It stinks

I am so glad I am not a dog. Not because I don’t want to follow the leader. Well, that too. But mainly because a dog is slave to his nose. It informs his world.

Smell being a much underrated of our human senses. How many times have I told the Angel to forget about food’s “Sell By”/”Use by” dates and use his nose instead? I learnt how to avoid food poisoning before a fridge freezer was a must-have in every household. A north facing larder off the kitchen would do. Those were the days: When eggs were laid daily, and cheese would go walkies – eventually.

We all know what perfume was invented for, other than lure: A mask before we had hot water on tap. Naturally, now in a time when we are so afraid to leave a faint smell of ourselves there is the deodorant. The devil’s invention if ever there was one. When the boys (that’s the Angel and his friends) were between the ages of 14 and 18 I’d gag on the amount of masking odour before they all exited in the morning. One day I had had it. Told them all in no uncertain terms: Clean is good: Shower. Forget the deo: You are young men whose pheromones were invented to attract (subtly) that which you most want: Yes, girls, maybe even a woman. Or if you must mask that which comes natural at least spend some money on a scent, a little more expensive than cheap. It will pay.

My lecture must have worked because these days, and for the last two years – when they leave in the morning – I am still overcome with their whiffs, but not of the synthetic kind. So I will  have to open all windows but at least for the right reasons.

Women are terrible, particularly when they go for the orientals. Meet them for dinner. You sit there, in a cacophony of nauseatingly fighting with each other smells, whilst trying to eat. It’s not only uncivilized, it borders on bad manners. Or let me enter a department store’s cosmetic and perfumery area: You will face spray guns. I wish I were Clint Eastwood. In fact, one of these days, as part of my many researches, I will NOT dodge any of those sweet girls but let all of them spray me. On exit I am sure I will not only CONFUSE dogs but make them howl.

The above was brought on by having had an inordinate amount of garlic, cucumber and yoghurt earlier today. Rule of thumb: Once you can smell yourself do keep a distance.

To be continued …

U

Tall tails

Choose your friends wisely. Particularly when given to fainting.

It will, immeasurably, add to my mystique that I can now claim that one of my correspondents, BHB, close to my heart, let her cat out ca 2 in the morning; the cat, half way up the tree, consequently eaten by a coyote. How romantic is that? Anyone can go all Little Red Riding Hood, out in the woods, with her little basket, and ask the wolf in bed and in granny’s clothing: “Why are your arms so hairy?” To have your cat devoured by a coyote raises the stakes.

Hope the cat was fat.

U

Miracles

Tip of a SUNday:

Procure a bottle of soap bubbles plus implement. Blow – gently. Preferably outside. Few things will give you as much pleasure. Look at the bubbles’ perfection, drink in the colour spectrum. See them drift away – and BURST. Happiness in a sphere. A perfect allegory for life.

If you are of a sadistic bend you may wish to enter a playful cat into the scenario.

U

Snapshot Nr 3

My life is so fascinating, my mind boiling at all times, I need a double shift: 48 hrs in every current 24.

It’s cold in England at the moment. Not cold as in  Canada, Austria, Switzerland, Bavaria, Siberia, Norway or the Artic Circle. Just cold by Gulf Stream standards. Years ago I bought my son some skiing trousers (lined inside, with a shiny and rather noisy outside); naturally never worn I have just discovered that they fit me. Which is good news since it cuts down on my central heating bill. However, they make a sort of hissing noise whenever I walk around. Which warns everyone that I am on the approach. It makes the cat shoot out of the catflap faster than you can say “Bouncer” (his name). He is completely out of his mind since his mother (of eight years) died last July. And whilst he was once “Fatty Boy” in the words of his owner, my son, he is now a skeleton. Well, so much for 145 keystrokes on twitter. This was an American portion sized one.

U

PS Completely forgot what I meant to ask: What do you do with a neurotic cat? And do you realise how difficult it is to poison a cat superfluous to requirements? They are suspicion personified – circling anything unfamiliar till deciding “If in doubt, don’t”.  I shall tag this post to draw in the wrath of cat lovers and the benign advice of vets (I should be so lucky).