Always in the mood for a little DB and Rebel Rebel.
It’s been a windy, squally kind of week of warm sun and heavy showers. Yesterday, I got soaked through when I was walking the dogs. We started in sunshine and the clouds came over quickly.
It doesn’t feel like much of an Easter to be honest. I’d moved some of my Saturday lessons to Easter Sunday because I was taking a little dog up to the new Hope shop in Confolens. Tilly’s been ill again and we’re back to square one trying to find a food that suits her stomach. Couple getting up two or three times a night with too much to do and you’ve got one tired old Emma. Two weeks to go before the school break and I largely suspect I’ll not have much off as the exams are approaching and I’ve got various animals to look after.
The garden is in full growth now and I’m just trying to make sure it’s enough under control before April and May set in. I spent most of last week trying to catch up and chasing my tail. You do get to a point where you just think you are so far behind that you are never going to catch up. I’ve not got the energy – all the extra demands of the last two weeks have really zapped me. What was nice was spending an hour or so on Friday evening just chewing the fat with Robyn at the refuge – so many people do so many incomprehensible things that if you didn’t go “!§%*!#^*%” once in a while, you might explode.
Take this week. I have had a busy one as you can tell. Back in February, Angie, the refuge secretary, asked if I could stop by a house in a town I pass through sometimes. A woman had taken a puppy just after Christmas. She’d left a cheque, but she’d asked if she could come down the day after with the cash, so it was still sitting in her file. She hadn’t come back. The phone was ringing though with no answer at all.
The first address – the one on the contract – was a completely wrong address. It was an old lady who was a bit bewildered to find a strange English lady on her doorstep.
Angie did a bit of hunting and found the address on the cheque. It was kind of similar, but a different town completely. I did a second drive-by the week after. No answer, though the house seemed to be inhabited. I left a note saying we’d tried to call and that I’d stopped by, could she call the refuge.
The week after, no response. I stopped by again and then went to the mairie. Often, they’ll help us out if they have someone who can stop off and knock on. And if there’s trouble in town, they know it. Secretaries in mairies can be very gossipy. They’d not heard anything, but she gave me the number of one of the council workers and said I could ask him if he’d stop by.
He stopped by every day for a week. No response, no sign of life. No dog.
I’d reached the end of what was reasonable when I had a quick thought. We’d always been in work hours. She might be there at lunch. And she was, complete with dog. She was utterly bemused by her own story about paying by cash, said the cheque had been cashed, had no idea why her phone wasn’t working or why she’d not found the various notes I’d left. The dog was fine, she said. And he was. I saw him and gave him a quick check – eyes, nails, fur, ears. He gave me lots of kisses and she told me everything was good. “Can we cash the cheque?” I asked. “You’ve already cashed it.” and so we went round again. I’m standing with a cheque in my hand and she’s telling me we’ve not cashed it.
Cash the cheque, I told Angie. She says we’ve already cashed it.
Ten days later, the lady calls up.
“I don’t want the dog any more.”
“But you told Emma that the dog was fine.”
“The dog IS fine. I’m moving to an apartment, I’ve split up with my boyfriend. I can’t look after the dog…” blah blah blah.
“Can you send someone to pick the dog up?”
Angie calls me and asks. Can we pick the dog up? FFS. Really? You don’t want the dog and you can’t get him back to us?!
I called the woman. “Can you pick him up before Thursday? I’m moving on Thursday.”
I could go at 2pm. Not good enough. It had to be morning.
“I’m working in the morning.” I told her.
“Can you come in the lunch hour?”
What is it with people wanting the moon on a stick?
“Is he okay in the car?” I asked.
“Oh no. He needs medication to go in a car. He’s very stressed.”
Are you flipping kidding me??!
Anyway, because I’m a mug, I prepared myself. I sorted the car out and made sure there were secure harnesses, put sheeting down in case he was sick or worse, only for Angie to give me another call the night before.
“She’s given the dog away to a hunter.”
Cue another saga of trying to get the address, to retrieve the dog, to sort out this further complication. I mean, she still hadn’t paid – the cheque was returned to us for insufficient funding – and it’s not like she owned the dog. Bloody crackers, some people.
Anyhow, that was my saga of last week. No wonder it took me and Robyn an hour to offload all the things that needed offloading!
It would test the patience of a saint.
Thank God for a healthy circle of volunteers and staff who help you put it all in perspective. At least in this case, no animals were hurt. Not so the little scruff that turned up missing a leg from above the knee. She’d obviously been caught in a trap. Never mind that traps are illegal. And suddenly, walking Heston on a lead all the time seems like the sensible option.
Anyway, Much Love to all the shelter staff and volunteers across the world who put up with human foibles, madnesses and insanities.
And Much Love for Easter Monday and a day off work. Well, teaching, anyway. I’ve a million bits of paperwork to do and a couple of articles to write. I’ve 15 things on my to-do list and I’m determined to conquer it!
Have a fabulous Easter Monday – let’s hope for some blue skies later.