KEEP YOUR DOG OFF FURNITURE - MODERN EXECUTIVE FURNITURE - DESIGNER FURNITURE FOR LESS.
Keep Your Dog Off Furniture
- Furniture + 2 is the most recent EP released by American post-hardcore band Fugazi. It was recorded in January and February 2001, the same time that the band was recording their last album, The Argument, and released in October 2001 on 7" and on CD.
- furnishings that make a room or other area ready for occupancy; "they had too much furniture for the small apartment"; "there was only one piece of furniture in the room"
- Furniture is the mass noun for the movable objects ('mobile' in Latin languages) intended to support various human activities such as seating and sleeping in beds, to hold objects at a convenient height for work using horizontal surfaces above the ground, or to store things.
- Small accessories or fittings for a particular use or piece of equipment
- Large movable equipment, such as tables and chairs, used to make a house, office, or other space suitable for living or working
- A person's habitual attitude, outlook, and way of thinking
- must be up to date with all their vaccinations. This is very important as he/she will be in constant contact with many other dogs.
I've Gone off Rocket
Let's do things differently this time. . . I thought I would put up this photo-collage without my usual accompanying text initially......I would love to hear the tale in your words before I pinch all of your hilarious words and pretend they are my own!!!
Ok, time to regale you:
I was barely aware that I had a radiator by the back door.
Now I know it a little more intimately.
I now have permanently stamped in my mind, and on my inner eye socket, the corner of that radiator.
I will never again have my shoes half on, tread on a rain-spattered glossy black back step, have my hands full of rocket.
‘That’s about ?1.50 worth of rocket I’ve just dropped and now I’m going to spend the afternoon in casualty with no lunch, what a waste.’
I couldn’t pinpoint as I stood up post-trip where exactly the epi-centre of my injury was, I just felt a general haze of bashed-face-pain (I wonder if that is a category on webmd.com), so I staggered around looking for a mirror (how vain) and then realised that I was dripping blood all over the floor. It was a beautiful Cath Kidston red.
I deposited a great gollop from my cupped hands into the sink and then held up the mirror and took a look at myself – I saw a glimmer of puffy, grey face before a drip of blood on the glass obscured the view, the diagnosis was no more certain. Normally I’m too stingy to buy kitchen roll: thank goodness this week I had been feeling decadent. I wodged half the roll into my eye socket, tucked the rest under my arm – managed to retain enough OCD-ness to go round the house locking doors, closing windows and unplugging irons, grabbed my keys and set off to the next door neighbour walking like I was made of sweaty bone china.
“Hello, I’m so sorry to bother you but I have bashed my face on the radiator and I’m just wondering if you could have a look at the damage.”
She welcomed me in, sat me down, her dog thrust a toy into my crotch, she hid her shocked looking children and peered at my wound. Ironically while she was doing this her son was scraping a stick up and down their own radiator - a most apt musical score to accompany the drama.
It is pretty remarkable in these fairly anti-social-keep-yourself-to-yourself times that we are able to go round to near-stranger’s home and get them to help us. Not for everything mind. If I had gone round and asked her to help me assemble some flat pack furniture she would probably have made her excuses, but thrust my bloody, clammy self upon her and she promptly gathered up her whole family and took me to one hospital after another without complaint, not even a "For f**ks sake bargain hunt is about to start, try number 45." She even provided me with a washing up bowl in case I was sick.
I think I may have permanently traumatized her three-year-old daughter though. From the moment she first saw me to the moment we parted company she never stopped looking in open-mouthed horror at me and my blood-soaked kitchen-roll-covered eye. She will either become a doctor after this or develop a phobia of kitchen roll.
`Is this eye casualty?
Sitting in the waiting room I was a little disappointed. No one else had much to show for themselves, I was by far the most dramatic looking, and even I was feeling a bit lack-lustre given that I had dragged a whole family out with me and really only had the one petite ‘gash’. By this time the clammy wanting-to-puke up sensations had faded and I was now wallowing in a strangely euphoric feeling. Your body does such peculiar things when you hurt yourself, first it makes you feel worse than you already feel by throwing in nausea and shaking and breathlessness and a cold sweat and then it turns it all around and makes you feel as high as a kite as you sit in the waiting room. Maybe it does that so you are nice to the doctors and nurses and don’t mind the hours of waiting so much.
And why is it always the day that I am wearing my ‘at home clothes’ (camouflage trousers, a holey old jumper, white socks, big pants and black trainers) and haven’t had a shower that I have to be meeting more people than I would normally meet in a month?!
My iPhone came into it’s own as I sat waiting to be examined. I did that reverse camera thing and took a look at myself, live, on screen, in action. ‘God, is my nose broken?! Does it always look like that?’ It is only at this moment that I realise I never really look at my nose, I scrutinize it only when I think it might be broken, or if I’m checking for rogue bogies. Note to self: take a good look at nose on a day when it’s definitely not broken so you know how it normally appears.
The doctor told me that he had recently had two similar cases to mine of old ladies crashing into radiators and their eyes had been, and I think he actually used the term, ‘mashed up’ He grimaced and shuddered like a horror film extra.
I was told that it was all rather minor and that my eye was ok and that it was just the laceratio
FUREIGN CORRESPONDENT - "DRINKING PROBLEM"
FOR MONTANA, PRINCE OF PUSSYCATS.
Good night sweet paw prints
And flights of sparrows
Sing thee to thy sleep
Why are the sparrows flying a 'missing bird' formation?
And puss, is that a feather on your nose?
We lost Montana to kidney cancer earlier this year and like most much photographed cats there are a lot of newly precious pictures to sort through. I picked this one out 'cos it illustrated one of the many personality traits that helped make him special to us...
'Tana had a kind of drinking problem, which is to say, he always dipped his paw in the water to have a drink. We were never sure if it was a depth perception thing or if perhaps he was just being well mannered! Of course he'd leave damp footprints and splash water about when he flicked his paw to dry it. You could always tell when he'd been drinking 'cos when he jumped up on you his paw would be damp...
He and his pal were the first pets Gail and I chose together. At the animal shelter our first sight of Montana was him clinging by all fours to the cage door while his friend, Sirroco, hung out casually on on the window ledge at the back of the cell and looked us over. They had been the pets of an older woman who had to give them up for some reason and were only being sold as a pair. We weren't looking for two cats but ended up taking both home since they were mateys and were only being sold as a pair. (In Australia we used the term 'mate' to mean 'good friend'.) We're glad we did, as they've been great companions for many years. The animal shelter said their names were "Sam" and "Sylvester" but they weren't names we were happy calling out into the night...
Monty had a lot of other particular habits...
-We named him Montana since he was really good at climbing and jumping, and it often seemed like he was levitating. This was a cat who loved 'the high ground'.
-He did not generally like to be picked up and it would only be a matter of seconds usually, unless he was sleepy and caught off-guard, before he would start to squirm.
-Montana always pretended to be fooled by my impression of a whistling canary. If I did this behind a door or from under the bedsheets he'd soon be poking around trying to find the birdy.
-He loved sleeping with his head resting in my hand. At night, when I was in bed, you'd feel a soft 'thump' as he landed on the doona, I'd open my hand, palm up, and click my fingers. He'd drop his head down into my hand and then sort of collapse/roll the rest of his body. He revelled in this so much that sometimes he'd get up just so he could do it again! What a hedonist...typical cat.
-People taking showers seriously disturbed him so he'd push open the bathroom door and then you'd see his little shadow against the cubicle door while he cried. ("Ahhhh! You're getting WET ALL OVER!!")
-A dawn riser (hoping to catch those worm eating early birds) , he was better than any alarm clock and would wake me at sunrise, which would have been handy if I ever actually needed to get up then, which mostly I didn't. (This is one thing I emphatically DO NOT miss!)
-Playing under the bed sheets as the bed was being made was another favourite game.
-He'd chase ping pong balls and play soccer with them until they inevitably hid under furniture, which was fine, unless they were out of stretched paw reach and then they became boring.
-In his younger, more limber, days he'd leap up on top of the washing hanging on its drying rack and go to sleep. The other cat was much heavier and would copy him, leaving the rack bent and wobbling...
-We slowly, carefully introduced the cats to our dog, allowing them to sniff each others' noses under a door for a couple of weeks before letting them mix in the same room together. They got on well but there were incidents now and then, particularly one time when Montana was sitting on the couch and Kane decided he wanted to as well. The dog hopped up on the couch, flopped down next to Montana, crowding him with his big bottom; what a liberty! Monty's eyes were big as saucers as he looked to us to arbitrate the property dispute.
-Like all cats he was heat seeking. Whenever we've lived in houses with ducted heating he would lie directly on top of the vents when they were on. It was always amusing to see him stroll across a room on a sunny arvo until a wayward sunbeam would catch and stun him with its warmth.
-Favourite toy, pretty much like all our cats, was a dress-maker's plastic tape measure, dragged around the floor and whipped under doors. Hours of entertainment. When he got exceptionally excited he got the maddest eyed look and would gallop insanely around the house at high speed.
-He and Sirroco would spar every now and then in mock fights that would often go too far and end in tears and yowls. Although people often thought Monta
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