I am not just a wallet and a couch

As I climb out of bed in the dark and traipse off to the kitchen to put on the coffee, the house is quiet and I realise this is what it's going to be like in a few more years. The house is clean. I don't trip over anything and it smells faintly of vanilla.

image courtesy of www.flickr.com and Terry Trevithick

It's just me and the beloved.
Oh, and that idiot dog who gets up to go to the toilet more times that an incontinent grandparent. 

I'm OK with that , I married her because quite frankly we never stop chatting and we have always discussed what it will be like when we retire , what we will do,  where we will go - because I think that as parents we are going  find it difficult staying relevant as the kids get older.

At least until they need to move back home because they are building a house or renovating and have nowhere to live. (At which point I will have to start wearing pants again…..)

So do they still need me ?

Of course they do - who else is going to pay for the 1.2 kg of Weet bix and 15 litres of milk they go through each week. Not to mention the fact that if I wasn't around the would run out of clean plates and cutlery in the first day. And don't even start on the clothes portion of their lives.

I'm not saying that I'm completely irrelevant I'm just saying that there’s a new phase coming and I want to be ready (You know the Beloved, she'll  want a backup plan for the back up plan) because emotionally it's going to be tough.

When I get home each night from work nowadays, there isn't those two cheeky little grins screaming "daddy's home !" , "daddy's home !" and clinging to a leg each as I greet the house, now the only person happy to see me is the dog, and I think that’s because I bring in the smells of the world with me or at least the vague promise of food.

I remember back when, once I hit 15 my parents were the people “so lame” and it wasn't until I was a 20 something that I realised I really do need them and they weren't just some extra furniture that was handy to crash on whenever I felt like it. And that was when I really started to have a proper relationship with them, you know each side putting in and getting out equally. 

We have set about the kids next phase of their life and are starting to make them independent. We can’t wrap them up in cotton wool ( otherwise they will make terrible husbands and live with us forever) they have to learn how to be functioning members of planet earth. We know this.

But it’s happening just so damm fast. They cab catch trams , make lunch and even breakfast. ( none of this gets done without intimidation effort and prompting and guiding.) But anyway they seem to be grasping some concepts.

So I guess for the time being I'll just focus on keeping my expectations low and focus on being there when they need me.

I was at a Rugby match to watch the Eldest and I swear to you the u/15’s team were still finishing shaving whilst getting out of the cars they had driven to the ground – They look like grown men.

image courtesy of www.albany.edu

I point out to the Beloved that this what we have to look forward to and we share a little wistful glance at our youngest son playing under a tree.
While the rest of the world sees a boy poking a dead pigeon with a stick to see what will happen  - we see a little boy still curious about the world.

Tomorrow morning he can have 3 Weet Bix instead of the 6 he normally has, maybe that will slow things down a bit……..

A new pot and and the break up

This weeks culinary post involves change in our lives. The (now ritual) Sunday night cook up with the youngest son has branched out nicely with such dishes as hand made gnococci with 4 types of mushroom sauce and even a lasagne with 7 types of roasted meat in it. In the search for new dishes, new authors are sought out and this week a Chinese dish was presented for production.

Regardless of how you view me, at heart - I'm Lazy guy.

This means if I can only use one pot then all good. If not I will immediately invoke the " I cooked you have to clean" rule. This is especially true if it was a messy dish that required every pot and pan in the house.

So the idea of a one pot meal has intrigued me greatly. The main problem is I have never had a "one pot"

Its something that has eluded me until now. I was admiring an earthen ware pot in the store near me, the sales lady called out to me from behind the counter " Very good pot, can do everything" then I thought what the assistant then said was "one is in Chinese and one is in English, you need the English one" So I started sorting the boxes in to piles of Chinese marked boxes and English marked boxes. Turns out what she actually said was " one side is in Chinese and the other side is in English just turn the box over"

Now I have to throw out something out because the cupboard is full and because clutter is not good
As per this post you need to be organised you can't keep everything. Problem is I'm chicken.

I don't know which item to move out in the cupboard to make room for my new baby.

So I delegated the task. I left the pot on the bench above the cupboard and waited. And as per standard operating procedure, the beloved cleaned the cupboard and found room for the pot. The mere fact that something did not have a place was just too much for her to bear.

So now I don't have the guilt of having to look at the pot or item that was discarded and say " Thanks but it's time we broke up as I need to use other pots "

Its essentials a win / win situation.

I'm just to soft when it comes to this sort of thing.

Anyway on the the recipe.

2 Brown onions chopped
50g ginger
some coriander stalks chopped
3 cloves of garlic
60ml oil
1.25 kg of shin or brisket cut into 4cm chunks
2 tsp Chinese 5 spice powder
6 star anise
1 tsp peppercorns
1/2 cup of brown sugar
1/4 cup light soy sauce + 2 tsp dark soy sauce
2 tsp tomato paste
700ml beef stock

Jasmine rice to serve.

Preheat the oven to160c

Grind up the ginger, coriander and garlic in to a paste ( I used the mortar and pestle because it's fun )

Heat up the pot on the stove top with the oil, cook the beef for 3-4 mins in batches and set aside.

Lower the heat to about half and cook the paste you made with 1/3 of a cup of water for 3 mins. Add the star anise, five spice and peppercorns, cook for another minute and then add the soy sauces, sugar, tomato paste and the beef. Sir thoroughly and then add the stock so it just covers the beef. Bring to to boil then put on the lid and transfer the pot to the oven for 2.5 hours.

It will look like this - sort of a stew

Remove the beef from the mixture with a slotted spoon and set aside in a warm spot. Boil the remaining sauce on the stove top until it reduces to at least half the volume and thickens up a little.

Put back in the beef  and you're ready to go. Serve with the rice.

Dealing with Loss

I don't deal well with loss.

There I said it.

I really hate it when I had something and then I don't. Or worse when someone else had something and now no longer does.  ( I'm glaring at the moment at the other occupants of the house ). I know I'm not alone.

Nothing frustrates me more than when someone loses something of yours. And don't get me wrong I'm not just focusing on the cost of goods now days. Even though thirty years ago you could by 20cents of mixed lollies and they would last the walk home.
Now you have to by $20 dollars worth and hope the 8 lollies you get, last the drive home or an inter-car boxing tournament will break out.

No - I'm talking about caring. I think that if you're upset about the loss then you care.

Image courtesy videosonar.com

I once had a physical altercation with the refrigeration because I though it had lost my squeezy bottle of Dijonaise (you know the one Adrian Richardson advertises ?) Why , because I care. Plus that stuff is awesome on sandwiches.

It's quite frustrating seeing that look of  "Oh well I'll have to get another one " just drives me nuts.

It's not OK. You lost it.

Think about when you were at school. At the start of the year you are given beautiful fresh books, a set of pens, paper,pencils coloured pencils, Textas and an array of sharpeners erasers etc.

But by the middle of the year whats left ? 3 Half chewed HB pencils, 4 Textas with no lids and some of the coloured pencils.

Image courtesy of mypigeonpair.blogspot.com

Now I get why my Father would get so cranky about me leaving his tools around the yard. He expected that if I would use them then I would afford the tool the usual courtesy of returning it to where it came from.

The issue is for a long time I was under the impression that if I left something in a certain spot that was because I would know to go back there to get it.

Let me illustrate how it works :

I get home and I want to change out of my "good " clothes into something comfortable ( for a long time this was just my jocks ) so I take of the good clothes and leave them on the floor. Exactly where I will be able to find them again later.

Why ? Because that way they will be where I could find them when I next need them.

Now let me illustrate how this all fell apart:

When the beloved first moved in she had commented that my "filing system " of on the floor was not suitable. I took this as "advice " ie It wasn't a set in stone rule. After a few more mentions, I had left clothes etc on the floor and then gone out to work. When I came home my clothes and other items left on the floor were now in the yard under a sprinkler.

The system was abandoned in favour of the new "advice".

So now I patiently try to teach the Minions that yes you can use my stuff and no you cannot leave it where ever you think you will remember it.

And I wonder how my Father put up with it all.......

The hidden Squirrel in you.

When something breaks nowadays you probably throw it out as it usually can't be fixed ( well at least it can't be fixed for less than what it initially cost you). Or you just shove it in a drawer or cupboard to get to later.
It wasn't always like this, you used to be able to repair things. In fact it was a mark of your ability to be able to be a useful husband / father in the future.

Like a peacock displaying it's feathers to gain a suitable mate, husbands/fathers to be must be able to demonstrate a working knowledge of everyday repair capabilities. This list examines that.

In order to repair things however, you need to build up a store of parts which often means just hanging on to some really broken stuff to strip for parts. It's a fine line because you don't want to keep everything - that's something different- but just enough to be useful.

Image courtesy of aricsherbie.blogspot.com

Hoarding is a listed medical condition. It is more often listed as Pathological collecting and is best described as the excessive acquisition and inability or unwillingness to discard large quantities of objects that would seemingly qualify as useless or without value. Compulsive hoarding  is also apparently associated with health risks, impaired functioning, economic burden, and adverse effects on friends and family members. I would say that's because you have to put all that stuff somewhere. 

When I was a kid I began to learn that my Dad kept a lot of stuff, he never seemed to throw anything away. I'm certainly not saying he is a compulsive hoarder and if I ever wanted to build/fix something he seemed to have a part of the things required.

But........

I did notice a couple of odd things

There seems to be eight  broken washing machines hidden under the house along with the half used cans of paint when he painted the house - 20 years ago.

He has a hobby farm that is liberally bursting at the seams with odds and ends. We once bought a pile of scrap iron and steel at a clearing sales because it had the one piece we needed. Mind you straight after the sale was complete a lovely lady came over and bought a bucket of horse shoes from our pile, for $5.00 which coincidentally was the price we paid for the whole pile !

Dad was for ever reusing stuff such as re-straightening nails to use again, picking up stuff from the hard rubbish collection in the middle of the night (which drives Mum nuts). My current lawnmower was on a hard rubbish pile and was "saved", refurbished and now works like a charm - if taking 30 minutes to start and making the same amount of noise as a Formula One car and blowing smoke constantly is counted.

When we were pulling down our old house he kept the whole lot to re-use the timber somewhere else. He still has some of it.

I assumed that I was fine and that I would not wake up one day with washing machines under the house. However when The Wife to be  first moved in I had 100's of drink coasters I had collected, which was a worry as I don't remember why I was doing that or when I had collected them.

I also started picking up discarded things from hard rubbish piles that I had decided could be fixed. Now I actively stop myself. It just got too hard to hide it all from the Beloved.

And don't think you're all perfect , we've all got "that drawer" or cupboard that is full of everything and everything, that we're always going to "clean up one of these days". It has all the things we have hoarded collected over the years and it's usually in the kitchen or in our case also under the stairs.

image courtesy of learning2coupon.com

You know why you haven't gotten to it yet -because some times it's just to hard to decide what should stay and what should go.

So now when I approach something that is going to have to go , I silently say to myself  "What would Dad keep?"

Don't try this at home - lessons from some one who knows

Apparently there are eight  principles of learning as set down by Educational Psychologists and Pedagogues, these are (in no set order) :

readiness, exercise, effect, primacy, recency, intensity, freedom and requirement.

As a side note here something I didn't know - Pedagogy is the study of being a teacher or the process of teaching. The term generally refers to strategies of instruction, or a style of instruction. 


But I digress.

I sit quietly as the tears stream down my cheeks and I reflect on my inability to learn. How did it happen again ?I fit all of the eight principles so what went wrong ? How did I get here yet again ? I replay the steps in my mind  and realise that these are amateur mistakes that just shouldn't be made.

The first time was back when I was trying to impress my wife to be whilst we were at our favourite restaurant for a nice noodle soup and conversation not only did I manage to get chili in my eyes but I followed it up with a good dose of lemon juice. My eyes puffed up, went red and I looked like Twilight saga fan who has just been told Taylor Lautner is now married.
So the entire time was spent trying to clean out my eye and suffice to say not much conversation other than "Are you sure you're OK ?" went on.

At least this time it was just onion. And I had taken precautions - I had washed the onions under running water which supposedly stops the vapours that cause you to cry be released. But once again like before I had taken my finger - all coated and primed and jabbed it in my eye to relive a perceived itch.

Image courtesy of slashfood.com

As I wait and gently wash my eye with cool water I cast my mind back to all the other "Don't do this" moments in my life.

- Get on a rowing machine after a hot dog and a beer at "O" week at University, turns out your vomit reflex is really close to the diaphragm, so after exertion the body just empties itself. I didn't make the rowing team either......

- Pull apart secateurs while holding them in front of your face. Seems they have a few safety precautions built and as I rotated them and kept up my attempts to pull them apart one half neatly sprung off and pierced my lip and embedded itself into my gum. So off to hospital we went. My wife still claims to this day I'll do anything to get out of gardening.

- Pull mussels off the pier with bare hands. It seems that even if you grab them gently they are designed to defend them selves by being razor sharp all the way around. The tiny yet prolific cuts they leave behind really only become apparent the next day. When you can't clench a fist any more or hold your cutlery......

Image courtesy of blog.smalladventures.net

- Attempt to saw rubber water pipes with a hacksaw when they apparently have steel wire re-enforcing inside them. This will cause the hacksaw to catch and then bounce out and come down on your finger you were using to guide the blade and sever a good chunk of you finger nail and slice into the finger. The sheer shock of this one (surprise and then searing pain) was enough to convince me to use an angle grinder on everything for about a month afterwards.

- If you take hot trays out of the oven with a wet cloth it turns out the heat from the tray turns the water in to steam vapour which will leave some marks behind. It just goes to show that rushing in a kitchen isn't a good strategy.
For all of you who know that I cook regularly - contain your howls of dismay, this one is not  recent experience. I use it to illustrate a point.

My eye feels a little better and my nose seems to have stopped resembling Victoria Falls, so I guess I'm good to go. Until I have another learning experience of course.

I wonder which of the eight principles I'm at right now ?

Entertaining. It's like flying a plane you know

My earliest memories of dinner parties that my parents held are my sister and I getting up early  the morning after when the sophistication has gone and all that's left is some  Carrs Water crackers with a slice off egg and a small teaspoon of fish roe on top. The "caviar" has stained the egg slightly black but it's still a mouthful of adulthood - snuck while they are still asleep. The remnants are cleaned up quietly and the room is done.

The next room holds a a treasure trove of half finished deserts, dirty coffee cups with their rims gently marked with lipstick of all shades and in the center of the table - the ultimate prize - Tulip After dinner mints. The rectangle white box and the mint - in a small brown envelope - was what we were here for. You could sit up in the big chairs around the table and slide the mint out of the envelope and then put the envelope back in the box. The perfect crime.

After all how were they going to remember how many had been eaten ?

The rooms still smelt faintly of cigarette smoke and stale perfume. All of which to us was just another example of complete sophistication.

The diner parties were strictly off limits whilst they were in full swing. If you were going to interrupt it you better have either Ebola or have been the victim of a shark attack. Children were to be not seen and certainly not heard

My parents were the masters of entertaining, everything was perfect, from the gold rimed Noritake dinner set to the individually polished silver cutlery. The guests would arrive and champagne corks and polite laughter would pepper the evening, and then after a while they would all move from the lounge room to the dining room to consume delights prepared earlier.

Image courtesy of http://3.bp.blogspot.com

Well that was the 70's and 80's. Fast forward to today and the pressure to entertain well is akin to being a pilot of a 747. One wrong move and lives are at stake.

I'm blessed to be married to a woman whose attention to detail makes OCD look like a common cold so I'm ahead of the crowd from the start. But don't think that makes it any easier, nowadays Masterchef and every other TV chef proclaim to be able to make even The Incredible Hulk able to cook up a five course meal in 30 minutes or less. So the expectation is already set.

And to make matters worse the meals have to good for you as well, because the minute you re-create Adrian Richardson's Crackling Wrapped Pork Roast  with mash and tarragon salad, some one pipes up with the calorie count and the next thing you know the forks start going down on the table.

Now days portion control is a major point of contention. Serve up an American portion and you'll be howled down, serve a big plate with the food as a desert island swimming in an ocean of sauce and people will look to you for assurances that there a  lot more courses to come. You simply can't win.

There's now even a movement of people who only use ingredients that are transported  less than 100 kms away from where they are, which is fine but that would mean I would have to start keeping cows and banana trees in the park around the corner. Which would be pretty hilarious watching all the people walking their dogs in the park trying to stop them from eating cow pats.

image courtesy of gorenm.com

Anyway entertaining has certainly changed and if the people you are inviting over have even the remotest interest in food and you don't want them to get  Social Commitment Phobia when you invite them over, you can't just slap some Coles sausages on plates and hope for the best.

No,  you are going to have to do research, preparation and planning. Which means you have to get all those cookbooks down from the shelf and read them.

Again I'm luckily ahead of most people as we have been given a plethora of cookbooks over the years from which to research from. I often wonder with all the millions of cook books purchased/gifted if anybody actually makes dishes out of them (besides us) or are they simply used as a conspicuous display of knowledge.

So next time your better half says " Hey we should have our friends /family over for [insert occasion here] " I'd think twice especially if they don't like Coles sausages....

A new honour - Wizpert (or Dad on the Go Live ! )

Sometimes in doing what you love and are passionate about, some one says "Hey you are the kinda person we are looking for !"

But after some smarty pants nominated me for "Best Mom Blogger " and then a number of you voted for me, I was wary of such invitations.

So you can imagine my surprise when I was invited to join Wizpert, a service that matches you with an expert on the subject that you need advice on. So I dutifully filled out the details and away I went. I ticked the parenting box as I felt my travel and foreign language expertise could be a best considered poor.

And lets face it who better to talk to than the guy that did this and this to new jeans to get advice on avoiding such issues.

I also have the great privilege of talking to the CEO Michael Weinberg, about my blog and being part of Wizpert. He is a father of two and looks just like I expected an entrepreneur to look like - switched on and energetic.

So now you can talk to Dad on the Go live on Skype ( it's free ) and who knows maybe we can discuss avoiding this !

How to get bat blood out of your couch

Stains are a part of everybody's life. As a Dad your going to come across some pretty interesting stuff. Some times you will be the stainer and sometimes it's the others who require assistance. Bottom line is you need to know how to remove some basic ( and other types ) of stains.

But first back to the title of this post. How did we get and then get rid of bat blood ?

We had left our intrepid In Laws in charge of the house whilst we went to see some New Year fireworks. "Somebody" left the wire screen door open and of course as could only happen to us a bat flew in the gap and started flying around the room, only to collide with the full speed ceiling fan peacefully attempting to cool down the house.

It bounced once and flopped on the couch.

Got its bearings and immediately took off into the fan again this time doing real damage and landed bleeding and stunned on the couch

A note about the couch - this is no ordinary couch, it was bought after much deliberating and sitting (on couches) , it's so huge it had to be hauled up to the balcony and brought in through the doors as it didn't fit up the stairs. The covering is micro suede and it wraps you up and makes you forget about the world whilst it lulls you to sleep. 

To say the beloved is obsessive about no stains on the couch is a gross understatement, at one stage we were only allowed clear drinks in case we spilt something ( so red wine was definitely out.

It was stain guarded within an inch of it's life but this doesn't matter.

So here we are with a blood stained couch, a mother in law locked in her room, a father in law holding the dog like Paris Hilton at a media event and no sign of the bat.

So the first thing was to....

Get the blood off the couch. The bat can wait. 

Soda water was procured (cold, as hot water sets the blood ) and off it came.

Stains come at you from any angle , grass , dirt, grease, kiwi fruit on a wall, funny black dust from the back of a mat, the list goes on.


Most of my help came from a book called Gloria's helpful household hints, because you have to be prepared and ready to remove any stain well before discovery if at all possible.

And as all of you know sometimes it's just too hard to explain how the stain came about.

Image courtesy of tips.cleaninghouselondon.co.uk

Battery Acid - will come out with a little bi-card soda and water. Mix it into a paste and let it dry. Scrape it off and sponge the stain.
Oil - Spread lots of talcum powder over the stain and then put some paper towel on top. You need to put the whole thing in a warm place because you want the oil to heat up and be drawn in to the powder and towel. You will need your patience on this one.
Cordial on carpet - Try a good carpet stain powder and then wash lightly with some Napisan in warm water

Over time you will find that you can build up a handy little repertoire of tricks to keep any child or object relatively clean whilst on your watch. This will help you
a) Stay married and
b) Look like you know what you are doing as a parent

And for the record -  I found the little fruit bat clinging to the curtains and released him into a tree. I hope he mentions my kindness to his other more larger and dangerous friends.

Face it Dad, you are not a plumber....

I had an physical altercation with the dishwasher. I know it was wrong  but it was giving me the irits. For the 900th time it had just refused to start and was sounding an annoying alarm complete with a "not listed" in the manual error code.

So now not only did the dishwasher not work but it also now had a series of dint's across the front. These small fist and knee sized marks had caused much heated discussion and angst in the house, so it was decided that a new unit was required.

Being the handyman that I am I confidently declared that not only could I negotiate for the new dishwasher, but that I would save the $95 and install it sans plumber.

After all how hard could it be. I just take out the old unit and slide the new unit in after connecting the hose and the water outlets.  They're all the same after all

Right ?

So a new dishwasher was procured and brought home. (I am not paying $50 for delivery when I can do that myself as well)

An apprentice was selected ( Mr 11) and the cupboard under the sink was cleared so pipes and drain hoses could be disconnected and then the new hoses reconnected. I am constantly amazed at how many vases we own and they all seem to live under the sink ? What are they for ? I certainly don't buy flowers !

1st Problem - the hose could not be disconnected as the spanner was too small. So off to Bunnings we go and these were purchased :

(Now try and show me a tap I can't disconnect !)

So I took out the old unit and left it in the yard appropriately disposed of it and the apprentice and I carefully appraised the situation (opened a beer )

2nd Problem - The new dishwasher has a water  filter/pressure modulator on the end

 ( the big square thingy)

And it doesn't fit in the current hole from the previous dishwasher hose.

A drill and a larger hole is required. So a series of holes around a measured area were drilled and a hammer was employed. The apprentice gets into the cupobaord to ensure that perfection is acheived.

3rd Problem - There is two layers of chipboard where the hole needs to be. The hammer is'nt working, so many more holes are drilled and  the situation appraised ( a second beer is opened) Then more vigorous hammering in undertaken.

The hole is now sufficently large enough to fit.

4th Problem - The hose now fits so I clean the edges of the hole with my hand to ensure nothing impedes the hose or casues problems later on.The cabinet maker used pretty much every nail he had and I felt a sharp pain in my finger. No  time to worry we had work to do. But now blood is dripping on the floor and getting on everything. The hole in my finger was tiny but the blood just kept going.

So after a first aid stop, the situation was appraised ( yep another beer).

The taps are now connected and the drain-hose is fitted (two hose clamps and a heap of four letter words)

Now all to do is slide in the unit and test.

Clunk. The dishwasher hits the bench and stops. We re-angle and try again, Clunk and stop. This can't be happening how can it be too tall ? I measured the gap and compared this with the manual. We get the measuring tape and remeasure the hole and the dishwasher and they are indeed different.

Time and and a lot more cursing goes by.

The apprentice asks about the screw in feet. He is immediately hailed as a genius. The feet are lowered and in slides the unit. We have 10 minutes to get everything back to normal including putting away all those vases, before the lady of the house gets back.

The apprentice says "I can see you love doing this stuff Dad but you're no plumber"

So I have learned an important lesson - Never get into a fight with a dishwasher as they will have the last laugh.

Of Mice and Men.......

The first time The Beloved One knew that she might have more than just a husband on her hands, came very early on in the journey. Grandpa on the Go has a small piece of land and he actively farms it on weekends. (more often now that he is retired). This means we had to do many things that for normal people wouldn't even be given a second glance.

But for the two of us it becomes an epic adventure.

So GP says to me  " Hey, we need to get the dead branch out of the tree before it falls on the fence and breaks it."

" Plus it looks like some good firewood"

The " tree " he is talking about is some 30 meters high and the " dead branch " is about 2/3's of the way up and wedged tight.

image courtesy of somewhereelse.com.au

So as we collected the necessary tools, the future mother of our kids followed us around, ready to help where she could. Grandma gently took her aside, patted my new bride on the hand and told her calmly " it's best not to watch dear" and off they went.

So off we went as well. The idea was simple we would tie a rope around the branch to stop it falling on the fence and then we would, with another rope pull it out of the fork it was stuck in.

It was agreed that Grandpa would hold the rope stopping the branch hitting the fence and I would dislodge it.

Like this, it seemed a good idea at the time

The tree brach went down,

The rope tightened,

And Grandpa went up.

Imagine a teabag in a giant cup going up and down banging against the side of the cup, except the cup is a 100 foot Gum tree and Grandpa is the teabag.

After he let go and dropped to the ground he hobbled inside, his knee now the size of a basketball. Grandma calmly went about getting ice packs and pain killers, she was after all quite used to this.

After we had all finished for the day and after fixing the broken fence, my wife said to me "At least now I know and it won't be a suprise later on."

and she was right.

Why you can't neuter your own cat.....

So as previously noted Grandpa on the Go used to be a surgeon. This meant that he was the kind of dad that went 120 miles per hour during the week and then ran around after us on the weekends (the ones he wasn't working).

When he did have a few precious moments we went to a small piece of land we shared with our aunt and uncle just outside of Narre Warren. (which for my overseas readers is like owning land 60 kms outside of Los Angles, back in the 60's before Orange became cool). It was here that we dug holes, chased the few cows that grazed peacefully and learned to ride a horse.

Grandpa decided that we had a slight cat problem (after getting rid of another litter of kittens ) and that we would neuter the only male cat present.( That was dumb enough to hang around )

image courtesy of funnymadworld.blogspot.com

"Its simple" he said, "I'm not paying some vet to do something I can teach even you to do..."

So off we headed to the shed that backed on to the main concreted yard. It was pretty dark, but had a nice high bench that we used to mix the feeds and medicines. It was battled scarred from cutting up apples and carrots and the whole place was more like a morgue than a sterile surgical room.

So we laid out the tools we were to use and he starts to measure out the anesthetic. He looks at me and says "How much do you reckon it weighs?"

In my eagerness to impress him I blurted out a number. And with that the die was cast. The cat went out quickly.

Truth be told Dad was right it's not as difficult as it looks. ( I won't describe it here). The issue is when the last stitch is in place and it's time for the patient to wake up.

As we both looked down at the limp and motionless body, the only thought going through my mind was "how do we explain this to Grandma? "

It seemed like an eternity before the cat stirred. It opened its eyes and was so surprised to see the both of us staring back at him, that it tried to jump off the bench to escape. Problem was the back half of the cat still hadn't woken up yet so it just rolled once and flopped on to the ground. (I can tell you they don't always land on their feet)

We were so relived that we just burst out laughing at the cat which was now trying to walk out of the shed with its front legs going one way and its back legs going the other.

Three hours later it was sitting upright with out the aid of a wall

Five hours later it had stopped falling over

We never did it ever again.

Dad and I still laugh about it when no-one else is around.