2 May 2007 13:45
den: (You what?)
Last night I dropped the tin of dog food. The sharp lid of the tin fell onto the back of my hand with the full weight of the 1/2kg can behind it. I looked at the 2" long scratch and thought "Ooh! That was lucky ... No, wait." I moved my wrist and the cut felt weird. It was deep, and the back of your hand doesn't have a lot of flesh to it at the best of times. I could see into my hand, not quite as far as bones and tendons but deeper than you would expect possible. At that moment the veins realised they were no longer connected to each other and began to leak. The nerves saw what the veins were doing and decided to join in. "Ok, ready, set... STING!"


I'm lucky I didn't slash any major veins, but what I did cut is still oozing slightly after 12 hours. It seems okay now but I'm not game to remove the band-aid because I'll re-open the cut, and it seems to be healing and not hurting. I tried that this morning and undid the healing that happened overnight, and the hurting started again. Nerves: "Hey remember us? STING!" Ow.

And in other news, FLY! MY PRETTIES! FLYYYY!
den: (bastard)
Today I engaged in some hit-and-run shopping (go in, get the things, get out) at the mall, but my fast get-away was halted at the entrance of the mall. A huge knot of people had halted in the door and were discussing where they wanted to have lunch, oblivious to, or ignoring, the people who wanted to get into or out of the Mall. People had to push though the group, only to be greeted with angry words. The poor trolley kids had to abort their runs up the ramp and their long strings of shopping trolleys were sliding down hill. I waited.

A heavy trolley rumbled past pushed by... HER! The old Masarati Quattroporte driver! Her trolley was loaded up with eggs, milk, a bag of dog biscuits, bags of potting mix, lead weights, large rocks... she had a very heavy trolley, and having got it moving she wasn't going to stop. She aimed at the group blocking the door and kept going. One of the mob looked up and saw a tiny juggernaut powered by a tiny woman whose bowling hat bearly cleared the trolley handle, almost on top of them. They gave some shouts of alarm, swore a bit, and someone gave a cry of pain as they cleared out of the way. Mrs Masarati ploughed right through them breaking up the mob and clearing a way for all the other people to pour through the gap after her.

Which we did. I noticed the trolley kids laughing as I passed them.

I must admit I was smiling as well.
den: (happy den)
On the weekend I carted a friend and her sticky kid home. The lad was one of these kids who has trouble getting food into his mouth and ends up wearing most of it, the rest is then smeared onto my car's right-hand rear window, just behind my head. My window was a horrible mess of melted M&Ms (hey they DO melt in your hand!) and icecream.

On the way back from work Polly discovered the cooling sweetness that is my car's window, and started lick-lick-licking it no matter how much I told her not to. "You don't know where that kid has been!"

Once again I was pulled over by a constable doing a random Breath Test. I showed her my licence and she poked the reader at my face. "Please say your name and address." I did so, the machine went beep, and the constable stepped back. "Thank you," she said. "Drive carefully and have a nice..." The pause dragged on.

"Afternoon?" I prompted, then noticed the cop was staring at my back window. I turned and saw that Polly was glaring at the constable, all official guard-dog like. The effect was spoiled because her nose was squashed flat against the glass and her pink tongue was fully extended and stuck to the glass below her chin, frozen in mid-lick. The dog saw me looking at her, so she slurped her tongue away and wagged. Her nose was still pressed against the glass. The cop looked at me and blinked.

"I don't have normal animals," I said. The cop shook her head and waved me on.

I don't have normal animals. I don't know why.
den: (Default)
I received a call on the rescue line today from a lady in Parkes. Her son had brought home a baby snake. I asked her to describe it to me, and she said it was 12" long, almost white on the stomach, pale brown on top and had a dark brown head with orange markings.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"My son is playing with it in the kitchen."

"It's a baby eastern brown snake."

"Oh! They grow up to be poisonous, don't they!"

I almost told her that of the world's 14 most poisonous snakes, it's number 14. Instead, I said "They're venomous when they hatch. You're lucky the mouth and fangs are too small to bite a finger, or you'd be up in the hospital now."


"Your son would be getting antivenein there."

I heard her put the phone down then scream out "DAVID PUT THAT BLOODY THING DOWN NOW!" She came back and asked me what to do. What I wanted to say was the eastern brown snake makes an excellent pet and enjoys being cuddled. I told her to take it to the edge of town and let it go. I had to.
den: (Default)
A loaf of bread failed. It looks like a nice loaf, but it's a bit smaller than usual and feels real heavy.

The bread making thingy worked okay yesterday so I don't know what the problem is today. I'll try again later when it's cooled off.

In the meantime, the meal worms will have a bready feast and get nice and fat, and I'll feed them to the bats. Xena happily munches through 30 worms a night. Warra guts!
den: (Default)
oooh that was a mistake. I had some leftover cheese & pepperoni^3 pizza for breaky. I shouldn't have.

Lunch is a slice of plain white bread with a thin scrape of marg and a thin slice of home-cooked corned beef.

No salt.

No pepper.

Not even any mustard.

I could prolly handle bangers and mash for dinner, but that's still some hours away and I don't have to think about it.

A Telstra rep called in trying to get me to change from Dingoblue as my phone carrier. When he realised he couldn't get me to abandon my current ISP he left. I told him to call back when Telstra get their arse into gear and get ADSL out here. It should be arriving Real Soon Now.

The council sent a 'dog complaint' letter to the office. The company doesn't have a dog, and my dogs don't come to work. I wonder if the neighbour has climbed the fence and started howling in the back yard again.


den: (Default)

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