Waking up to a thumping headache, a headache born of far too much of last evening’s scarlet Bordeaux, a bleary eyed cursory morning glance toward the bedside table only to spot what I thought had been the stuff of dissolving dreams, namely a post-it note I’d scribbled upon that read, ‘Miss Rosie Mayday Lily Eve Blamey-Steeden’.

A few four-letter words later, plus a question to self, “Did I really write that…what planet was I on?”

I’ll explain. After days and days of wretched insomnia, a genuine madness about me and my old adversary ‘corbeau sombre’ lurking on a branch in the immediate background, a promise made at sunset the previous day was to become a reality. ‘Miss Rosie Mayday Lily Eve Blamey-Steeden’…what a ridiculous handle if there ever was one, and I should know having written it…a puppy dog, a baby lurcher to be precise, was the promise made, and promises must be kept. What happened was, sat in the garden with Shirl d’Arc as the sun went down, me having taken advice from my good friend Frenchy Ted who has been successfully using this technique nightly for the last 200 years, that a bucket of wine would cure said insomnia…it did, by the way…I noted that Ms d’Arc was thumbing her way through a canine listing on her iPad, and from the corner of my eye, the little gal, a gypsy princess appeared. “Let’s make her ours, Shirl. She’s beautiful, just 11 weeks old, you say. It’s been a few years since Skipper snuffed it. It’s about time.”

“Are you serious? You are pissed after all.”

“True enough, I am a tad Brahms and Liszt. The thing is, as you well know, I’m sick and tired of ‘we don’t want them here’ Brexit morons, self-centered right wing grinning politicians and Corona mania tedium. They’re all doing my head in. Dogs never let you down. I want that one. She’ll save my sanity; she’ll change our world for the better and importantly, we’ll make double-sure she has a great life. Anyhow, are you good with that?”

“What do you think? Of course I am you stupid old fool.”

Early the next day, a visit to the farmer selling his delightful crop of puppies, a few quid and a car ride home, enter the renamed ‘Rosie’ into our lives. We’ve fallen in love with her.

Thus far Rosie has got the better of me. For example, me sat upon the loo, day one, the sweet love collared one of my slippers, rushed into hiding at an impressive rate of knots only to rip it to sheds. Did I care? Not a jot. When I found her I gifted her the other slipper…I’d not much use for it unless I have a foot amputation.

She’s had her inoculations and it’s only a few days away when Rosie can take to the outside world. We can’t wait. Thankfully dear Shirl has been training dogs all her life, so all will be well.

Rosie is a busy little rascal consuming all our time presently. For the immediate future she needs me more than I need putting pen to paper, hence I’ll be off the WP menu for a week or so. Good fortune to one and all. Regards, The Old Fool   

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57 thoughts on “ROSIE

    1. My thanks, Leslie. Rosie does everything Shirl asks. I find it amusing that she blanks me on the odd occasions when I ask her to behave! A clever gal for sure.

  1. I hope your gypsy rose brings you much joy, laughter and sanity from world’s chaotic overture. Now you someone other thank Shirl to spin those great yarns to.

    1. Cheers, Sir. Rosie is still in puppy mode, exploring the place, yet already settling in. Even as a little one, she’s a million times better than those who create that chaos. Best regards, Sir

    1. My thanks Ms S. Do you find insomnia is at its worse when your halfway through writing a book? I’d thought for ages its cause was born of the evil side of politics, and to a large extent that is true, but managing the development of a story does ‘my brain in’…in a good way as well as bad. Little Rosie is doing fine. She as good as gold with Shirl but has worked out I’m a soft touch. It’s her eyes that win me over. We’re getting there though.

      1. A soft touch? Yep I can believe it actually Insomnia? There’s time’s writing when the whole scene goes in circles in my head over and over… The one I am maybe trying to figure usually. I want a mallet. I want agun. That is the truth. Years back it was the same with stage scripts always during a play run. It was a nightmare. You’d be out there every night not having slept for God know’s how long.

      2. During a run must have been a torture when insomnia had its way. It is a truly rotten thing I’ve had my whole adult life. Still, somehow we all get by.

  2. Rosie is a darling. Of course shoes will be at the top of her menu for a year. As an avid dog lover I know al about the the indescribable affection and unconditional love that Rosie has in store for you.

    1. My thanks, young Holly. It’s wonderful to have a dog in the house again. When old Skipper died a few years back we thought we couldn’t go through another death. Heartbraking. Then along comes Rosie. She just had to be ours…we’ve noticed that not only are shoes on her menu, so are my socks, indeed my brand new bamboo ones. She’s forgiven, of course.

      1. I can so relate. I too decided no more pets after losing my Boston last year. I have two more now. They are esp good for the blood pressure. Wishing you many fun times ahead. good luck in the shoes and socks dept.

      2. Back in the day, well before Skipper, we had a brace of briards. A love and hate…mostly the former…relationship. Boy, could they be trouble when the mood got to them, but on the good side, they looked after George as a baby and wouldn’t let another soul near him. I’m now off to by slippers…cheap ones this time, given that Rosie will no doubt rip them apart! Have a splendid day.

    1. Ah, Yassy. I’m glad to see you here. You are one of the many who I ‘follow’ yet never see on my ‘reader’. I shall, of this moment, to read some of your sublime poetry. And, yes, little Rosie is lovely.

    1. A good point. To my wife, she is…already…the perfect Rosie. As far as I am concerned, in my company she is Mayday. She knows I’m a traditional softee. That said, it’s a long time since we’ve had a puppy at home. We’re enjoying it. My thanks for reading, Regards, The Old Fool

  3. Nothing like an adorable puppy to mellow the mood and make us remember we are soft and sentimental deep down.
    That said, a bucket of red wine has a similar effect on me, though it doesn’t last as long as a lovely dog.
    Best wishes, and a warm welcome to Rosie! 🙂

    1. Cheers, Pete. Sorry tgo take so very long to reply. Every time I get to this PC young Rosie…born on a farm and not used to a regular house…seems to piss all over the carpet. She’s getting better at last. Regards, The Old Fool

  4. Reblogged this on Commentary, Outrages, Prose and Poetry and commented:
    If you – when dog-ging has ground a bit off the edges – come back and find I have violated your trust by “reblogging” your charming piece of truth like leftover turds floating in an empty .50-caliber ammo can found one blistering July 4th on Timbakion, Creet’s cruel beach…the can held alternating layers of flat beer, thin red and thinner white alleged wines but more probably paint thinner and splashes alternatingly of some yellow so-called banana booze and what promised to grow up to be galliano next millenia, I immediately shall erase said offending post. Since you seem occasionally to see some of my stuff, though I should return serve as it were. Damn. Now I got another guilt to tack on my Harvey WallBoard of chores unattended. Mike Steeded has give our universe…ROSIE. I abate my breath (only somewhat and mostly figurative) further adventures. Thanks. J

    1. A reblog is always welcomed, Sir. It seems both you and I are on the cusp of lunacy…a fine thing, in my book. ‘Tis approaching 5pm on the White Cliffs of Dover, hence I shall be off down the pub with my old chum Frenchy Ted. Have a splendid evening. Regards, The Old Fool

    1. Cheers Sir, she certainly is. It’s about time the missus and I had another dog, and this little diamond is perfect…save for the occasional indoor widdle, yet already she’s getting the idea. Regards, The Old Fool

  5. I am soooo happy to see this. Unconditional love. That is what dogs bring to your life. Puppies have a lot of energy so you will be too busy to think about the world at large and all the grief within it. Bravo George. I hope you will post more about Rosie later.

    1. It certainly is, Pam. Rosie can be a handful at just 12 weeks, yet a ‘good’ handful…thus far she taken…a destroyed…a pair of Shirl’s knickers 5 days on the run and I’m on my third pair of slippers. The thing is, we don’t don’t care, ’tis all a game to her right now. Regards, The Old Fool

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