One Boy And His Beagle

Despite feeling as rough as a nomad’s heel (my description, not his), Alex was still anxious to walk the dog last night.

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I’d like to think that he was demonstrating some sort of selfless responsibility, but I think it was probably more to do with trying out the new extendable lead that Colin bought me for my birthday.

Either way, they both had fun.

Beaglegas

Previously, my email inbox looked fairly normal. Some family stuff, a Superbru reminder or two, a bit of hate mail from some Afrikaners about something I wrote on Steve Hofmeyr in 2007. Nothing particularly unusual there.

Now, however, my email inbox seems to have emails about beagles in it. Often. And some of those emails look like this:

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Lovely. And WTF is a BeagleKiss? Eww.

It turns out that Beaglegas is yet another drawback of dog ownership. I don’t know if it is any worse than Spanielgas or Poodlegas, but it’s far from the pleasant end of the scale when all you want to do is chill out in front of a game of footy on the TV. There are two main reasons why Beaglegas is more dangerous than the mustard gas used during the First World War: firstly, because it’s unexpected – you’re not on some godforsaken battlefield in the middle of Belgium, you’re on your couch watching an Everton Europa Cup game – and secondly, because it’s colourless, meaning that there is no visual warning of its impending arrival at the gates of your respiratory system.

In addition, there is no incoming shell here: the method of delivery can be as innocuous as a dozing puppy. In fact, I’m rapidly learning that there’s actually nothing innocuous about a dozing puppy at all. Those moments when the dog is calm, and everything (including its back door musculature) is relaxed, are the moments of most danger. But that’s not to say that you are safe from Beaglegas attack during the dog’s waking hours either. Earlier this week, I inadvertently trapped Beaglegas in the kids’ school lunch boxes after an early morning run-by attack in the kitchen. Not nice for anyone. And it dissolved their cheese rolls.

There are several hints and tips available via that BeaglePro email, hints and tips which one can employ to reduce the incidence of Beaglegas. They’re most likely tried and tested by other Beaglegas sufferers and would probably work in reducing the incidence of Beaglegas in your proximity at any given time. However, I can (quite easily) recall a time when there was absolutely zero Beaglegas in my home. That was fewer than two months ago and those were magical, fresher times; times where one could happily breathe deeply, confident in the knowledge that it was going to be nitrogen and oxygen making up the bulk of your inhalation, rather than the manifestation of Satan in aeriform.

In fact, the only individual in our house who seems wholly immune to Beaglegas is Colin. This is strange. Given that Colin’s sense of smell is allegedly somewhere between 20,000 and 50,000 times (depending on which book you read) more sensitive than ours, it should, by rights, have between 20,000 and 50,000 times more effect on her. It should be instantly fatal. Very fatal. In fact, given those astonishing olfactory comparisons, it wouldn’t surprise me – upon exposure to Beaglegas – if Colin was immediately vapourised and she was erased from photos of herself with the family, like Marty McFly in Back To The Future. And Michael J Fox just messed with the passage of time, he sensibly steered well clear of anything as serious as Beaglegas. Lest we forget, when given the alternative methods of powering the infamous DeLorean, he and Doc Brown took one sniff at Beaglegas and opted instead for plutonium stolen from a heavily-armed Libyan terrorist group.

They knew.

And suddenly, I’m in two minds as to whether to publish this post. I need to express my suffering, yes. I require your sympathy and I need other sufferers to understand that they’re not alone. But it concerns me that some terrorist group might read this, have a lightbulb moment and understand the gravitas and power of Beaglegas. They would then get some beagles and completely ignore all the BeaglePro advice in order to produce and harvest vast volumes of BeagleGas before launching a terror attack that would make 9/11 look like a unfortunate incident in a Lego factory.

But then I figure that they could just Google for “most evil things on earth” and somehow find themselves at a page which at least mentions the rectal emissions of tri-colour hounds.
I can’t be the only one who has found cause to write about this heinous compound. Or maybe I am the only one who has managed to put pixels to paper before inevitable asphyxiation.

Doubting Hound

We’re knee deep in Corenza C here Chez 6000, so please accept this quota dog in lieu of a proper post.

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Here’s everyone’s* favourite beagle puppy, Tigger, looking rather doubtful.
This is actually rather sad, because she’d just been informed that she is actually a dog. She’s convinced that she’s human, but if she were, then we wouldn’t make her sleep in a cage, or allow her to crap in the garden. Not since that visit from the Child Protection Department when we were raising our second child, anyway.

If this virus persists into tomorrow, I’m off to get tested for distemper.

* because they don’t have to clean up after her.

Cut & Paste Disappointment

With Mrs 6000 getting up early for Colin each and every morning, I do the late shift. The late shift actually isn’t too bad – all it involves is not putting the dog to bed too early, because then the dog wakes up too early. Hardly revolutionary stuff. It doesn’t always work, and in fact last night it didn’t work at all and so we’re all a bit knackered this morning.

But that’s not the point of this post.

I was actually quite looking forward to yesterday evening’s late shift, because in an effort to keep me awake, I had pre-determined that I would watch England’s European Championship qualifier against Switzerland. I’m aware that if it was to be anything like England’s friendly against Norway last week, I may have struggled to combat the extreme soporific forces, but I had high hopes and they were only to be dashed by SuperSport, and not by another dull England performance. Because SuperSport weren’t showing it.

Previously, I would have raged a bit and then wondered what was going on and then raged further, more at frustration of not knowing why it wasn’t on, rather than the actual fact that it wasn’t on. But these days, we have twitter, and a quick look at SuperSport’s timeline told me that I wasn’t the only one wondering why we were missing out:

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And let’s not be all South Africa-centric here – this is for the whole of Africa, including the footballing hubs of Nigeria and other countries in Africa that like to watch football. Beeg audience.
So – are they trying to get the rights? Will they get the rights? Er…

Hmm.

Once this week’s matches are over with, we have about 4 weeks before the next international break, which will feature more European Championship qualifiers, including England against THE MIGHTY San Marino. Hopefully, SuperSport will have sorted out this rights issue before then: after all, we’re paying quite a lot of money to be able to watch these sorts of things (and let’s face it, there’s not a huge amount of other stuff on DSTV that’s worth the subscription).

Meanwhile, Afcon qualification takes over on Wednesday evening. And although SuperSport do have the rights for that, I’m going to to go an watch Bafana Bafana v Nigeria at the Cape Town Stadium, simply because I can.

Panoramae

We’re chilling out by the coast and there are important things to do like walking on the beach and cooking meat on the braai so blogging is always going to take a bit of a back seat.

Still, you need your fix and so here is not one, but two quota panoramae! [cue gasps of astonishment from the expectant crowd]

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The first one is from our journey down here last night. Some nameless dirt road just north of Napier where stopped to give Colin a comfort break and to take photos of the sun setting over the Southern Cape farmland.

The second is from the beach near Suiderstrand, this time walking Colin until it broke and needed to be carried home.

I suppose that if there is one thing to be said for having a dog, it’s that you get the opportunity to take photos like these, when otherwise, you’d probably be in a pub somewhere, enjoying a nice drink and some good laughs.

Hmm.