Clicker One

Training began today. We had the treats, the clicker, and, most importantly, the dog.
Over breakfast, we rehearsed our roles. The leaflet said we should “start in a quiet area with no distractions”, which would have been fine if the cats had only played their part.
Since I was last here in the summer, the Wee Cat has produced a not-so-wee kitten. It looks very much like an illustration from the book Owl Babies. It lives outside, and is Westie Boy’s playmate. The lesson was about to start when Not-So-Wee Kitten jumped onto the window sill and scratched at the glass. Westie Boy immediately started to dance on his hind legs (lesson ninety-three).
We had already had a delay due to the excitement engendered by the Big Cat climbing through the bathroom window and getting settled in her daytime sleep spot behind the towels where she soaks up the heat from the adjacent hot press.
Finally, we got to work.
Lesson one is about associating the sound with treats. This was easy enough, and our boy quickly got the hang of it. We left off and played with his toy, asking him to sit clickerlessly before the toy was thrown. Sometimes he sat. Sometimes he tried to grab the toy.
So this evening, we skipped the next lesson and moved straight to the sit command with clicker.
Fantastic. What a little star. Even better, we left off the treats and used the biscuits he has in his dish. He even achieved a short sit and wait.
Since I can’t manage camera, biscuits and clicker, I don’t have any photos.
But here he is last night, worn out by the day’s exertions.

Good Boy

My dog training has been more successful than my attempts to help Cousin fix the Internet problems. I sat at the kitchen table to give her moral support. She installed her new hub, and we thought we’d cracked it when her laptop and my iPad picked up strong signals and we could access the web.

I celebrated by making butternut soup.

Then the signal failed, and we got complicated messages asking for codes we did not know. The lights on the hub turned from blue (good) to amber (bad).

I returned to teaching Westie Boy to sit and bring his toy back to me. He’s doing well. Tomorrow, we’re going to try with the Clicker, but first I need to read the instructions.

Late Night

It was a late night. Some of us were very tired.

Little White Dog

Cousin’s new dog is Not Cat in canine form. He’s not quite a year, and previously lived with a family. Unfortunately, one of the children developed an allergy to him, so he swapped his urban Belfast environment for the wide open spaces of the country.
He’s a bundle of energy and joie de vivre; busy as a bee in summertime. He took one of my boots to the hearth, and strewed my washing round the kitchen. I haven’t managed to unpack completely because he is so eager to explore my bag. When I zipped it shut, he lay on it and chewed a corner. His idea of helping me make the bed was to make off with the patchwork cover made out of old shirting. It’s a lovely object, and I’ll photograph. It belonged to my aunt, Cousin’s mother.
I keep calling him by Not Cat’s name, and having investigated my trousers pretty thoroughly, I’d guess he knows a fair bit about my boy.
I wish my foot were better, as taking this boy out for a walk would be a delight. His wonder and excitement at the world is marvellous to behold.

Flight

It was a cold day in London, but sunny. By lunchtime, the trees and bushes that had begun the day pretty, their branches topped with a festive layer of snow, were bare again and the pavements were clear. But just twenty minutes out of Liverpool Street on the Stansted Express, fields stretched whitely and the snow had a more settled look. Horses, wearing warm blankets, stood grouped together, and watched the passing train. At the edge of one field, just inside the gate, was a wicker shopping basket, empty and incongruous.
At check-in, I explained my foot troubles, and my boarding status was upgraded to priority. That didn’t speed up the passage through security. Slow minutes in a winding queue. I stood on one leg, and hoped I wouldn’t have to take my boots off.
Back in the day, air travel was considered glamorous, but a lot has changed from those select, elegant few walking across the Tarmac at Croydon airport to the hoards standing in their socks and rethreading their belts at Stansted.
Flights to Belfast are from one of the more distant gates. I made my way down there slowly. My plan was to be in the right area long before the gate was announced. It worked. Soon I was comfortably settled in a near deserted seating area. Gradually it filled up. Flights to Belfast and Glasgow were leaving at the same time. Glasgow passengers were called first. Belfast passengers remained seated. Then some silent signal spread through the passengers and they hurried to form a bunched queue. I sat on.
When the flight was called, I joined the parents with toddlers and pushchairs to board slightly ahead of the hoard.
It was a two second advantage. More able passengers raced behind us and surged passed us. Those who had been first were now in the middle.
By some miracle, I got a window seat at the front of the plane. The sun was setting as we took off, and the countryside below looked enchanting; even the snaking lines of headlights on the dark roads. The snow lay bright and undisturbed in fields outlined by black trees and hedges. I sat back and relaxed.

Packing

Just about finished my packing; long sleeved t shirts, a fleece, a cardigan. I’ll wear a jumper. The wash bag always used to be the most complicated item, but now I find it’s increasingly about electricals. So far I have mobile ‘phone, iPod, iPad, kindle, pocket Olympus, plus all their chargers and other accessories. Not sure about the hair dryer.
Not Cat is at the Cattery. He was growling when I left, so obviously not happy about the whole thing. My friend drove me in my car. The same friend who drove me with Cat’s dead body to the vet back in March.
While I tried to persuade Not Cat he was going to have a lovely time, pointing out the comfy bed, the heat lamp and the treat I was leaving him, she walked around with the Cattery owner admiring cats in residence and hearing their stories.
In the garden, the hens had gone to bed. They are ex-battery, and the last lot of such the Cattery will have now that battery hens are banned. I would like to buy their eggs at the end of a holiday, but most are already spoken for by house and choir.
Tom, the huge black cat who dominates the house, was waiting for us when we went back inside. We gave him a quick cuddle and went back to the car. The snow that had started during our drive was coming down in determined fashion.
It looks like it means to settle.
Thank goodness I am off to warmer Ireland.

Green-Tyred Bike

100WCGU The Coat

My second offering. To find out more go to Julia’s page http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/02/06/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week-30/

Dear Tim,
Poor you. What a horrible accident. Traction is not fun, and six months in bed is a long time by anyone’s reckoning.
Catching your coat in the escalator must have been so frightening. It certainly looked very dramatic, and I must say you seemed to have the strength of ten trying to free it. It might have been better simply to take it off, but perhaps you weren’t thinking entirely rationally. Or maybe you were embarrassed at half the Northern Line watching you. You’re on YouTube!
I know you blame me, but it wasn’t my fault.
I’m sorry I laughed.
Friends again?
Margaret

100WCGU: Sky-Blue-Pink

A message from Julia:
This prompt will be open for two weeks.

I have been aware that the news this week seems to have had a familiar thread through it. The shared prompt is …it wasn’t my fault…

If you are new here and are wondering what this is all about do read ‘What is 100WCGU?’ and hopefully it will all make sense. If not do get in touch through a comment below or via twitter (@jfb57).

The morning was cold. She dressed quickly and made breakfast, letting the heat from her coffee mug seep into her fingers while her egg boiled. Her packed bag stood in the hall. John was picking her up at seven thirty. Loads of time. Dawn broke and she saw the colour she used to call sky-blue-pink spreading across the rooftops. Sky-blue-pink. Playground words jostled in her memory; “you’re it!” “it wasn’t my fault!” “one potato…” Years ago, yet only a heartbeat away. Childhood; it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But she hadn’t known it then.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Ready