With my brother Ian visiting for three night stay, I’d a two day sabbatical from writing over the weekend. Late nights, excessive imbibing of vino, gardening and building a wheelie bin store ensuring I’d neither the time or energy levels to wax lyrical.
Feeling drained from lack of sleep and over the top thirst quenching, I’m writing this piece in the garden with my little canine buddy Coco sat at my feet. Such was the irresponsible alcohol intake, If livers could take out restraining orders, I’d venture mine would’ve filed one first thing this morning. Our kid’s detoxification unit no doubt making a similar constraining application.
Coco’s mum Samantha, joining our back garden clambake yesterday evening. after dropping off her beloved lab/retriever cross. Her feeling as woolly headed as the Strachan siblings at Monday’s reveille.
As I write old Cokey is sat next to mum on the sofa. Both ladies asleep, snoring with incredible synchronicity. If there was an Olympic Synchronised Snoring event, Great Britain would be represented well.
That being said, the International Olympic Committee mightn’t allow dogs to enter. Coco and my mum’s fame and fortune through this cacophonous skill may need to come via participation in Britain’s Got Talent, not through aspirations of an Olympic gong.
Although funny to hear this snoring duo in full flow, endeavouring to attain an unbroken creative flow is nigh on impossible. My mum in particular is snorting so forcefully as a precaution I’ve closed the lounge windows, reducing the jeopardy of her bringing down the wood bin store unit we built over the weekend.
It’s now a few hours since I wrote the previous paragraph. Shortly after writing the final sentence above, Coco woke up; consequently, I took her for habitual afternoon stroll. Our saunter to a local park where the lovely lady took advantage of three laps of the green to indulge in six rolls and a raft of inquisitive sniffs around the fields periphery.
Walking with my furry buddy a great fillip from the difficulty of life as a full-time carer for my mum. The sheer joy on her whiskery visage (that’s Coco, not my mum) as she explores each scent imparting a much needed serenity, countering stress consequential of interactions with some human acquaintances.
My mum’s dementia has been raised this afternoon; her confusion levels re-time of day and fleeting short term memory seemingly far worse than normal. At 4pm after waking from the aforementioned snooze, she promptly made herself another breakfast.
Witnessing this decline in her cognitive wherewithal is heartbreaking to see. Knowing how to deal with these scenarios is equally challenging. Possessing similar natures, communicating in a way that doesn’t escalate into fraught discussions not easy. As hard as I try, yours truly doesn’t seem to be able to get through a day without friction with mater.
Anyway, I’m off to catch up on some much needed kip. Who knows, maybe I can become the third member of the GB Olympic Synchronised Snoring side, along with my mum and Cokes.