Gibb River Hilton – Part 7 “Morning Gorgy”

Forget Jane Fonda girls, “morning gorgy” is the way to get those buns of steel!  And you know, I wasn’t too keen to begin with, but after seeing the Grey Nomads charging through, I decided if they can do it, then so can I!  And I’m not talking about gorging on chocolate and cheesecake either, I’m talking about gorging on good old eco tourism.  It’s still a definite buzz word up this way, everybody’s doing it!

Mr W. and I have done lots of gorging on our trip … Windjana, Lennard’s, Galvan’s, Amalia, Moonshine, Emma … you could say that we’re “all gorged out”.  Needless to say I’ve got buns of steel and skinny ankles to match.  No seriously … although whether the buns of steel are from “gorging” or squatting is anybody’s guess.

After the second gorge, I decided that I wanted to be a tour guide.  It all seems so glamourous.  And then I started talking to the tour guides, who told me that they have to drive and cook, as well as do bush mechanics on the side of the road if the bus breaks down.  And then the second light bulb struck … Mr W. and I could do it together.  For some reason, he wasn’t as keen on this idea as I was.  In fact, his answer … “I’m not sure if I want to”.  Something about being stuck with me 24 hours a day, doing all the work.  I don’t know, I tuned out … I was too busy day dreaming about leading a group of tourists through gorges by day and dining out under the stars at night.  Personally, I didn’t see the problem.

Now, I’d like to share some more of my “gorge wisdom” with you … just a few tit bits I’ve picked up along the way:

  • Cookie Monster knickers are apparently not appropriate attire for swimming at Emma Gorge whilst in the company of a tour bus (according to Mr W.).  But with boobs like mine, you can’t exactly go hiking through gorges in bikini tops.
  • Try and go to the loo prior to embarking on a walk into the gorge, especially if it’s going to be a few hours.  The sound of running water will get you everytime (and take it from me, trying to squat on top of a gorge and hide from other tourists  at the same time is no mean feat).
  • If the sign says to take a couple of litres of water, it’s probably not a bad idea, after all, they are the experts.  I’m just saying.

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 6 “Digital Detox … well my version of it”

Everyone is mad keen for a “digital detox” these days.  Not me … well not voluntarily anyway.  Part of Mr W. & my big adventure was an enforced digital detox on my behalf.  And let me tell you, there was not soft landing, it was straight out cold turkey.  Now you may think that this sounds easy, but remember not only am I a mad keen blogger, I also run an online jewellery business and my iphone is normally surgically attached to my body …

I mean, you’re talking to a girl, that on the 2nd June was sitting at an outback caravan park as opposed to where I would normally be … SATC2 premiere with a glass of Moet in my hand.  How life changes hey.

My first part of the detox happened straight up … 4 days at 80 Mile Beach where there is not so much as a hint of phone reception or internet access.  In fact they haven’t had any since Cyclone Lawrence ripped through last year.  I was completely cut off.  Although I did find a place to plug my laptop in so that I can write my blogs … thank goodness.  I walked up to the little “mini mart” at the caravan park and used their power.   And this actually worked out fabulous as I had a chance to talk to all the Grey Nomads … about sex and other things lol … (I’m sure you would have read my “Post Cards from 80 Mile Beach” …)

Now going cold turkey was bloody hard … ask Mr W. … he had to put up with my mood swings, sweating and shaking.  God bless his cotton socks he was still talking to me after 4 days of this … just.  Although let me tell you, he couldn’t get me to Broome quick enough.  In fact, at this point, I had decided that this whole trip was just a cruel ploy to make me detox from my entire life.  Everything I loved was gone … mobile phone, internet, music, chocolate, wine in a bottle, my mum, my hair straightners, hot showers, toilets, my hair dryer, sex … you name it, it’s wasn’t there …

And so, you can imagine that by the time I got to Broome, I was sweating at the thought of being so close to being able to plug in.  We ended up at the Roey Hotel … everyone else was out the back enjoying a beer in sun … I was at the bar, my laptop plugged in to the nearest power point uploading my latest blog and trying to upload photos to Facebook.  Yes, yes, I know it’s sad … but come on, you love my blogs don’t you?  I had a 2 hour window to post all the blogs I’d written, check 1000 emails, maintain my website and play on FB … it was a close call.

We then went to Derby, where I had it all for 2 days.  Oh how I remember those 2 glorious days.  And then … it was time for the Gibb River Road … no phone, no internet, no power.  How would I cope??  I think Mr W. just wanted to leave me in Derby with the Boab Trees and a power point.  But I was determined …

And you know what, it was actually quite refreshing (yes, I know you think I’ve been drinking that cask wine again … well only a few glasses, it’s only 11am after all).  It really was nice not to have to worry about my phone ringing or FB beeping … well for a week anyway.  For that week I swapped annoying mobile phones for a million stars in the sky, camp fires, amazing sunsets and adventures from your wildest dreams.  And I hope Mr W. is reading this, because he probably thinks that I just whinge all the time … but really I did enjoy it.  Well, almost all of it 😉

Even though I had no internet ... I still managed to do some blogging at Windjana Gorge, even though I couldn't post it ... this was the first day on the GRR ...

And so now that I’ve returned to what we call civilisation I think that I might make a few changes, after living without all these mod cons for a few weeks.  I’m not saying that I’m throwing away my Iphone … but I might only check my emails a few times a day, rather than be on it all day.  Well, I’ll try, obviously I can’t promise anything … I am a mad keen blogger after all!!!

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 5 “60km of Hell”

Have you ever wondered what hell would be like?  Well, I’ll give you my version … driving 60km along a heavily corrugated gravel road … one that has not been graded for a very very long time.  A road that you should not attempt to drive on without wearing your best sports bra, unless you want black eyes … unfortunately for me I was not wearing the best bra money can buy on this particular day … although it did provide much entertainment for Mr W.

And I know that before I left everyone told me to watch out for the corrugations because last time they went camping they came home pregnant.  Ha ha to be honest, I didn’t really get it … and then after a few kilometres of corrugations I started to understand, although the corrugations on Kalumburu Road certainly did nothing for my desire to bare children lol.

And to make things even more fun, about half way along the road to Drysdale River Station (DRS), which is about 60km off the Gibb River Road, Mr W. turned to me and said, “baby, we’ve got no brakes”.  Certainly not the words you want to hear when you’re travelling 80km per hour on a gravel road with a camper trailer behind you.  I laughed nervously and replied “whatever” … to which Mr W. demonstrated the fact that we really didn’t have any brakes  by pumping the pedal furiously without even slowing down.  Oh yay I thought, I’m going to die on the Gibb River Road wearing a really bad bra.  Not how I saw my life ending.

A few kilometres down the track the brakes returned, however this little issue remained with us all the way to DRS.  Apparently the corrugations put air bubbles into the brake fluid, or something.  I wasn’t really listening, I was more concerned that the corrugations might have burst a can of rum or worse … popped the silver bag holding my cask wine (yes you read right, I’ve become quite a fan … for safety reasons obviously).

And so, we arrived at DRS and Mr. W. gave me the task of going to book in for a couple of nights.  I had never done this, so I jumped out of the car and walked straight into the booking office/store.  Here I was greeted by a lady, obviously the owner, or at least someone who had been living on the station for an awful long time.  Well, she took one look at me and decided that I was definitely in the wrong place.   Mr W. had come in by this stage and was trying hard not to giggle at the lady’s complete lack of desire to converse with me.  In fact, even though I asked her the questions, she turned to Mr W. and spoke to him, as if I did not understand her.  She told Mr W. that there were no more powered sites, to which I proclaimed “but how am I going to charge up my laptop?”.  Apparently I wasn’t helping myself!  Turns out I found a place to get some power though!!

Mr W. informed me later that she picked me as “princess” a mile off.  I looked at him, dumbfounded that even without my nails, my “princess” status was so obvious.  “But honey”, I said, “I’m wearing an Akubra, surely that disguises any princess tendencies”.  This made Mr W. laugh even harder.  He told me that actually, this made me look even more like a princess.   A concept which I pondered with several glasses of cask wine …

Do you think I look like a princess? 😉 lol

I did however find it hilarious that there is a full mechanics workshop at DRS … full of cars that didn’t make it across 60km of hell.  Actually if you sit there long enough you can watch them all come in, one after the other being towed behind a grader.  I decided that this is why they don’t grade the road, they make more money out of fixing everyone’s cars!!  I’ve taken a few photos of life on the station … even though it is quite touristy now, it’s still has the bones of a station … there’s even still some hot ringers floating around (well … not as hot as Mr W. of course 😉

This is the coin phone at the station ... no internet or mobile reception here!!!

Mechanics Workshop

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 4 First Day on the Gibb “Diesel Starts with a D”

Well today was special in many ways … not only was it mine and Mr. W.’s 3 month anniversary (and yes, yes I know 3 months in a drop in the ocean, but when you decide to move 1200 km to the edge of the desert to be together after only 2 weeks, 3 months is a bloody long time!) but it was also our first day on the Gibb River Road..  Anyway, today was memorable for many different reasons … and none of them romantic … despite the fact that it was our anniversary!

Well … the day started like any other … we woke up at 6am, had brekky, packed up ready to leave for the great Gibb River Road.  We needed to get some Diesel on the way out …  yes, note that Diesel starts with a D.  We have 2 tanks … you need them up here.  And so you can imagine Mr W.’s face when I suddenly realised after 80 Litres, that it was unleaded that I had put in the tank and not Diesel (for those of you, like me, who are unaware of the size of a petrol tank, 80 Litres is well over a tank of fuel).  My Bad.  To his credit, Mr W. stayed very calm.  There was no syphoning.  We just decided that we would chance it, and top up with Diesel.  After all, a wise man once said to me that running a Diesel car on Unleaded is just like drinking diet coke.  I’ll let you know how this turns out later …

But that wasn’t the really fun part.  We trekked on over to the other servo to fill the jerry cans with Diesel (I didn’t want the other servo to know my little screw up!) when Mr W. decided it would be a good time to rearrange the back of the car.  This involved a fishing rod with a large triple barb lure which was stuck in the marine carpet on the side of the Patrol.  Well, Mr W. told me to move it, but being the smart princess that I am, I turned around to put my gloves on (that’s a whole other story) … by the time I turned around, Mr W. was standing there, a big hook through his finger and a large colourful fish hanging off the side of his right ring finger.  Oh ho hum … safety starts at home!!!!.

It was a big decision … do we pull it out ourselves or seek medical attention?  Hmmm big decision.  Well side cutters were definitely required, so we popped into the mechanic next door and asked him for a pair.  You can imagine his face when I used them to cut the hook that was hanging out of Mr. W.’s finger  before casually placing them on the counter, thanking him and walking out.  The things you do in Derby huh!!!.

Now I must say, Mr W. is my hero in so many ways.  Mainly because before driving himself to the hospital (I think he thought this was safer than trusting me with the trailer) he strapped 2 20L jerry cans of Diesel to the roof.  That’s my man.

And so we rocked up at the hospital Emergency Department where they x-rayed Mr W.’s hand which showed the hook sitting just beside the bone in his right ring finger.  Nice work.  And so, after some handy work with a scalpel, the lovely Doctor pushed the hook back through Mr W.’s finger.  He was so brave, he didn’t even bat an eyelid.   I made sure that they put the hook in a jar for us to take home and put next the x-ray (which I’m going to frame as a momento to remind Mr W. that sometimes princesses really do know best … well unless you take Diesel).

And so, off on the great Gibb River Road we go … stay tuned for our next lot of adventures!!

pp xx

Ps … In Mr W.’s defence … we did have a “date” at the wharf restaurant the night before, which included a little walk on the Derby Jetty … there was no mention of our anniversary … but you know what … it was still lovely.  Thank you baby xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 3 “Doritos Are A Meal, Aren’t They?” …

What does your other half refer to you as?  Mine, god bless him, often calls me his “cook”.  Now, I used to get rather offended at this title … but a few months in, I’m beginning to understand that this is just a term of endearment (well, I’m going with that ok, otherwise I’m going to start crying again).

Anyway, I’m not alone in my status as “cook”.  Mr W. was not stupid when he came camping with all these chicks … he has his own team of personal chefs, although, that’s not to say that he doesn’t pitch in … or at least pick up the wooden spoon when the camera is around.

We have been eating like Kings since arriving … we’ve had spaghetti and meatballs, the most amazing chicken curry, “bush cheeseburgers”, a rather impressive bbq complete with garlic bread and couscous, pork chops and scotch fillet … and that’s not to mention the Turkish bread and chilli oil we had for entree last night.  It really has been a culinary affair.

Mr W.'s "Bush Burger" ... who needs the Golden Arches?

Well until the fourth night when we got a bit lost, missed the turning to James Price Point and ended up in Middle Lagoon at about 6.30 … completely pitch black dark and had to set up camp … so it was just a bag of Doritos for dinner that night.  And not pointing any fingers … Mr W. … 😉

I think the thing that makes me laugh most about camping is the massive effort that goes into every meal.  Maybe it’s cos there isn’t much else to do … but it is always such an ordeal to get everything ready.  I mean, take my attempt at making spaghetti and meatballs on the edge of the Great Sandy Desert.  We had to get the neighbours to boil the spaghetti (cos we only had a single gas burner and you’re not allowed to light fires here) while we cooked the sauce and the meatballs.  This nearly resulted in The Gibb River Inferno as the little gas burner caught alight inside.  A rather intoxicated Mr W. just stood and looked at me while I explained to him that our kitchen was about to burn down.  Five minutes later his brain must have returned to the building and he managed to put out the fire and save the Hilton.  Lucky.

And this doesn’t even begin to compare to the home made colander we had to make in order to drain the rice for the curry.  Turns out if you punch holes in the bottom on a 2L Mount Franklin bottle it is the perfect way to drain rice.  We want to cook rice every night now just so that we can use it again.

Now before I go, I would like to share with you some wisdom that Mr W. imparted upon us last night while we were all sitting around looking at the stars.  He said, I learned a long time ago not to upset the room cleaner, the cook or the bar maid.  I looked over to Mr W. and I said, honey, I’m all of those things to you and you upset me all the time.  I think this was the first time I’ve ever seen Mr W. speechless.  He didn’t have answer to that one.  Ha ha love it.

pp xx

Post Cards From Eighty Mile Beach – Part 2 “If It’s Rockin, Don’t Come A Knockin …”

Now, the next part of my story, is really where I found the inspiration to write this little insight into Eighty Mile Beach.  Meeting a couple of these “grey nomads” … it made me want to sit down and interview them … their views on life were just fascinating.  I was walking past one van this morning and I asked the old bloke out the front how he was.  He replied “I’m always good … and some days I’m better!”  What an awesome way to look at life!

After being stuck down in the boondocks on an unpowered site, I brought my laptop up to the shop so that I could do some “blogging” and give it a bit of charge.  An older couple (I’m not calling them elderly, but let’s say they definitely had a hell of a head start on me) saw my laptop and started talking about their hard drive that had just crashed (because he dropped it apparently, according to the wife).  They have been here for 6 months … yep that’s right they just pulled up, loved it and stayed.

Anyway, we got talking and I started telling them “my story” … how I had just moved from the city to the desert for love and the fact that we had only been together just under 3 months when we are embarking on the camping trip of a lifetime.  The old bloke said to me, “gee whiz love you and your bloke must be horny devils to move so quickly”.  This really made me giggle … it was like talking to your granddad about sex.  Anyway, his wife went on to tell me that they got married in a registry office after knowing each other for just 2 days … and are still together 43 years later.

Then her husband proceeded to tell me that everyone just gets married for the sex.  But he said you should always get married to someone you can talk to … because when the sex fades that’s all that’s left.  Good advice really.  So he told me that I should marry my best friend.  Someone I can see myself nattering away with when I’m a GN.

Just wait til Mr W. hears about this … hmmmm when the sex fades?  What if it already has.  Actually Mr W. told me last night that there is no sex for a whole month, out of respect for our camp buddies (there is no privacy when you’re camping).  Um, no one told me this when I signed up for a month in the outback.  If I had of known this, I would have stayed home!  What about my fantasies of making love under a sky full of stars and stealing 10 minutes in the sand dunes late one evening?  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, camping is not romantic!  Is this why the grey nomads like living in such close proximity to one another … they like knowing that sex is just totally out of the question?

Although, it’s obviously not like that for this GN couple.  They have a sign on their van that says “if it’s rockin, don’t come a knockin”.  Priceless.  I went and had a chat to this lovely old bloke.  He let me take a photo of his van … and his car with the funniest number plate I’ve seen, well when you think that the owner is over 60.

pp xx

Post Cards from Eighty Mile Beach … The Grey Nomads Know Where It’s At …

I had never really pondered life as a Grey Nomad (GN) until I got to Eight Mile Beach.  Now, you really have to see it to believe it (and believe me I’ve tried to capture it with the photos below).  It’s a whole other world here at Eighty Mile.  It’s filled with self proclaimed “professional retirees”.  And I can tell you, we can learn so much from the GNs.  They seem to have it going on. I mean, one look at their camp site tells you that they know where it’s at.  It seems an “Adventure in Dementia” is just what the doctor ordered.

While we have been tucked at the back of park (obviously because we are 30 years too young to be anywhere near the front), the GNs have lined the park with their “motor homes” and caravans … and some of them are too big to be called caravans.  They have lcd televisions and satellite dishes, the latest four wheel drives, washing machines, dish washers, Australian Flags, herb gardens, home-made shell mobiles.  You name it, they’ve got it.  They make our camp look amateur!

They even have golf buggies and four wheel motorbikes, for those that are not quite fit enough to wonder round the park under their own steam.  We watched yesterday as one of the old blokes did bog laps around the park on his quad bike … every 10 minutes he would come back, park up and go inside … and then before you knew it, he was back out and on the bike again.  Perhaps him and his wife were not having a good day?  Although we saw them holding hands last night, so all must be ok.

Actually turns out that it’s in your best interest to make friends with a quad bike riding GN … you see when you’re like a kilometre away from the shop and you buy 5 bags of ice to keep the beer cold … the oldies can run it back to your camp site for you.  Problem solvered!

Upon walking around the park, I noticed that they all have their names on their vans.  I asked Mr W. if this was in case they forgot who they were (well come on, you’ve seen the van, they even admit they have dementia).  No no, apparently this isn’t a friendly reminder.  It’s so they can talk to each other on their radios.  Ahhh ain’t life sweet.  They’ve even developed their own communication system!

On Wednesdays and Sundays they have a market in the little grassed area in the middle of the park, complete with their own raffle (if you have a stall, you have to donate something to the raffle).  They even have an old bloke by the name of “Denim Blue” singing old school tunes to get the party started.  Like I said, they know where the party’s at!  And if you’re really lucky, you might even see some fifty plus ladies running around in their bikinis.  Although don’t break your neck to get here for that.  It’s not as funny as it sounds.

Some of these GNs have been here for months, some of them come every year for the winter.  Like Brian and Margaret who are from Dunsborough.  At the end of April every year they pack up and head up here to Eighty Mile. They stay til September and then they go home to enjoy the summer all over again!

Like I said, they know where the party’s at.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of “Post Cards from Eighty Mile” …

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 2 “It’s a Steep Decline into Cask Wine”

Well … we’re on the road … and by we I mean, Mr W., me and 3 other chicks.  Yes, that’s right.  Mr W. is camping with 4 women (he will have 7 women by the time we get to Derby!).  A lucky man you may say … and you know I think that at the time he thought so too.  However now he’s actually on the road, I think perhaps his perception has changed.  Now you may ask how a good looking rooster like Mr W. ended up at Eighty Mile Beach with his gorgeous princess and 3 other lovely ladies, but that my friends is a whole other story … which I might leave for another day.

So Mr W. and I left on Tuesday and headed to Port Hedland.  We shared the disappointment at how the cheeseburgers really didn’t taste as good as we remember.  And Mr W. held me as I cried when they removed my acrylic nails.  Yes folks, you heard it here first.  It was decided that acrylic nails and camping were not a great combination … and so a lovely lady in Port Hedland removed them for me.  After not feeling my finger tips for well over 2 years, you can imagine the shock.

After a night in Port Hedland, we have ended up at Eighty Mile Beach.  A beautiful caravan park (before Cyclone Lawrence got hold of it).  It’s no longer a green oasis on the edge of the Great Sandy Desert … although the beach is still spectacular!

Now, after about 3 days of camping I really have learned a lot.  And like any good princess, I feel that it’s my duty to share these lessons with you, so that they may help you on your way, especially if you ever find yourself out here …

  • Don’t eat copious amounts of chilli prior to undertaking a four hour drive.  If you would like further details on this, please feel free to contact Mr W.  He will be only too happy to share his experiences.  It’s quite funny to see him charging through the bush like a bull that’s just seen a red rag, roll of toilet paper in his hand, holding his belly and thinking the world is about to end.
  • Spinifex hurt.  No seriously, they are very painful … especially when you are traipsing across the country side in thongs and get them stuck in your feet.  Note to self … while sneakers may not be the height of fashion, they will prevent serious injury.
  • Racehorse goannas bite!  They may look cute from a distance … but they aren’t much fun close up …especially when you see the size of their claws!
  • When travelling cask wine is a much safer option than bottles (and remember, this side of the Tropic of Capricorn, it’s all about safety).  However, it should also be noted that sometimes, you can’t buy more than 2 casks at a time (which is bad when you are heading bush for 4 days) and often, these casks can’t be purchased prior to 2pm.  Again, remember that you often end up drinking way before breakfast up here.  And even flashing certain parts of your body will not change the Bottle Shop Attendant’s mind, just in case you were wondering.
  • Leaving casks of red wine in the sun makes port.  Port made in this manner is not pleasant.
  • When camping you need to multitask.  You can use the power points in the caravan park ablution blocks to charge your laptop and camera while you shave your legs.  It’s just good time management really.  Well that and generators are not allowed in the caravan park … no matter how much you argue with the ranger.
  • Bourbon and coke is a very acceptable alternative to coffee upon waking while camping.  In fact watching the sunrise with a bourbon is something you really should put on your bucket list.
  • If you don’t have shot glasses, just have “Bush Jagers” … a swig of Jager straight from the bottle, followed by a swig of red bull … shake your head side to side to mix them together and then swallow.  Continue until there is no red bull left.  This is great fun at 10am in the morning … really sets you up for the rest of the day.
  • Camping is not romantic.  You don’t make love under the stars and snuggle up together in a sleeping bag.  You don’t sip wine and watch the sun go down, holding hands.  And you certainly don’t stay up all night getting to know each other better.  No girls, it’s really not what you thought.  Although … I’m sure that Mr W. has some romantic things planned for later in the trip … don’t you darling?
  • When the “tide guide” says high tide at 2.30am …. you can’t go fishing at 2.30am and expect to catch anything.  You need to be there approximately 3 hours before high tide.  However waking up at 2.30am for a failed fishing expedition is a great excuse to stay up drinking for the rest of the night.  There is nothing like greeting your princess in the morning with bourbon breath.
  • Ooooh and back to the cheeseburgers that weren’t as great as we remembered … well turns out that if you have leftovers, wrap them in alfoil and put them in the campfire the next morning … they actually don’t make a bad breakfast!

My stash of cask wine ... OMG!!

That's the Gibb River Hilton on the right ...

Racehorse Goanna

Amazing 80 Mile Beach Sunset

Tomorrow we are heading to Broome and then to Derby … and then the real fun begins.  After that point there are no more showers or swimming for that matter, unless you want to be eaten by a crocodile.  And so you can imagine I am just about bursting out of my crusty salty skin to get to that bit.

Until next time … keep the bourbon cold and the casks out of the sun.

pp xx

ps … I’ll be out of internet range again for about 3 days, so my next post will probably when we get to Derby on Monday or Tuesday … and lots more photos … I’m sitting in a pub with my laptop plugged in at the bar in order to post this!!   pp xx

It’s black … it’s white …

I’ve never been much of a dog lover … in fact I hate most dogs … mainly due to a number of traumatic dog related experiences as a child.  Firstly there was my Uncle’s dog that bit me when I stepped on his foot to reach out for a bowl of ice cream (come on I was only 6) … and then when I was 15 our next door neighbour’s dog ate my Tokinese kitten.  And then there’s the fact that when I left home at 17 to go to uni my parents bought a Jack Russell crossed with a poodle (no I’m not giving that breed a capital letter) and named it Ben after a certain West Coast Eagles player.  I still hate that dog … call it sibling rivalry, he’s like the grandchild they never had!

So, knowing all this, you can imagine the laughs I got when everyone found out that I was moving to Newman with Mr W. … and his two dogs … rendering me “step mum”.

These two dogs, let’s call them “Black Dog” and “White Dog” to protect their identites (lol) are both Staffies … Black Dog is a girl and White Dog is a boy.  Sounds like it could be romantic.  It’s not.

those who shall remain nameless ...

My mother in particular thought it hillarious that upon meeting the dogs for the first time I bought them Schmakos and rolled around on the floor and played with them.  Awwhhhh the things you do for love.   It was my mother who also stated she would love to see me pick up after the little poppets, but, you know that a girl will do anything to impress a good looking man.  Well, that and my mother bought me a pooper scooper.  God bless her and her wacky sense of humour.

Well, after a good month, me and the dogs have developed quite a good relationship.  If they don’t annoy me too much I take them for a walk.  I even remember to feed them most nights.  Actually, I have to admit … they really have worked their way into my heart.  I actually look forward to being woken up with White Dogs tongue all over my face (I’m sure you noticed it in the photo).  Sometimes I even let them sleep on the end of the bed if Mr W. goes to work early and I haven’t quite gotten up.  And I can’t help but cuddle up with them on the couch while I’m watching telly … that is if they’re not all snuggled up with Mr W … and this bring us to a real bone of contention with me at the moment.  I just can’t get used to the fact that the dogs get more cuddles than me.

Mr W. says to me that he is just not a cuddly, touchy feely kind of guy … he likes his own space.  Meanwhile he is curled up on the couch with black dog on one side and white dog on the other.  Seriously, sometimes I wish I could grow fur.  Especially when he tells black dog what a beautiful girl she is.  Come on, my coat is shiny too!!!  I really thought Black Dog and I would be, well you know, best girlfriends … but gee whiz … she gets more compliments than I do.  Maybe White Dog and I have more in common that I first realised.  He is a very jealous dog … if Black Dog is getting attention then he wants in on it … perhaps we really aren’t that different.

Actually, Mr W. has even admitted that there are 3 spots in his world … and I’m second*.  The dogs are equal first.  And due to the fact that I was so dumbfounded about coming second, I can’t for the life of me remember what or who came third … beer perhaps?

pp xx

* Upon showing this piece to Mr W. he has moved me to Number 1.  The dogs are number 2 and 3 … depending on who has dug up the garden on said day (yesterday they both dug a hole … tough choice).  Hmmmm does he think this makes up for his Tuesday night near death experience?  Honey, if you’re reading … it doesn’t.  You’ll have to go just that little bit further.