do his business” on walks, only in the garden, meaning she had to dry his wet feet twice. As the adoring owner of two dogs and a cat, if that's the worst mess she has to put up with, she's lucky!

Cats are mercifully fragrance-free, but inclined to bring in between 1 and 3 rodent victims a day, plus most of the Welland Valley on their paws. Surely I can't be the only cat owner who has to shake the bottom sheet out of the window mid-week to get rid of the crunchy bits?

Talking of the cat - who is a loving brother/ grovelling little git - he regularly brings Molly a freshly-killed mouse to suck. Unfortunately, we often don't realise immediately, then Molly hides it down the sofa cushions for later. It is upsetting to be searching for the TV remote and make contact with something squashy, damp and furry.

Face licking is another delight. One of my friends - yes, I mean you, Mrs P - stoutly maintains that dogs have “healing mouths” when Molly decides to provide an unsolicited face-wash. (To be fair, she hasn't seen her eat as much sheep poo as I have.) I also spend most of my toddler niece’s visits shouting “Molly. Will you stop licking that baby!” and brandishing a damp flannel.

Perhaps most disgustingly to non-pet-people, Molly is a closet alcoholic, and furtively dips her tongue in my wine glass given half a chance. I’m ashamed to say that I tend to think “Ah well, alcohol's antiseptic" and sip on unperturbed.

I consider myself winning, though, because none of my pets have pulled the same trick that Mr Jeebs, my parents’ much-loved CKC spaniel, pulled on Dad one night.

Suffice it to say that he never puts his shoes on nowadays without shaking them out first.










Molly considers herself an essential pre-wash stage for plates.


Footnote:
In case anyone thinks I'm exaggerating, yesterday we had the following conversation about our second dog:

Oh god! Bessie's face is covered in brown stuff - is it poo or just earth?

I don't know. Sniff her.

October

In October Suzy's sister continued the family gene pool by squeezing a new person through her cervix. Obviously we can already discern signs of extreme intelligence, even genius, in her weeny bundle of joy.

How to... Support a new mum

I am Aunt Suzy! My little sister, whom it feels like only yesterday was biroing on my dolls’ faces and ruining my carefully curated Enid Blyton collection, brought baby Florence into the world earlier this month. Here are some things I have learned about how to support a new mother.. and how not too.

1) DON’T mention her size. Although her perverse streak meant that my sister positively enjoyed the stage where strangers feel uncomfortable wondering if you are pregnant or just fat, one teenage boy will always regret the moment he leaned out of his mate’s car and shouted “I hope that's diet!” to my sister as she bought a Coke. (She literally reduced him to tears. Rookie mistake, kid.)

Similarly, I have learned to my cost that even blood relations are not allowed to study the “bump” through narrowed eyes and wonder aloud if she's sure she isn't having twins.

Our father takes the biscuit though: “I’m surprised you've got so many stretch marks, because you had so much skin to begin with.” Tactful, dad.

2) DON’T even attempt to assemble an infant car seat unless you have a degree in advanced mechanical engineering, or were once a technical advisor on Scrapheap Challenge. The first astronauts went to the Moon with less protection. Glibly agreeing to have a go cost me most of an afternoon and two fingernails. Personally I don't see why you can't just wrap them in Bubble Wrap.

3) DO obey the hospital’s rules. I was unceremoniously ejected from the delivery suite at midnight when a senior midwife realised my sister had three birthing partners. (Previous staff had clearly been fooled by my skilful impersonation of a foetal heartrate monitor.) Poor Sis was forced to soldier on without my patented Rousing Medley of Show Tunes.

4) DON’T expect to win a conversation that starts “I’m so tired...”. They have the monopoly on fatigue for the next 18 years. Especially if you let slip that you are tired because you were down the pub until midnight.

From pomegranate seed to cantaloupe

My sister had her 12 week scan at which the baby (which apparently got hiccups during the scan: this whole process is amazing to me) was described as "the size of a small lemon". Why this is deemed easier to visualise than 7cm is beyond me.  I suspect these fruit-based size analogies will continue throughout the pregnancy.

Rather her than me when it gets to squeezing something the size of a melon through an aperture more suited to a conference pear...

Nappytastic

My little sister is pregnant, she and I found out today! Listen hard: you can probably still hear our mother squealing.

I have decided the baby should be named Wilberforce, regardless of gender. I have offered to drink for both of us while she is expecting. No need to thank me, Sis.

Delightful to have a nice surprise, to counter stepping on a dead mouse on the bedroom floor earlier.