– bladderrunner

I’ve been firing on all synopses, lately, and the above is one of them. See rose run to the toilet, see her run to the toilet again, see her run to the toilet just in case she has to run to the toilet, see her use a toilet just because it’s there and there might not be a toilet to use in the near future. Here is now.

I put it down to trips in the bush as kids. We would drive for miles and stop at the side of the road if we needed to go. It was always hot, dirty – there were probably sergeant ants marching around. I just couldn’t get the hang of pulling the gusset of my little cottontails to one side and peeing well away from my inside leg. It seemed an impossibility and it was an impossibility. So it also seemed on the seven-hour trip, or however long it was, down to Esperance from Perth, that we stopped about three times for drinks and petrol. One place was Lake Grace, and I knew the servo had a toilet.

Not my photo

I remember finally, once, asking if we could stop at Lake Grace. Sure, was the answer, but why? It wasn’t a particularly interesting place. It had a petrol station and that was about it. It wasn’t even particularly close to where we were, like, about three hours drive away, but you know, I thought there must have only been three petrol stations between Perth and Esperance. Because I want to go to toilet and I don’t like going in the bush, I said. Now, it could have been tough luck, just like the Eat your pumpkin and zucchini ultimtatum, but everyone thought it was a fair request, and then I was told we  could stop much sooner because there was a petrol station much closer. Wowsers. I think I got into the habit of going every time we filled-up or stopped for any reason after that.

When I was about 5 I stood in an ants’ nest in our front yard for no good reason. I don’t think I knew it was an ants’ nest at the time, but I soon did. I didn’t move, of course. I just stood there crying as the six-legged critters nipped up, surely they came down as well, but anyway, nipped up my leg, nipping. And my mother came out flying with a broom to sweep them off me. Which was wonderful. But I don’t think she moved me off the nest, either.  A right proper pair, we were. See, it was a chain of horrific events which forced my bladder to salivate every time it came within twenty-miles of an s-bend. I bet mum didn’t like pooping in the bush, either, but then, the quality of bush or country toilets anywhere,  including in other countries, is never the best.


So, I was doing some yoga this afternoon, maybe in the hope of strengthening my bladder, and Elroy, the bug, decided to join me. We came up with some new posititions.

  • “rose puts leg to the side almost on Elroy’s head while he shoves stuffed toy squirrel under her shoulder, all the while chewing on it.”
  • “rose has stuffed squirrel repeatedly dropped on her head, just in case she didn’t realise that Elroy wanted her to play with him.”
  • “Elroy sneezes in rose’s face while she pulls her leg one way and her arm the other.”
  • “Elroy throws the stuffed squirrel in the air and uses rose’s stomach as a launching pad to catch it.”
  • “Elroy sniffs the two fingers of rose’s hand, held together in meditative pose to keep the conduit of energy and blood flow connected, and prises them apart to see if there is any food being kept between them.”
  • “Elroy sneezes in rose’s face” (it’s a pug/bug sign of affection).
  • “rose sits with legs crossed in lotus position, giving Elroy a nice platform for resting the squirrel and picking it up and putting it in a different position, because rose obviously hasn’t noticed it the first time.”
  • “Elroy gnaws gustily on a bone while rose meditates. He cunningly hides this with the squirrel, so that when rose gently arouses herself from her meditation, shaking out all the pins and needles, she won’t be tempted to gnaw on it herself.”
  • “Elroy sneezes in rose’s face.”

Not my photo, and Elroy is a bug, but you get the idea

This photo can be found here

He is a very funny dog. He got a real bone yesterday. There are a few more in the fridge. This morning he buried them. I say them, because he had disseminated it. It had a knuckle and another end. He’s a very obedient little chap, and doesn’t like to wander too far from home. If it’s sunny, he likes to soak up the rays, though. My partner (let’s call him Tom) had said that he’d spent a long time outside that morning, so we both thought that maybe we wouldn’t have to walk him to see that he did his business. We walk him all the time anyway, but not all walks are for fun. The yard here isn’t fenced and we have woodland out the back. There are raccoon and other creatures in it, so for a little unattended pug, it isn’t ideal. Plus, he only seems to like to go outside if you hold his paw.

This morning, however, he went off into the garden, to the far side of the house – an area he is usually a little leery of. Later, I introduced him to a spot of warmth on the front verandah, and he lay there soaking up the rays. After a period of time, though, he came back in and then snuck (boo-sucks to sneaked) out again. I went out to see what he was up to, spying on him from the porch above. He was covering his bone with leaves and loose dirt, a vine from an encroaching blackberry plant across his nose, just beside the front, outside stairs. Then he trotted off around the side to check on his other bone. Taking care of business this morning meant securing collateral. A while after that, he was just on the driveway, suntanning. I joined him for a while, but when I went inside, he followed.

We walked him this afternoon. A beautiful walk in St. Edwards Park, a local national park. When we come home he usually races up the stairs, dying to get inside, hoping, maybe, for a treat. Today he was very casual. “You guys go on ahead.” He loitered by the bottom of the stairs. I knew he had his cache there, so I urged Tom ahead of me, and then got him to peer down at the unsuspecting Elroy. I guess as long as we were out of his sight, he figured he was safe. He brought his dirt-encrusted, knuckle bone (big knuckle, too) into the house.
“Hey, Elroy, what’s that in your mouth?”
“Mmfff. This? Hasn’t my lip got large and bumpy lately? Maybe we should take a visit to the vet.”
Well, we didn’t want to embarrass him, and any time he suggests a visit to the vet we know something’s up, so we pretended not to notice. Luckily, it’s not really my house. Just the bone itself, let alone covered with dirt, on white carpets, or any inside floor. . . ai-yai-yai-yai-yai. I guess he doesn’t really have an outside place and at least he wasn’t bringing it up on the bed.

So, back to the toes uncurling, the foot screaming while the blood flow tries to reach it after meditation. When he realised I’d seen through his ingenious squirrel ruse, had seen that he was really gnawing on a bone, and not on a stuffed toy, he shifted away from me so that I had a view of his cute little rabbit-tail bottom and continued gnawing. Out of sight, out of mind – though it doesn’t seem that he has any awareness that it could, or should, work the opposite way, too: “Hey, rose, just incase you didn’t notice! Squirrel on the head. Look! It’s right in front of your eyes. No! In fact, it’s on your eyes. I’m just being helpful.”

Elroy, the yoga guru

Thoughts crossing the mind like clouds leaving the sky.
Pain in left hip. Noted.
Music Loud downstairs. Noted.
Breathe in.
Squirrel on eyes . . . Noted.
Breathe out.
Orange chakra through the body.
Squirrel tossed in air, breath squeezed out of body as pug/bug jumps on stomach . . .
. . . Noted.
A-ooo, Werewolf in Lond…
Orange up the spine.
Down the spine.
Squirrel on eyes. Note . . .
Thoughts crossing the mind like clouds leaving the sky.
Ten, breathe in, hold, breathe out.
Eight, breathe in, hold, bre . . .
. . .Pug/Bug snot on face. . .
. . .
. . .
Seven, breathe . . . snot on . . . hold, breathe ou . . .
. . .Slurp, glurp, slupp, lick, schlorp. ?Note . . . d . . .
Mmm, food. Are you holding a snack in your fingers?
Nose in hand. Hand drops. Resume position . . . Noted . . .
Six, breathe . . .

Everything is zen.
The boy has spirit (and a cold, wet nose).

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6 Comments on “– bladderrunner”

  1. MeanderingMelbourne Says:

    Ah and ouch, ouch, ouch to the anthill at 5-years, which I confess to immediately remembering the minute I saw the picture of ants.

    Funny what you remember about childhood travel: I just remember the time the speedometer was broken when Pop’s car was used and we ended up in Esperance by midday. Which was quite something.

    And yeah, I’m for SNUCK (and guileless dogs) too.

    • theheartbeatsoftly Says:

      That trip was great (the fast one). My memory doesn’t have you in it regarding the anthill (nest?) story. It was Koongamia, though. I thought you were at school. But maybe not. Thanks for commenting 🙂

  2. morpho aurora Says:

    Hi rose! i love your stories about elroy, he is CAAB 😀 i just can’t sit still long enough for yoga (at least not the traditional types anyway, though there is a class i’ve tried that is a yoga/pilates mix i enjoy enough to think about teaching).
    oh and i hate the roadside pit stops, i plan routes based on the number of restrooms available.
    (((###))) for you, tom and elroy

    • theheartbeatsoftly Says:

      Hey, Morph. I’m glad you’re still around. There is faster yoga – I like the slow type, though 😉 It would be great if you taught that class. I gues you’re still enjoying work and all? Elroy is as CAAB!

  3. mamason Says:

    I loved this! xxoo

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