In Which We Once Again Visit My Toilet Habits

I know I have posted before about the dangers of using our toilet.  It's not that I'm obsessed or anything but just a warning.  This post is going to be cover that topic yet again.


For those of you that are new to Life At Spring Rock our only toilet is located in the laundry which is outside our back door on the porch.   All our dogs have tried to lay claim to it over the years.  Some have been successful, some have had to wait for the another, tougher dog to die of old age, and some are still being kicked out whenever they put a toe over the threshold (Juno and Dione, the Kelpies, will never give up though - they've been trying unsuccessfully for over 12 years now).  You can read about the wars for laundry domination here   http://lifeatspringrock.blogspot.com/2009/01/battle-for-laundry-floor.html  and the difficulties faced when using our facilities here   http://lifeatspringrock.blogspot.com/2009/04/please-take-care-when-using-our.html

Once gain, it's all about Billy.  I often tell him it's a good thing he's such a handsome fellow (just look at the photo above to see how gorgeous he is) because he certainly causes enough trouble in the menagerie.

Billy is now channelling his Swiss ancestors and enjoying the cooler weather, but he is becoming a bit of a problem in the laundry/toilet yet again.  I suppose it all started when I had to push him out and close the door a couple of days ago while I was dyeing fabric.  The laundry just isn't big enough for fabric, dyes, dye-pots and other dyeing paraphernalia, myself and one large St Bernard.  As Billy has yet to master the art of fabric dyeing that meant he was the one who had to go.  He tried closing his eyes so he couldn't see me pointing towards the door.  Being deaf, this is his supreme weapon in the fight to do as he pleases and Billy uses it at every opportunity.  Since being turfed out  that day he's re-claimed the laundry as his territory and refuses to budge an inch when I want to use the facilities.  Billy sprawls himself out the full length of the floor with the majority of his bulk right in front of the toilet, closes his eyes and assumes the look of an exhausted dog just catching up on some well earned sleep.  

I get up at 6am.  Well my body gets up, my brain takes another couple of hours to join it.  Consequently I try to operate on autopilot until my brain catches up.  Visiting the laundry used to be so simple I could do it with my eyes closed.  Lately I've encountered acres of St Bernard almost wrapped around the toilet base and overflowing out far too far to manoeuvre around him.   I tried, poking him with my foot, pushing him from one end or the other and just grumbling ineffectually to his deaf ears. Nothing worked.  Billy stayed put and feigned sleep.  I knew he wasn't really asleep because he wasn't snoring.  In the end I practically had to do the splits to accomplish my mission - no mean feat when your brain is stuck in neutral.   Billy didn't budge.  At one stage while still trying to position myself so I wouldn't fall off, I trod on Billy's leg.  Of course I apologised profusely - all Billy did was raise his head (giving the lie to being asleep), give me "That Look" and resumed his recumbent and possessive position around the toilet.  


I found myself apologising to Billy and making a bigger effort to not disturb Billy's pretend slumber any further ("That Look" has that effect on me I'm afraid).  One of these days I'm going to get a nasty injury trying to bend myself around Billy's recumbent figure while trying to use the toilet.  I shudder at the imagined scene in Emerency at the local hospital as I explain how I sustained the injury.



All I could do this morning was grumble to myself that this wouldn't happen to Graeme.