K8 the GR8

I is happy dog with special guest spot on my best friend’s blog I is Wouldye and this is me

Gives us high-fives!

She says she has meme from squirrel on Jefferson Davis’ blog and she give it to me-  I has never seen squirrel before so I has wags to meet one!

I says its difficult to type on keyboard with big paws so I got given Bonio to type with and my best friend sits beside me to tell me how to spell because I has gots no education- she is well clever that way- she also tell me to use fullstops but they are too slow- I use dash- Dash is good fun especially when tennisball is involved

I will tell you now about six quirks that I have-

1- I has wicked sense of humour!  I reads poem once what my mistress wrote about me and I tells her it is doggerel- She not get this joke but youz will because you is cleverer than what she is

2- I is loves cats and I doesn’t understand why dogs has such bad name for chasing cats- I thinks this is racial-  They have ass what smell just as nice as ours and have good skills for climbing so I is jealous- they’s don’t have much sense of humour though

3- My favourite things is sticks and rocks and tennisballs and golfballs- throwing these things makes my best friend very happy so I is glad to oblige- i even fetch from sea which is dangerous but well worth it for the GOOD BOY I gets shouted to.

4- I has had my balls cut off when I was puppy which is ruff but I don’ts remember what they were for so I is sure is for the best- it still all taste the same down there anyways-  My master says balls are for puppies but my mistress has two puppies already so that is plenty to guard for me

5- I don’t like bridges I think sticks are there to be fetched and not to walk on because it is well scary- I don’t see why youz two-legs don’t just swim across rivers cos this is way more fun and saves baths I don’t like baths either

6- I is notice that people don’t understand my name like the nasty ladies in the vets place- I is called Wouldye because I has clever master- He say ‘Wouldye fuck off’ so off I fucks with no needs for namby pamby middle names- like dog next door is called Fluffy because it is fluffy but any fools can sees that- Is funny too when mistress shouts ‘Wouldye get the ball!’ and strangers run to get my ball because they thinks she is angry with them and I laughs because they is so thick because I know she is talking to me

Best friend tells me I has to links to other animals for to see what their quirks is so I is choose:

Sandy (She is very shy so youz has to be nice to her)
Kat (See I told youz i is not racial)
Derby (Youz clicks the ads on his masters blog and it buyz him more Bonios- see?)

There’s a constant internal nagging stuck on loop in my head.  Every mother feels it in her own way, each worries needlessly if they’re caring enough, providing a good enough start for their kids, knowing deep down that to hug and to keep safe is all that really matters.

With Laughingboy, this feeling has more pronounced lows and highs.  The kid is six years old and completely dependant, meaning that he can’t ward off boredom by kicking a football against a wall, twiddling on a transformer, or even holding a blinking toy.  He just lies there, stuck in the position he was last left in, sometimes for hours on end.

I feel pangs for him when I’m pooching on the net, or fighting virtual baddies on the xbox - I think of how I could be using this time to sit with him and talk or read with him… anything, just to have him aware that I love him and haven’t forgotten him.  It’s stupid, I mean if I didn’t rest sometimes on the long path of motherhood, I’d go crazy, and I know that.

It’s just that when I see him stare into space as he usually does when there’s nothing visual to focus on, I wonder… if he doesn’t know frenzied exercise, doesn’t it stand to reason that he doesn’t know boredom?  I pray that my imagination is so limited that I have no idea of the wonderful stuff spinning through his mind as the hours crawl by, for it’s more than I could stand to think he lives his whole life in prepetual emptiness.

This would have been the case a hundred years ago.  Laughingboy would have been forced into a home or locked in a basement with no-one to hear his giggles, nothing to do all day but stare.

This isn’t a hundred years ago, though, it’s today.  The day of respite, the day of St. Catherine’s.  St. Catherines school, and others like her, are where you want to go if you ever want to meet an angel.

St. Catherine’s fills Laughingboy’s school days with activity; stuff like physiotherapy, swimming and singing.  If you thought Barney was on drugs, these people would Blow. Your. Mind.

This is an era where bad news rules the media.  If you look closely, though, you’ll find that bad news is just the scum on the surface of life’s pond.  There are amazing fish underneath who will bravely land a seized-up Boeing 777 against all odds and save all the lives on board, and fish who will ignore someone’s disabilities and squeeze their untapped happiness out with only the purest of motivations.

I got this photo sent home in Laughingboy’s schoolbag yesterday:

It soothes the crazy like a warm fleece blanket.