When it rains heavily (particularly when it does so at night) having the animals becomes distinctly harder work than any other time. This weekend has been a perfect demonstration of that – we had a proper thunderstorm on Saturday night / Sunday morning, and heavy rain last night/this morning.

Hound has decided that heavy rain equals Thunder, and skitters round the room to lay next to my side of the bed. I don’t mind this too much – she’s been really good this weekend on this score, without getting stressy and stupid, let alone trying to burrow through the wall as she has done on previous occasions. But she still makes enough noise to wake me up, which isn’t great. Saturday night we ended up moving into the living room again (for some reason one of Hound’s “safe places”) because it was proper thunder etc., and it’s easier to have her in there than down the side of the bed.

Sunday night we had heavy rain, so Hound came round to my side of the bed again. This time though it was Psycho Cat that was the pain in the arse – having got utterly soaked, he decided that the best way to warm up and dry off was to snug into the back of my knees, and then turn round repeatedly so that everything dried off evenly. It has to be said that there is little worse than being woken up by the sensation of cold wet cat fur in the back of your nice warm legs.

The little shit even then went back out again once he dried off and warmed up, and was whining again by 7am that he was cold and wet and why wouldn’t anyone do anything. I seriously wonder sometimes whether it wouldn’t be easier to just drown the little fucker and be done with it.

So all told

Until this weekend, I’d never even seen a hornet.

This weekend though, we’ve had five of the buzzy bastards in the house, including one which stung me. Not, it has to be said, the most positive introduction to the species.

We don’t know where they’ve been coming from – no signs of a nest anywhere around etc., but they’re definitely making their presence felt.

The sting was kind-of my own fault – Herself told me there was one in the bathroom, and I went in to splat the sodding thing. Being aware that it was a flying buzzing thing, I was looking in the air for it, not on the floor – and so I stood near it, which was apparently enough provocation to the fucker.

I’ve never been stung before either, so had no idea what to expect – or even whether I was allergic to the stings or not. (Fortunately, it looks like I’m not) Liberal dollops of antihistamine cream and some ibuprofen later, all’s been OK today. But I can tell you for sure that the sting hurts like a motherfucker.

Hopefully that’ll be my last dealing with hornets. But if they are making a home somewhere close by, it probably won’t be. I’ll be damn sure to be wearing shoes next time though.

Last night (technically this morning) Hound woke us up with full-on security barks. All very much “There’s an intruder, there’s someone/thing in the garden, something’s wrong, wake up!”

It meant I needed to get up, check the house, let her out into the garden to check what was going on, and all that crap.

It turned out – so far as we can tell – that the security issue was heavy rain, which she expected to turn into thunder. I took her basket into the living room, and spent the rest of the night on the sofa, with Hound in her basket.

She was obviously stressed about it though, as the first hour or so was spent with her right by the sofa, as close to me as possible without being on the sofa. A definite sign of stressy Hound.

It’s a good job that the sofa and chair we bought earlier this year are comfortable, and a good size. Between us we spend an inordinate amount of nights (or at least part-nights) on the damn sofa.

Over the weekend (and particularly yesterday) my car was parked on the drive in full sunlight, which meant it got quite warm.

As you can see, at least one cat realised this…

Yep, muddy pawprints

I didn’t notice this ’til I’d left for work – I saw the ones on the windscreen, but not the trail all the way up the bonnet. It looks like one of those chavtastic ‘fast car’ stripes, right up the middle of the bonnet.

Bloody animals.

I really wish that Hound would get the idea about weekends. I know, I know, she’s a dog, and dogs aren’t supposed to understand these concepts. But for a time-oriented and very insistent/herding animal, weekends are a real pain in the arse.

It’s my fault (of course). During the week I get up at 6.30, do all the morning things, let the chickens out, and go to work.

On a weekend, well, I went a lie-in. But Hound doesn’t care.

So by 7am she’s scratching on the door, effectively saying “You’re late! It’s time to get up and get back in the routine!”

If you tell her to sod off (or words to that effect) she’ll go and lie down for ten minutes. And it’s exactly ten minutes – you could set your clock by it.

7.10. Scratch scratch. “Sod off”

7.20 Scratch scratch. “Sod off”

7.30. Scratch scratch scratch. “Sod Off“. Scratch “You’re really really late now. And The Girls still need letting out”

7.40. Scratch scratch. “Sod Off”

7.50 Scratch scratch scratch. “Sod it“.

By now Hound’s up a height, stressed that all her routine is just ruined. “Daddy’s late, The Girls aren’t out yet, I haven’t had my pills yet, it’s just all going horribly wrong.”

Poxy fucking animals.

In my post about the mileage I’ve covered this month, Gordon pointed out

I use this invention called ‘the train’. Saves adding miles and miles to your car (cost).

And that’s a perfectly valid point. If I could, I’d use public transport – and particularly trains – a lot more. But there are some reasons why this month I couldn’t/didn’t/wouldn’t.

Among those reasons are :

• Hound
• Cost
• Convenience
• Time
• Practicality

Let’s look at just one of the journeys I did – taking Hound down to Berkshire – Wokingham, to be more precise – and compare driving to trains.

• Hound : There’s no way Hound could go on public transport without being muzzled. In the temperatures that were around when we did the journey, that’s just not going to happen – she’d be unable to pant properly or anything. She’d also be a complete pain in the arse – not just to me, but to everyone around – for the entire journey. And taking Hound through the London Underground while changing stations? You’re having a fucking laugh. In the car, she just slept in her basket, cool in the car’s air-con atmosphere.
• Cost : The cheapest I could do the journey, for a return ticket is (at the time of writing) £48.40. That’s not including getting to the station nearest home, or the cost of getting from station to kennels at the other end. (And back again)  The 300 mile round trip in the car cost me about £30 – £35 (I can’t remember exactly) all in, door-to-door.
• Convenience : Again, door-to-door vs. all the fucking about of train travel, getting to station, travelling, three changes, getting from station to kennels, and back again. All while carrying dog stuff, my stuff, and the dog basket. Yeah.
• Time : Just for the train journey is four and a half hours. One way. Driving? Three hours one way. Door-to-door.
• Practicality : I’ll let you figure out which one’s best on this score. And we haven’t even touched on delays, travelling with other people, the ability to have peace and quiet while travelling, so on and so forth.

The trip to Manchester(ish) is an even better example, even if Hound’s not a factor…

• Hound : N/A
• Cost : Train (return ticket) £80.80 – best I can find. Car : £40 fuel.
• Convenience : Train ? Office to Bury St Edmunds Station. Three changes. Manchester to Oldham. Oldham to [Village]. Car? Door to Door.
• Time : Train (again, train only, one-way, not including sodding about) five hours. Car? 3 hours.
• Practicality : Car wins. Again.  And I don’t need to fix everything around when the trains run.

I would use public transport more. But when you look at the factors in this way, you can see why I don’t…