On acquairing a Consort

Queenie has a Consort.

It's Himself of course.

He was always her Consort, even before she knew him, but it's official now.

Elizabeth the JP sent the paperwork in.

We wrote our own vows and neither of us said 'till death us do part', I am not sure why.

Too much like tempting Fate I suppose.

Tonight, though, I am Consortless, Himselfless, as He has gone to the island to visit his parents.

Shannon the Husky has gone for a little wander in the woods by herself (because she is a big girl now), and so for the first time in about three months, I am the only being in the house on a Saturday night.

The only other thing using oxygen is a candle.

I have a glass of wine on the go.

The Radio 2 jazz show is on in the background (although I haven't heard any actual jazz yet), and the only other sound is the odd POP as the pickle jars seal themselves.

Zucchini pickle, chow chow, pickled beets.

Only two more batches to do, but I have run out of jars.

I am still trying to come to terms with being married.

I was trying to work it out today while the dentist wrestled with my inability to feel no pain while he drilled. And again while I was pickling (they should make pickling mandatory in prisons, it is the most soothing occupation in the world, you figure everything out while you're watching your beets simmer).

I always thought I would be the Elizabeth 1 of the Queenie world.

There are some advantages to being married though.

When somebody tried to talk me into spending $100 an hour on getting Shannon to be better behaved, I said I'd have to talk to my husband about it and they backed right off.

Then I told my husband to get a rolled up newspaper and smack Shannon on her pert little ass for chewing on my arm.

Unfortunately, it all went Pete Tong at that point, because my husband pointed out that he was already the Alpha in the house, so I would have to do the smacking if I wanted to achieve the deputy Alpha position.

I can't smack my dog without intense trauma on both sides. Himself waves a newspaper at her and gets instant model dog behaviour.

When I do that, she tries to chew the newspaper.

I smacked her once with a paper on her ass, when she shat in my brand new shoe while I was telling her not to, and it was so traumatic for the pair of us we have not gone back there again.

In any sense of the word.

Is there anything more mortifying than being ignored by a being who depends on you because YOU FAILED HER EMOTIONALLY?

I'd be a terrible mother....

I figure she'll just stop doing all the annoying things eventually. Thereby saving me hundreds of dollars in dog whispering fees.

Also, she's going to Chris at the kennels for a fortnight soon.

Chris takes no shit from any dog and yet they all adore her.

So Chris'll put manners on her and then she'll be so happy to see me when she gets home, she'll be good.

Kinda like me after I got out of Colaiste na Leanai, or 'the prison camp in Ring' as we called it.