"So Dad, today in school "Bob" (name changed to protect school kid's identity!) asked me - "What's a dildo?"
I stare at Fintan, nearly spitting out the tea I'm drinking. He stares at me with innocent puppy dog eyes. I am his dad - of course I will be knowledgeable and wise on such matters. I do my best to keep a straight face and sus this whole conversation out.
"Why do you ask Fintan?"
By this point, Declan and Caitlin have come into the kitchen - sticking to me like limpets and keen to know what great revelation will be uttered from my lips.
Fintan continued..."Well - we were in school in the playground and it came up. "Philamena" (sic - name change!) said she'd seen one on an Argos ad"
The tea goes down my windpipe into my lungs. I choke a little.
"Yeah," said Fintan as he warms to the topic..."Ralph (name change!) said he thought it was a small animal that curls up and lives in the desert. I told him he was wrong. That's an Armadildo. A mini Armadildo...I saw it on Planet Earth once."
I breathe a sigh of relief. My lungs gurgle with PG tips, "Yes Fintan - you're exactly right - a Dildo is short for the Armadildo. They live in South America. Relative of the pangolin I believe.." And lo I dodge another bullet and continue my half arsed easy on the truth sexual education of the kids.
It would be an understatement to say that this year has been a breeze. It has been intensely busy and stressful at times. I'll give you an insight into why...
It's January, it's bloody freezing and we're driving out towards some big house in the countryside which has a giant tree wizard guarding the entrance. See below if you don't believe me!
We get buzzed in and stick our shoes in some sort of anti-septic footwash. Later I wonder why you'd bother since dogs pretty much eat other dogs poo constantly! However, we stick our shoes in the footbath and coo at the cute little half blind fuzzballs mewing about us.
I already had strong advice that once you visit a puppy seller it would be easier to cut off your right testicle than leave without one and in so doing - destroy the fragile hearts of your children. I however, did not feel the need for a right testes and was pretty adamant that I could weather this puppy storm. I was a man, leader of my family, hunter, gatherer, confident in all I surveyed and master of all. I for one, would never waver.
"Kids - we are not getting a dog. No way. We're just looking at them. I am not walking a dog and cleaning up dog crap for the next 15 years of my life. I've only just got you guys out of nappies. Not gonna happen". I draw the line in the sand.
"Awww daddy, they are so cute. They are just like the puppies in Paw patrol..." Caitlin is already deeply in love with all of them and hoping to smuggle a few of the canine blighters out in her coat.
"That's good Caitlin. But we are NOT getting a dog. Understand?"
The boys start holding a few dogs. Sarah has a few she is "testing" out. I stand back. The walls are closing in, there are dogs closing in on me from all angles. I'm beginning to panic.
I stand back. Holding ground. Wave after wave of puppy cuteness attacks me as they bring out a few more from different litters.
I spy a white and patchy brown fluffball in the hands of a young (human) mum (literally - this is the equivalent of a dog catwalk (can dogs go on a catwalk?).
The fluffball catches my eye. Oh God. Don't do it, I think inside my mind. But my mind is a simple thing and easy enough for a 5 year old to read.
"Aww daddy, we should get this one..." and I have to admit - I am rather taken with this one. Oh crap. Where's my resolve. No! They warned me about this at work. Visiting a puppy litter is the exact equivalent of shooting up pure heroin. No one can escape from its clutches.
"We'll take this one..." I say as I pop my debit card into the reader. Such is the puppy effect that grown men don't even ask the basic question, like, how much is the seemingly cute ball of fur going to cost me?"
We pick up our new family addition - a week later. There is much crying in the kitchen when we go to bed (Sarah is quite attached to her!) and after much discussion. Princess Leia is narrowly outvoted and the dog is now "DAISY" in honour of the Daisy that has gone before her.
Daisy is a mentler. If she were a human, she would be kept away from sharp knives and given a nice safe padded room to live in.
So far, Daisy has eaten the following:
1. Caitlin's glass (yes that's right - glass!) snow globe.
2. The shoe rack.
3. The newspaper stand.
4. The carpet.
5. The shoes that were in the shoe rack.
6. All of Caitlin's slippers
7. All of Caitlin's gloves
8. The cleaners new shoes
9. Every newspaper I wanted to read
10. Alot of Cadbury's creme eggs.
11. My Olive trees and every plant I ever planted in the garden - literally - EVER!
Which brings me on to my next gripe. It's 10 at night. I've had a glass of red. I am content at last, but I've had to work at this contentment. Puppy training is tough. I have so far this day, walked barefoot into a puddle of dog piss at 7 in the morning and then cleaned it up with a newspaper (note to self - newspapers don't absorb dog piss - they just spread it). I have gotten up at 4 in the morning cursing the name "Daisy" in so many wrong and unrepeatable variations that only a sinful soul headed for hell would know such curses. I have stood outside in the sleet in minus 1 degrees in my boxer shorts and t-shirt asking a small puppy dog to "wee wee Daisy, wee wee!" in a really encouraging manner, so that I can go back inside and reheat my balls from where they have relocated themselves directly inside my stomach cavity. New note to self: NEVER GET A DOG IN WINTER!
We got the kids some Cadbury's eggs for after dinner. It's nearly Easter, after all. We come back into the living room and if dog's could smile. This dog would be grinning from cheek to cheek. It's had the bloody egg!
Now apparently - chocolate and grapes are like Dog Kryptonite. They can be pretty deadly. She ate the bloody foil as well. Shiny dog poo here we come! (which reminds me of the time Caitlin ate the glitter stick!). A day later we had the prettiest pampers nappy I ever changed in my life! Glitter poo...takes the edge off even the most hideous tasks!
So I say to Sarah "it's ok - our old dog Maisie was always eating chocolate. One time - she climbed onto the piano to eat my sisters Easter egg. The dog seemed ok."
But no. These days - apparently it's certain death for a dog to even look at a Mars bar. And god forbid they eat a pack of Rollo's and then lick your Argentinian Malbec directly from the wine glass (did I mention she also did that?).
I go online, there's actually a fairly widely used "how much chocolate actually kills me dog" calculator within a second of typing it into google. We have Daisy's weight, I go online and find out the weight of Cadbury's creme eggs and away we go. She is in the safe zone.
But no...Sarah is still worried. This is her new baby.
"Let's call the out of hours vet..." she tentatively asks.
"No way...!" this will only end with a very large bill and dog vomit everywhere. I never paid to get my stomach pumped - let alone a bloody dog's!
All I can say is that I listened to the vet intently, opened another bottle of red, patted Daisy on the head and wished her well for the morning.
In between having our life turned upside down in a not really funny but we'll laugh about it when she's old and near death / Marley and Me stylee type of way. We had our annual reunion in Somerset with the Nottingham gang.
We dressed as pirates, with the exception of San who dressed as a rather fetching six foot parrot. We drank much scrumpy and caught my first ever glimpse of a Muntjack deer as we wandered around the woods at dusk - fuelled with scrumpy, wine and some pretty ropey cocktail mix from Home Bargains.
To mark the occasion - here is a picture of a giant six foot parrot. We had to hunt him, catch him and then eat him - but he tasted bloody good on the Barbie!
Later...as May arrived we spotted a small glowing orb in the sky. I went outside to document it...never before seen in North Wales.
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