Percivus Maximus II

Posted on August 7, 2023 by thepogblog

It’s been a while again.

I posted this on Percy’s instagram page (https://www.instagram.com/percy_and_pog/) and my Facebook page this weekend and people seemed to like it.  So I thought you might too…

Percy and Mr R share a birthday and this year Percy went all out to get his Dad something great – an original painting plus a letter to explain it fully :o)

Dear Dad, 

You need to know that while you are the bestest, most ‘mazin Dad there ever could be, I actually come from a long line of noble cocker spanners.  Sorry, I hope that doesn’t come as too much of a shock.

I have been lookin’ into my family tree and to join up the Pups and the Hoomans, I thought you might like an extra special birthday present that’s to both of us.

You see, I have discovered that the line of noble cocker spanners is so long and so noble, that there are actually other Percys’.  I know.  Hard to believe, right?  And even more than that, I’ve found an original painting of Percivus Maximus II.

Can you see the resemblance?  Doesn’t he look handsome and noble and gallantly floofy, just like me? He is my great, great, great, great, great, great grandpaw.

I has done all the research and Percivus Maximus II was in fact one of the most important puppers of his time. 

He created the exact jumpin’ catch with a ball that has been passed down the generations to me.  He was outstandin’ in his field….all the fields in fact.  He was truly ‘mazin’ at all the pupper things and even holds the record for inhalin’ tea the fastest (I’m doin’ my best to catch up with him) and for collectin’ millions and millions of grass seeds in his ears every summer (I’m really close to catchin’ up with him on that though and I am not even old like he was).

 Percivus Maximus II lived a grand and noble life.  I am a little bit sad that he got to wear that mazin’ jacket and I got a crocheted jumper with pom poms round the neck though.  Could we rectify this, please Dad? 

Or could I at least have a medal like Percivus Maximus II?  Do you know, he got those for braveness shown in a field of cows, for carryin’ the biggest stick a pupper ever did carry, for swimmin’ the furthest in a cattle trough, and for finding 74856134 balls by the time he was five years old.  If I do those things can I have medals too, please? (you may have noticed I has been tryin’ anyway, just incases). 

Anyway, I’s hoping you are lovin’ our joint present and that we can look at it together lots.

Your ears may not be as gallantly floofy as Percivus Maximus II’s or mine Dad, but I love you more than all the noble cocker spanners out there.

Love,

Your son, Percy(Percivus Maximus IX)

PS:  I know you’re wondering about Percivus Maximus I.  (He was actually demoted to Percivus Minimus.)  We don’t talk about him as there was a bit of an incident involving someone’s leg and a spot of humping that got out of hand… Percivus Maximus II had a right job on his paws to bring back the noble to the line, so shhhh….


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Snacking on my eyeballs

Posted on June 9, 2023 by thepogblog

I did it!  I did the camping! And I am never, ever camping in a tent again…

Don’t get me wrong: I loved the outside-ness of it.  I loved the chance to explore somewhere new.  I loved cooking on a camping stove and a barbecue. I even loved listening to the 18 teenagers doing their Duke of Edinburgh expedition who pitched up next to us for a night…

The problem is – and I may have mentioned this before – that I am actually part toad.  I am practically cold blooded.  And even when it has been such a beautifully sunny day that I’d managed to burn the back of my calves on our epic walk, when the sun goes in or a slight breeze starts, I move from ‘just right’ to ‘freezin’ ‘.

Night one, I put on All The Clothes to go and clean my teeth, came back to the (freezin’) tent and just about managed to get my PJs on and get into the sleeping bag and throw over one of the two duvets I had bought with us before the giant shivers took over.

We let Percy sleep in the tent bedroom with us (something he is not allowed to do at home) and he went nuts with the excitement of it all, hurting around and around a lot before settling down.

I had a strange dream that night that I was constantly rolling down a hill.  I’d hoik myself back up the hill only to fall back, over and over.

When I woke up, Mr R was at the bottom of the hill.  And I was too.  I turned out on his excitement, Percy had burst what Mr R had described as an ‘indestructible’ airbed which ‘Percy definitely couldn’t burst’.

Percy, or course, was the only one of the three of us still deep in sleep on the still inflated part of the airbed…

So, the next night, rather than piling those duvets on top of us, we slept with them between us and the ground.  And instead, I piled the picnic blanket and my big coat on top of us.  But it was still freezin’.  And we had to do a lot of stretching in the morning to be able to stand upright.

That was one of the incidents.  And that was the one that has broken this Pogs camping back.  I will leave Mr R to enjoy the tent with the The Boys and we will continue to test out the campervanning option.  Because there you can’t feel the breeze through the walls , or hear snoring from somewhere that isn’t your tent even though it sounds like it could be, and there is no chance you’ll end up sleeping on the ground….

I probably shouldn’t have said that.  We’ve hired a campervan for another trip to celebrate our wedding anniversary in a few weeks… :o)

 

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Bank holiday adventuring

Posted on May 18, 2023 by thepogblog

In my ‘committed spinster with a cat and (slightly out of control) crochet habit’ days my weekends consisted of…well, crochet; usually with the company of Norman cat, late night TV or Radio 4, lunch at Mum and Dad’s with my sisters on Sundays, and in the latter years the occasionally epic bike ride.

It turns out that when you have a cat, a (more in control) crochet habit, a puppy (2.5 years old, but he has the energy of a pup), two step sons , and a husband who likes an adventure, weekends become entirely different creatures.

Since I last posted we have attempted and loved campervan-ing (an attempt to get me loving adventuring while recognising that I’d rather eat my own eyeballs than go camping in a tent again).  We (Me, Mr R and Percy) used the first May bank holiday to hire a van to explore Norfolk and it turned out that I can manage a whole night without a wee when the option is traipsing across a field in the dark to the toilets, and that when you can close actual doors so you don’t turn into an icicle as soon as the sun goes down, I really rather enjoy it.

And then we had the next bank holiday where in order to fulfil my auntie sleepover duties and get enough space in the house for Little Pea and Little Wisp, I sent Mr R and the two smaller R’s off on a camping trip in the tent that I wont ever set foot in again.

It turns out that you can do all sorts with small people – we had a coronation party with food of their choice, we did making-ness, played on the gym equipment in the garage, went to the playground many times, did a snail hunt and we even went to the circus…it turns out you can do all the things but the thing they loved the most was hunting for newts in the pond.  Obviously. So much so they decided to adopt one each (leaving them in my pond but retaining parental rights), and created certificates to prove it.

We did have a terrible few minutes when one newt was picked out the pond by a crow, dropped and discovered dead.  There were a few tears over the sadness of the situation and then Destiny (posthumously named entirely inappropriately) was given a water burial and promptly forgotten about.

So that was two out of three May bank holidays well spent.  We got a taste for using them to their full potential so thought we’d go away this next one too.  Only we’ve not been as organised with hiring a van, so folks, it seems I might be snacking on my eyeballs in two weeks…in a tent.  Oh yay.

:o)

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Many birthday purrrs

Posted on May 4, 2023 by thepogblog

Norman is a teenager! Thirteen today.

These days, Norman is a grumpy old man; I am the only one he doesn’t swipe at (although sometimes I get that variety of grumpy treatment too) and he spends an awful lot of his time asleep.  The rest is divided between terrorising passing dogs (he wins every time) and miaowing to have the front door opened so he can go out and miaowing to have the front door opened so he can come back in, frequently with only a few minutes between the two.

He also goes through phases of where he will sleep.  A few weeks ago I had a really vivid dream that someone put a really heavy furry hat on my head and was pushing it down…and it turned out that was the start of the phase where Norman would only sleep on my pillow.  Once he had pushed me off it…

He’s moved for the moment and having gone through a phase on Mr R’s legs, he now snores loudly on the landing but always makes sure he is next to my head and staring disapprovingly in my face when the alarm goes off.

Grumpy he may be, but he might be better known in the area than Percy.  Mr R sits at his desk in the front window all day and has noticed a slightly peculiar thing:  people stopping to take Norman’s photo.

 

And even better than that…(yes, better!), today Norman got a birthday card in the post.  It was from Lovely Lucy Cat in Shropshire.  They have never met, but have heard all about each other and there is a certain pen friend fondness there. Thank you, Lovely Lucy Cat; you are just the kindest puss cat friend a Norms could have.

Not bad for a grumpy old puss tat, eh?  :o)

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For the love of balls

Posted on May 3, 2023 by thepogblog

Percy loves balls.

He loves snoofing out lost balls, befriending them and bringing them home to be one of the family.  He does that around three times a week.  Which is why we ended up with an over flowing box which, when I counted contained 107 in various colours, textures and stages of life.  (It turned out that there were actually 110; Percy had stashed a few, presumably knowing this day was coming.

We did this:

 

Yes, we popped them in a box and took them to the nature reserve so that we could share the ball love. I posted on the local dog owners facebook page so people knew they were there and to help themselves.

The next day, Percy discovered his ball stash and was not a happy pup:

We had to let him choose one to bring back.

Two days later they were all gone.

And I thought that was the end of the story, but this has had two side effects:

  1. This is the most popular post on that particular Facebook group that I’ve ever seen…
  2. Pretty much all the local dog walkers now know Percy and greet him, asking how many balls he’s found this week, how many are piling up back at home or just telling him what a good boy he is.

And that makes me and him smile :o)

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The worlds most expensive socks?

Posted on April 25, 2023 by thepogblog

Sometime at the end of last year I was with a group of people talking about hobbies and I said I like to crochet.  Someone else said they did too and they were making a pair of socks and I impressed on the group that this person was clearly very good, as making two things that were totally identical was really hard; I’d tried, but never managed it.  Another person in the group grabbed hold of this fact and spent a fair bit of time over the duration of the get together coming back to the fact that I couldn’t make two things that matched.  It was a bit weird.  And really pissed me off.

I’m not bad at crochet.  I taught myself quite a few years ago and have crocheted everything from plain squares to hats to jumpers to toys to the toppers on my wedding cake.  I had tried to make a pair of slippers for my nephew once though and they had gone very, very wrong.  And on one of my jumpers one arm is a row or two longer than the other, but you’d never notice… But it did make me wary of trying anything like socks, but like I say, this woman pissed me off so… Ta Dah:

I made me some socks.  I worked out that they took around 40 hours to make.  So at minimum wage and without wool, they cost £407.20.  The only item of clothing I have ever bought that cost more than that is my wedding dress.  But two fingers to that lady…I had done it.  And was never going to do it again.

Until we went to Cornwall and I thought it would be a lovely thing to make some for Mr R.  And obviously the second pair would not take as long as the first, would they?

They did.

But they match each other too!

And they match mine:

And we now have his and hers socks.  Which and cosy and soft and lovely and both of us are too scared to wear as their combined value is over £800…

But don’t worry!  I have another pattern I am working on (I’m making this one up though, so who knows what will happen with it), and it makes me giggle every time I think of the (planned) end result.  You’ll have to wait a while to see photos of that though…hopefully it wont take as long as the socks :o)

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the power of apple crumble

Posted on April 21, 2023 by thepogblog

Beryl up the road is 92.

Beryl walks her dog every day, pretty much irrespective of the weather.  She is accompanied by Derrick (or maybe he is the one doing the accompanying) who I suspect is a fair bit younger, but probably still in his 80’s.  Derrick and Beryl both live alone and a few houses apart having both lost their spouses a fair while back.

Beryl fills a washing up bowl of water each day and carries it up the steps to the end of her pathway so all the passing dogs have the option of a fresh drink (at 92; the balance that woman has!).  Derrick has a hatred of seagulls, especially the ones that nest on his roof every year despite the spikes and scarers he has up there, and loves to comment on Mr R’s car and whether ‘it’s looking very smart’ or if ‘it needs a wash sharpish’.

A few months ago I saw Derrick walking both dogs alone and asked after Beryl. Beryl had collapsed and had to have an emergency operation and (at this point with an attempt at a smile but managing more like a gritting of his teeth) Derrick told me that Beryl hadn’t been allowed home alone, so was staying at his for a while…

Later at home I was making apple crumble and as usual got my quantities wrong.  The freezer was bursting at the seams (over cooking is a regular occurrence) and I hate throwing out food so I found two little pots and made an individual portion for each of them.  We had a tin of ready made custard in the cupboard so I popped it all in a bag and wandered up the road to knock on Derricks door.

Despite being 92 and a couple of days post op, Beryl came to the door and invited me in as it turned out, Derrick had gone out.  It was a little awkward as to that point we’d only over exchanged hellos and commented on the weather being good for dog walking, bad for dog walking or possibly about to change.  But you don’t get to 92 without the ability to keep up a chatter it seems and Beryl was the chatter mistress.

And here is the point of this story (sorry – I couldn’t get straight to it and miss you out on the picture of this lovely pair who are such characters):  I asked Beryl how long she’d lived in her house (since the 60s) and where she’d moved from.

‘Bumpkinstown’ she replied.  MY Bumpkinstown.  The town the entire maternal side of my family had always lived.

Quick calculations (not my strong point) suggested that she was significantly younger than my grandparents would have been but only 10 year or so older than my aunt.  I asked where she’d lived (I knew all the roads she mentioned) and worked (a bit more tricky as so much had changed) and in the end just asked if she knew anyone by the name of Barton – Mums maiden name.  She didn’t.  But then remembered a George Barton in a nearby Bumpkinsville.

It turned out Beryl knew my nanny’s cousin.

So:

1) that’s what a small world it is and

2) You never know what a homemade apple crumble will uncover… :o)

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How old?

Posted on April 18, 2023 by thepogblog

I went to see Mum and Dad today.

I took Mum to the garden centre and on the way – I don’t remember why – she asked how old she is.  I am utterly rubbish when it comes to peoples ages; my nephew, niece, friends, children of friends, Mr R, my own… are almost all complete mysteries to me.  So I really wasn’t the best person for her to ask.

I asked if she knew what year she was born – nope.  But then I (thought I) remembered that she was thirty when she had me and as it’s only just over a month since my birthday I knew I was 47.  ‘You’re 77 Mum!’ I informed her, quite proudly as…well, see above.

You need to know that these days Mum gets VERY grumpy, VERY fast.  There are a lot of eggshells around, only sometimes you don’t have a clue that it’s a moment where you need to tread gently.

‘I. Am. Not.’ She said slowly.

I explained the foolproof  way I’d worked it out and she laughed in a ‘you’re being an idiot’ sort of way that only your Mum can do so perfectly that you promptly doubt whatever you just said or did.  ‘Don’t be stupid, you’re not 47; you’re in your thirties.’ She informed me.

Lordy, I wish.  (Well, part of me wishes…).

There was an abrupt change of subject and I assumed that I’d totally unintentionally stomped all over those eggshells. We went and bought plants and had coffee and was right with the world again.  Mostly.

When I took her home I checked with Dad.  It turns out that Mum was 29 when she had me, making her 76, not 77.

And it turns out that was absolutely fine with her….

I’m still unsure how old she thinks anyone else is though, so that’s now formally marked up as an eggshell topic.

On the upside, my Mum thinks I’m around 20 years younger than I am and I’ll take that.  And maybe I’ll take her to the opticians next time I visit… :o)

And here is Norman, almost thirteen years old and proving that age is just a number and you can pretend to be a shoe however old or young you are.

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An uneventful week away…

Posted on April 12, 2023 by thepogblog

Last week we went to Cornwall; me, Mr R, the boys (2×2 legs, 1×4 legs) and Nanna and Pops.  (Nanna and Pops stayed in the house next door to save their sanity).

20 minutes after arriving Percy hurtled upstairs into the cottage bedroom that he was definitely not allowed in and threw up.  Twice.

The next day he split his lip and cut his face running into a wall.

The next day he pulled me over into a gorse bush as we attempted a very badly thought out cliff top walk.

The day after we both got covered in stinging nettle stings trying to walk up stream to find a ball he’d dropped (turned out it hadn’t made it down stream as far as I thought and we ended up having to break into a garden to retrieve it).

It might have been the day after that when booking a table at the local pub for dinner, Mr R didn’t duck sufficiently at a low door and scalped himself, resulting in far more blood that anyone should loose at 9.30am.  Two first aid boxes, many staff and a lot of suggestions of ambulances later, we made it back to the cottage for a quiet day of recovery.

And on the last day after two (one more than was sensible, it turned out), trips to the beach, Percy threw up an epic seven times.

But happily everyone was in good health to make it back home in one piece. :o)

(And in other news, we had an amazing time which included stunning scenery,  exploration of a few new places, a trip to the Minack theatre and much catching up with Nanna and Pops.)

Here’s a few photos:

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The mysteries of teenage boys laundry

Posted on March 28, 2023 by thepogblog

Well hello there!

It’s been a while (again!).  I was going to do a ‘this is where I am and why I’ve not posted for a while’ update, but thought I’d just get back to it…and try to stick to it (again).

So I thought I’d share my mystery of the week for you.  Laundry.  Specifically teenage boy laundry.

I washed everything in their laundry basket and ours yesterday.  It would have been the clothes they wore on Saturday (Friday had already been done and they went back to their Mums on Sunday).  I folded it all up after to discover:

  • Two pairs of tracksuit bottoms
  • One t-shirt
  • One pair of boxers
  • Five socks (one pair, three randoms)

I have questions.  But the key one is how many years does it take for boys to understand the rule of : ‘if it goes on your bits, pits or feet it goes in the wash’?  Because seriously, there is only so many times you can have that conversation….surely?

:o)

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