NEVER WHEN HUNGOVER



There are some occasions when you could quite happily murder your Weim and just know that if you came up before a jury of other Weimaraner owners they would class your desperate act as justifiable homicide. They seem to have this uncanny knack of knowing when you are not up to your usual authoritable self and take delight in squeezing every last drop of sanity and dignity out of you. This day was one of those days. I suppose it was my fault really as I had a hangover of Mount Etna proportions, except it wasn't lava I was spewing.

I don't drink really (one Hail Mary). Well I don't drink that often (two Hail Fathers). Ok, will give up whilst the going is good and begin this Tail.

New Years Eve just past and I quickly go to my friend Joanne for a cup of tea (was driving) with Beau to wish them a premature Happy New Year, prior to their party celebrations. They are amongst my closest of friends and I want to see them, but I assure Colin and Hector I will not be long. Four O'clock New Years Day morning I have vague recollections of being put behind the dog guard of my friend Sioban's four wheel drive. Beau and an equally drunken Sioban are in the back seat and her poor husband, who was the only one who did stick to tea that night, drove me home. I really can't tell you anymore than that as I honestly do not remember going to bed, let alone whose bed I was in. What I mean is, it could of been one of the dog's beds instead of my own.

Next morning I open one eye and wonder what happened to my other eye. I then realise that I could of opened both eyes at once if I would of been in any fit state to take my mascara off last night/morning. The next bit I am dreading. I, gently as possible, try and raise my head. Ten Concordes instantly tune up for take off in my brain simultaneously. I take one look at a positively gloating Hector and try to wake Colin up by stabbing him with my toenails in hope that he will feed the dogs. One look from Colin gets me instantly out of bed, hangover or not. Even my big Chopsy boy Beau's usual adoring look has been replaced with that big black eyed "how could you" stare . I just about avoid falling into the dog feed bins and have to slide down the wall vertically to place their bowls on the floor as my brain would of definitely collapsed if I had of tried to bend over to do it

Three hours later and I still feel like a relic that should of been discovered in the Valley of the Kings instead of existing in the twentieth centaury.. It then occurs to me that I will have to walk to get my van, which has been left at Joanne's due to my drunken state last night. Not even the bribe of Naomi Campbell for his birthday is getting Colin to move on this one and he IS NOT getting it (the van) for me. What is worse, I have to take Hector instead of Beau as the walk is rather a long one and Hector needs the only exercise he is likely to get today due to my current physical condition. The sight of Hector waiting at the door like a thoroughbred straining in the starting stalls fills me with absolute despair. I don't want to even admit that today exists let alone walk my bloody dog. In fact, I would not object to walking A dog, I just don't want to walk my dog as I just know, due to that look in his eye, that he is fully aware that today liberties can be taken with Mummy.

I kit myself up with an extra bottle of water for dehydration, headache tablets which are self explanatory, mobile phone in case I can't remember my way/who I am etc and sunglasses as I feel like Dracula. With the seriousness of the task ahead I feel like Captain Scot and utter "I might be gone for some time" to a husband and elder dog that are both pulling a who cares type of face. I only reach the top of our estate before I realise that there is a very real possibility that Hector won't be the only one needing the poo bags on this walk. The only reason I don't turn back for those extra strong supermarket plastic bags I paid ten pence each for is that Hector is in fourth gear and isn't about to even consider an about turn.

I try to take heart that the roads, though long, are pretty straight to Joannes. I also try to look like I always walk like a lobotomised version of Boris Karloffs Frankenstein. Just as I wonder why Hector is pulling so hard he stops dead to raise a leg and I fall over him into the swinging sign offering God knows what (and who cares) outside of the garage. Hector turns his head just a fraction in my direction and gives me that Game On look. It is then I also realise that I have him just on his collar and not his head halter, hence I am at his mercy for the whole of this ride. I try "heel", "slowly", "please don't pull Hector", "bloody STOP it" (last one to the detriment of my head) with absolutely no effect. Guess the training classes were a waste of money then.

A third of a way there and I take refuge in the bus shelter for a sit down, drink, headache tablet and fag. I have to move on as Hector makes a kid scream on her new Christmas bike when he takes delight in nearly making her fall off with a bark through the Perspex covering. I am definitely not in the mood for rampaging parents today. My head is just settling down to a bongo drum beat of pain instead of Concorde when I am launched into orbit by some stupid prat who decides to beep their car horn right behind me. This totally destroys my already fragile deportment and I trip over my feet and fall spread eagle on the pavement. I scare Hector by doing this and he drags me face first down in the grit a few paces further before my weight brings him to a halt. I just manage to get to my knees before Hector launches himself towards the car that has hooted and has now stopped. Again I am depostied prone and eating dirt. I make no attempt at retaining any dignity and leave the imbedded tarmac bits up my nose and in my mouth. It is only one of my dog walking friends who has spied me and Hector and is wondering what I am doing walking so far from home. He has stopped to offer me a lift. I think he has second ideas when his hoot produces mine and Hector's reaction. My reaction is to go arse up but Hectors is to try and get into his car via the open window as he has been dying to get into close contact with Sally for ages and I am not sure his intentions are entirely honourable. To save the poor bloke from doing a Starskey and Hutch slide over his bonnet to burn rubber and make good his escape, I kindly decline as I am "enjoying my walk". Guess that is one New Years Resolution broken already then.

I sit down on the wall and wish I would of included plasters amongst the water and other stuff I have brought along as my knee is bleeding. Hector is standing front paws first on the little wall besides me. Hector then jumps over the wall and sends Mummy head first, but backwards, to follow him as he reaches the end of his lead. Bastard, I AM going to kill him this time. I start to cry as that really hurt and my arm is hurting so much along with my head and whole body that I really don't think I can do this. I then realise I have an audience. I have four huge brown eyes and two slimy noses about a foot from my face. A beautiful head is lowered towards me and this big pink rasp of a tongue is extended my way. At least someone loves me enough to try and kiss it better today as my dogs and husband clearly don't care. In an instance this one action by a beautiful Jersey Cow brings a smile to my face and an evil glint to my eye as Hector is trying to hide behind the hedge as the only time he see cows is when they are trying to squash him. At least I am not the only one with the shakes now.

This small but touching display by said cow gets me to my feet. I haven't got that far to go really and even Hector must be getting tired by now, hence the pulling and peeing must both start to decline in intensity I am right as he stops pulling me up the hill. Am a bit disappointed that he has chosen this moment to stop pulling as my thigh muscles remind me that alcohol isn't the best form of fuel for the body. Decide that my dog was just being a sod and had taken into account the slight hill as he was just preserving his energy by not pulling my weight up it. Reaches the top and goes into fourth gear again. Am just deciding whether to stop and give Hector a drink of water - like over the head and still in the bottle - when he stops and deposits what he considers saving the best till last, right in front of me. I view this with all the horror of watching a live human birth on TV. My God, a two handed carrier size dump is just what I needed him to do now. Immediately my already spatially challenged stomach rebels and the knees take another bashing whilst I sink to them and deposit last nights "nibbles" into a rather disgusted looking horses field.

It took me over two hours to walk approximately two miles that day. Hector enjoyed every second and yard of torture he inflicted on me. It ended with me falling through Joannes conservatory door whilst Hector did a lap of "It nearly killed her getting me here" victory. Little did he know just how close he came to me murdering him when he deposited his "opinion" of the day and made me sick.

Since then, I have solemnly sworn never ever to go dog walking with a hangover again.