My Blog has moved to a new site! .

This blog has moved to a new site. Same neurotic content though so please check it out:
www.faysflounderings.com

Things I am not very good at: Paying tribute to women when there is just so much I want to say.

 A very belated Happy International Women's Day to all the women who have in some way impacted and enriched my life or the lives of others! Of course that encompasses quite a number.  Women like my mother and my daughter and all the other women I am fortunate enough to be related to by birth or marriage.  Women like my Kiwi schoolfriend who helped me pluck my eyebrows and let me keep my makeup at her house (my mother was a little conservative about these things).Women like my friend from Norway who told me as I was agonising over something stupid I had said at a dinner party, "Fay most people don't even give you a second thought," which  for some reason had never occurred to me, but was just so liberating. Women who told me not wear stripes with squares, and that I was too short to wear wide flares.Women who helped me parent my children. Nuns I met working with the poorest of the poor in Bangladesh and Muslim women I came across fighting poverty in their communities in Iraq. Women I was privileged to sit and have tea with in remote areas of the world, such as the Masai women in Tanzania and Bedouin women in Jordan.  (Oops, this tribute is turning out to be longer than I expected, and I am really only getting started).

Women who laugh at my jokes. Women who protest the death penalty and female mutilation. Women who like rugby. Women who are brave enough to share their stories of rape, incest and sexual abuse so that others can also be brave enough to seek help. Women who take care of their grandchildren because their daughters or sons have died of HIV/Aids. Women who pray for a better world. Women who pray for me. Women who stand for womens' rights and run for public office. Women who go through divorce and disastrous relationships and come out the other side stronger yet more compassionate. Women who take the time to encourage me and read my blog even though they have much better things to do. Women who write great books and music. Women with good self esteem who encourage neurotic insecure women, and vice-versa. Women who let me know they love me when I need it the most. Women who work to protect the environment and campaign for world peace. Women who struggle with poverty or ill health. Women who have lost a child but keep going even though their hearts are broken.  (Oh dear, there is so many more that I want to mention but I am running out of room and time, perhaps I need to broaden it somewhat). Women who stay at home and work and women who go out to work. Gay women and straight women. Old women and young women and middle aged women. Women like my sister-in-law, who took part the world's oldest flash mob in New Zealand recently (check out this link: Lifemark Flash Mob. She is the one in the blue!) Oh for crying out loud this is impossible!  I should just stop now and wish a HAPPY WOMEN'S DAY TO ALL WOMEN!! It is better to be late than never!






Things I am not very good at: Being terrorised by a puppy

A couple of weeks ago our house was taken over by a tiny fluffy bundle called Bunce;  our Jack Russell puppy. For the first few days he lulled us into a false sense of security with his cute puppy eyes and soft licks of affection. But we soon realised that our lives were now controlled by someone I am beginning to suspect is the doggy version of Chucky. We have nicknamed him Bunce Bin Laden, as I am convinced Osama has been reincarnated in the form of our Jack Russell Terrorist.

Oh sure, he can be cute and cuddly; especially when he wants something. He makes the cutest purr sound and burrows into the side of my neck, and then bites my ear. He loves to curl up with us on the couch if he is worn out from ripping my rugs and full from all the shoes he has eaten.  When people come over he is cute and playful and they all think we are making a big fuss about nothing. But then, when they leave and we are all on our own with our defences down, he mutates into something else altogether. He growls and snarls, with the whites of his eyes showing and attacks whatever is in front of him: body parts, computer cables, furniture, my new jeans, burying his teeth into them and swinging his head back and forwards like a thing possessed. I am certain I saw his head turn a full circle on his neck the other day; exorcist style. Where is that dog whisperer bloke when you need him? Or maybe we need a ghost whisperer?   

In case you are laughing at our ignorance, we did do some internet research before deciding on a Jack Russell (JR) puppy.  We chose to ignore the numerous warnings about house destruction and out of countrol dogs, which we assumed were mainly written by people trying to sell their books on dog training.  I even watched a very funny video on Youtube of a JR chasing and trying to devour a vacuum cleaner, which I thought was so cute, not realizing that Bunce would do the same thing with my bare feet.   Not to mention my ears, nose and top lip and just about every other body part he can get his tiny little jaw fixed onto. What on earth were we thinking? I am beginning to have nightmares about him blowing something up or attacking me in my sleep: his fangs the size of knives and forks. There is something about the way he smiles at me as he does his business on the rug in the kitchen, rather than outside where he knows he is supposed to do it, that just makes me nervous.

So new we are desperately seeking help. We have bought books on Jack Russells and signed up for Puppy Classes. The first class was not much help. Apparently, the old days when it was ok to give your dog a "good kick up the arse" as my father used to say, (and he often did) have definitely long gone. Hitting them with rolled up newspapers and shoving their noses in their own doggy doo seems to be also out of fashion. Now its all rewards and reasoning and getting down on their level and explaining nicely why biting mummy's hand off and burying it in the garden is not acceptable behaviour for a good wee puppy.  I am searching the internet for any Jack Russell owner's support groups in our area: My name is Fay Foster and I am a Jack Russell survivor.... so far.  Sometimes knowing you are not alone can be very therapeutic. I know they say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but at this stage I am worried that if we do get out of this alive, there may definitely be some bits and pieces missing....