Water? Overrated...

This summer I made a decision - the water wasting garden hose was going to stay rolled up unless it was being used to fill the Hellhounds' paddling pool. No more trying to explain to them that watering wasn't a game of 'who can hurl themselves headlong into the wet flower bed first, causing the maximum amount of damage'. No more ridiculous bills; strategic hand watering only, and of course, a little help from the skies. Then it happened - the rain stopped. Excuse me? This is Seattle! It rains. All the time.

Yes...they have a paddling pool

Days turned into weeks, and lugging a watering can around started to lose its already limited appeal. I figured I would concentrate on the pots and somewhat leave the beds to their own devices. Cruel, I know, but plants have been around for a long time, and I'm sure there have been occasions over the centuries where they had to survive a drought or human neglect. 

As a rule, I never water the grass. In my mind, grass is a complete waste of time and if the Hellhounds didn't insist on having somewhere to play ball/poo/fight, I would have yanked the damn stuff up years ago. It usually starts to disintegrate at some point during the summer and then (unfortunately) grows back even stronger and more irritating than ever. But this year it just died. It wasn't a pleasant or tidy death - no, the grass turned into what can only be described as a wasteland with a texture that felt like walking on broken glass. Not pleasant for those who don't like shoes or those with paws. Ball playing was replaced with sitting on the patio sulking, just waiting for the rain.

It is officially dead. I hope. Forever. Off to buy some Creeping Thyme...

While Col and Archie wait...

They pee a little for good measure...

While Penny does the sensible thing and takes forty winks.

That's when I noticed it. Two clumps of perfectly healthy, thriving green grass, growing through a crack in the concrete patio! How is that possible and why am I conjuring up images of "The Day of the Triffids?" Great, we were being invaded by a mutant species of Poa Annua that will sting, kill and then devour your carcass. But try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to pull it out. There was something quite spectacular about a plant that had the wherewithal to grow in the most unexpected of places without a single drop of rain. So while everything else around me proceeded to wilt, my two little clumps of illegal grass grew and grew. No, not that type of 'grass', I simply mean that I hadn't given it permission to take up residence on the patio! Thinking about "squatter's rights" back in Britain, I did a little checking, and suddenly realized that under the law, the clumps now had adverse possession. Hmm. Oh, alrighty then. The grass wins…for now. 

Happy, healthy and squatting on my damn patio

The Archie version of a

 withering look

The creeping thyme never happened.....

Another unexpected turn of events during the drought was how successfully the non-watered plants coped with dire thirst. While a couple of the fussy ones complained, most of them just got on with it. It turns out that they are a lot tougher than humans. 

Honeysuckle

Japanese Anemone

Feverfew

Sedum

For 14 minutes on September 10th, we had 0.01" of rain, marking the end of 48 days without a single drop falling from the sky. Thinking about it, 0.01" probably isn't much more than a drop or two, but nevertheless - it rained!

So, two months after the self-imposed hosepipe ban we received the new and hopefully extremely low water bill. It was exactly the same…

Damn Rug

The old rug in the living room had to go. After trying to stand up to 4 humans and 3 Hellhounds for many years it was finally past its sell by date. Also, rather strangely, either the rug was shrinking or the damage to the wood floor was growing - my poor threadbare carpet simply couldn't handle the pressure anymore.

Good Floor

Bad Floor a few months later - And that's the best part.

So…time for a new rug. How exciting! After salivating over a multitude of fabulous floor coverings that cost the price of a small island, I finally found 'it' online. The perfect rug; a lovely design, large enough to cover the offending area of the floor, and, best of all - cheap!

As I counted down the days to delivery my excitement started to build. That's when it happened. Doubts (fueled by both myself and a couple of online coworkers) started to set in. What if it has a huge stain in the middle? This soon turned into possible blood stains and the use of a black light to detect criminal activity, or even a dead body rolled up in the rug. What if the delivery man is actually a serial killer using the rug as a cover? They say that the mind works in mysterious ways and I am living proof of that.

Full on panic attack and there was a knock on the door; the rug of doom had arrived. The serial killer turned out to just be a delivery man, and the rug didn't appear to have any body parts protruding from either end. We were in business! Furniture moved, old rug rolled up and it was time for the big reveal. 

Good Rug

For a moment I thought my eyes were deceiving me - the rug was exquisite in every way. With the humans and hellhounds banished to another room, I stared for a minute at this work of art gracing my floor…and then panicked. The pee problem. I haven't previously mentioned that the old rug seemed to have 'feel free to cock your leg on me' written all over it. No matter what magic potion I sprayed to deter the hounds from using it as their own personal potty, nothing worked. My beautiful rug would be 'marked' as their territory as soon as they thought my back was turned.

Resigned to the fact that this had disaster written all over it I opened the kitchen door and the three of them bounded in. And stopped. Right at the edge of the beautiful new rug. After a little coaxing I managed to get Col and Penny to lay a paw on the new arrival, but Archie was having none of it. Even a carefully placed dog bone in the center of the rug wouldn't entice him.

That's when it hit me; my beautiful rug didn't contain a dead body as I had expected. Oh no, it was even worse…the rug was possessed. A Demonic rug. Fabulous. Upon closer inspection it struck me that the pattern in the center looked a little odd. In fact, if I tilted my head and squinted a little, it almost resembled…well I'm not going to say it, but suffice to say it involved flames, horns and a forked tail. Remember when I mentioned how my mind works? There you have it - a perfect example!

You see it don't you? You don't? Damn rug...

Time to get a second opinion. Who should I ask? The family? My neighbors? No, I don't want to give anyone the impression that I might be a little crazy. I know! My online co-workers - the ones who planted the seed in the first place! It was a resounding "yes - you are now the proud owner of a Demonic rug." 

This actually made sense. The dogs had now ventured onto the damn rug, but they would only circle the edges, avoiding the center. And even worse, they had yet to cock their leg on it. Something was very wrong here. After consulting with experts (yes…the online co-workers), the general consensus was that dog urine is the only way to exorcise a Demonic rug. Unfortunately, the Hellhounds had suddenly gone from peeing machines to sufferers of Shy Bladder Syndrome.

Even with a full bladder and the fear of Beelzebub - Penny managed to have forty winks.

Trying to sleep that night was rather difficult to say the least. It's not easy when you have 3 pacing, non-peeing Hellhounds and a Devil in your living room. The next day nothing had changed, other than the fact that I wouldn't step foot on the rug, which made life difficult because it took up nearly the entire room. Archie took it upon himself to take up residence on the forbidden chair, eyeballing the center of the rug from afar.

The Dead Eye

When that didn't work he gave up and went back to bed...

See...this is sensible when you have a Demonic Rug

Days went by, still no peeing. By this point I wouldn't have been surprised if the Demonic rug started levitating and Archie's head twisted 360º. Then it started shedding. Wait -maybe I can vacuum the Devil away! Or is the Devil already trying to escape from the center of the rug? That can't be good…

I thought about giving away my once beautiful but now possessed rug; unfortunately you don't get many takers when they are already aware of its 'special' properties. So that was that - my house was doomed. Then it happened. For some reason, (I blame the wind, but the co-workers had other suggestions), the bathroom door suddenly slammed shut. Penny woke up (highly unusual), Col began to growl and a snarling Archie promptly peed on the rug. Finally! My rug had been exorcised!

Then someone helpfully pointed out that the Devil had now taken up residence in the bathroom….. 

It's A Dog's Life

This blog is dedicated to my topsy turvy, chaotic and sometimes disastrous life - and I wouldn't have it any other way! While these calamities can range in size from insignificant in the grand scheme of things to colossal (in my mind anyway), they invariably feature a common denominator - one or all of the Hellhounds.

Before I go any further I feel that the necessary introductions are in order. Meet the Hellhounds…

Penny, Archie and Col

The house is ruled by three badly behaved terriers; two Westies, Miss MoneyPenny (aka Penny), Sir Colin Connery (aka Col), and last but definitely not least, Sir Archibald Wavell (aka Archie), a Cairn.

Each has their own place in the pack; Col is Chief Hound, Penny is Lady of the Manor (and the one who is actually in charge regardless of what Col thinks), and Archie is just an all around bundle of trouble.