Resistance is futile: The rise of the super furry animals

Me + Miles = happy days

You may have already noticed in previous blogs that I am a bit of a pet lover. I am, I’ll fully admit, a sucker for the animals, witnessed by not only my willingness to dogsit Cedric the Viszla at any time & my swift falling into love with my mate Allison's gorgeous French Bulldog Miles, but also by the numerous pets I have kept over the years. In the early years I had a series of confectionarily named hamsters (Caramel, Toffee & Rolo since you're asking), who seemed to pop their clogs with alarming regularity. I graduated up the rodent stepladder to the gerbils Yogi and BooBoo who, if I remember rightly, met their untimely end after a row over a particularly succulent looking chunk of cucumber. I also had a very fine border collie by the name of Henry, who though slightly mad was very dear to me, and well… more on him later. I had rabbits by the names of Radar & Silver, the latter most remembered for an unfortunate mating incident where a friend’s rabbit proceeded to mount her at the wrong end. Ouch! Think of the teeth! Both these two fluffy friends went to that giant rabbit hole in the sky at the hands (or should that be paws?) of the dreaded beast, the urban fox…  Enough of the gloomy pet death tales maybe, and yes, I’m sorry about that, but it’s on my mind at the moment following a recent conversation with my aunt, so I just can’t help myself.

Blowing a raspberry at life

First I must tell you a little about my aunt. There seems to be a thing that runs in that side of our family’s female line, that we are massive animal fans, and none more so than she. She has five cats, as well a very fine and patient (well, he’d have to be with all them cats) dog called Jago. My favourite cat is Yoda, who holds the adorable qualities of being both very affectionate and rather stupid (and no, that’s NOT how I like my men…. well only sometimes). On an adorable side note, Yoda’s particular charm is his tongue, which being that bit too long for his mouth, is permanently protruding as if he’s blowing a huge raspberry at life (which I’m sure he would be if he were only a little smarter to understand it.) Anyways, I digress…. Unfortunately, last week I got a rather tearful message from my aunt who broke to me the sad news of the demise of Yoda’s mum Marmi, who was brutally whisked from this world courtesy of her neighbour’s violent dog. She was naturally distraught, but one of the things she kept repeating to me was the fact that ‘it’s only a cat’ as if I were somehow going to judge her for her tears. Of course I would not, being such a keen animal lover myself, but I think the statement that ‘it’s only a pet’ is something us pet owners have all had leveled at us at some point (mostly by those around us who are without such animal adoration in our lives), and unfairly so as pets really do become such a massive part of our lives.

My beloved Henry

You wouldn’t think electronics purveyors Samsung have much to do with this, but as a partner of Crufts dog show they recently carried out a survey which reported back that 9 out of 10 dog owners consider their pet a ‘fully fledged’ member of the family. Furthermore, half of all dog owners said they would be sadder if their pet passed away than if their uncle, aunt or grandparent did. I certainly know that when my beloved collie Henry passed away I was distraught. I got the news he was off to the vets for his final curtain while I was travelling on the 73 bus through Kings Cross. I was sobbing, snotting & generally scaring off all my fellow bus riders so much, I got that rare occurrence of a spare seat next to me all the way home, practically unheard of during rush hour.

Look into the eyes.... 

But why is all of this outpouring of grief? Are they ever ‘just a pet’? Well, thanks to a friend who firmly holds the belief that dogs are evil manipulators trying to take over the world (well he would say that, he’s a cat owner!) I am now equipped with information about what it is that builds the doggy-human bond so much. He pointed me in the direction of some recently released research in Science which found that when dog owners (or as my cat owning friend refers to them, ‘their human overlords’) look into the eyes of their pet, there is a chemical released called Oxytocin, also known as the "cuddle chemical”. This hormone is responsible for encouraging bonding between mothers and their offspring, both human and of the more furry nature too Furthermore, it is also involved in both partner bonding and that within social circles. When you take all of this into consideration, it is no wonder we love our canine chums so… but hold up! The release of oxytocin is not just restricted to our relationships with children, lovers, friends and dogs, but actually all pets in general.  A study in 2014 of the same hormone showed that the more pets you’ve had in a lifetime, whether dogs, cats or even goats (hat tip to my father there, AKA the Goatherder General of New Jersey), corresponds with higher levels of the cuddle chemical being released.

Unfortunately the influence of longevity of her pet relationships is rather bad news for my aunt. She has owned dogs for as long as I can remember, and her still remaining family of cats look set to be around for a long time yet, not withstanding the neighbours dog. However, she needs to remember the wise words of (the only sometimes batty) Sigmund Freud who reportedly said that “Time spent with cats is never wasted”, and should she need a hit of the huggle hormone (as I’m now calling it) she need not look far to gaze into the kitty eyes of Pooky, Moose, Yoda, Wednesday, Holly or indeed the ever patient (& much beat up) Jago. While it may not make up for her sad loss, it might make the blow that much softer to bear, and frankly who could blame her, after all, they are all so much more than ‘only a pet’.

Jago & my aunt. Happy dog walking days.

Are the sisters doing it for themselves?

It can’t have failed to escape anyone’s notice that it’s not long to go before the general election, 20 days to be precise and for me, one of the things that has really stood out in this particular democratic campaign, is the women. It’s not just the fact that there has been far more high profile women than I’ve seen in elections previously, with Sturgeon, Green & Bennett purportedly holding the political balance in their hands as they pack political punches at swivel eyed Farage. Nor is it the fact that taking into account the number of women standing for election and current polling, parliament could see its biggest ever influx of female MPs. No, for me it’s more than that, it’s the women around me that I’ve noticed more, and this can only be A Good Thing.

According to an article I read this week, over 9 million women failed to vote in the last general election, a figure I find both staggering and depressing. If you look at the younger demographic (younger than I unfortunately) the problem gets even worse with a mere 39% of women aged 18-to-24 voting in comparison with 50% of men in the same age bracket. Yikes! That’s terrifying! Can it change? Well fingers crossed, and judging from the very small pool of my mates, I’m hoping it will this year. Ok, ok, pub conversations involving alcohol may be less reliable than actual facts and statistics, however it seems to me that more of my female mates are engaging politically this year, to a higher degree than I’ve witnessed previously. Whereas the vast majority of my female friends have investigated parties, debated pros and cons, and certainly registered to vote, whenever I’ve encountered a lackadaisical ‘they’re all the same’, ‘what’s the point’ response, it has invariably made its way into this world from the mouth of a man. Now, I’m not going to slate all my boy mates here, there are some that are raring to go come 7^th May, voting cards at the ready so they are certainly not ‘all the same’, but it seems to me that this year, the sisters really are doing it for themselves and I’m wondering what it is that has turned the tables?

Well, the Guardian reader within me certainly points to the effect of the current government, after all, no matter what paper you’re reading, we’ve all seen the statistics that suggest that under David Cameron’s leadership it is women who have lost out the most (and no DC, a heads up, I won’t ‘calm down dear’). Certainly the very public female leadership of some of the leading minority parties has played a part, you only had to see the reaction to the recently televised leaders debate to witness that. I’d also like to think that the relatively recent acceptability of feminism has had a role to play too. The prominence of the work of Everyday Sexism & the No More Page Three campaign are just two examples that have not only spurred on a generation of young women to proudly wave their feminist banner high, but also kick started my generation to realize that just perhaps we never really achieved the gender equality that the 1990s ladette culture promised.  In my humble opinion, the reasons for it don't matter, but if these factors combine to get more women voting, this can only be for the better.

With only 4 weeks to go until the election, I can only hope female voting really does improve this time round, and if my friends are anything to go by then it certainly should. But the real key to improving matters is actually getting out there and doing something… With only 3 days left to register to vote, it’s crucial that us women (& all the chaps out there too) make sure we can actually get our voices heard. If you haven’t done so already, it only takes 5 minutes, so get on it, please! Handy link hint here: https://www.gov.uk/register-to-vote.

p.s apologies for the slightly ranty, serious tone of this blog. Normal service will resume shortly…. promise.

Putting my money where my mouth is

I’ve done many terrifying things in my life… I’ve had a go at flying planes, in fact I’ve even jumped out of planes (albeit strapped to a very fine specimen of South African man beef). I’ve done public speaking batting only the mildest of eyelids, and heck when I was suffering from an (as yet undiagnosed) inflamed appendix aged 13 it had at one high-fevered delirious point, crossed my mind that the cause of all my stomach pain was that I was the next virgin birth. I blame the Catholic upbringing for that last one, but needless to say I have faced my fears, however over the next 2 months it is time to face some more…. The Dentist.

Yeah, cos that TOTALLY makes me 
trust you more! Idiot.

I’ve been terrified of the dentist as long as I can remember. Having had my teeth pulled, prodded, filled and poked for years, I have developed an intense aversion to our fang-tending friends. So much so, I must confess *hangs head in shame* in recent years, my mother has taken to treating her 34 year old daughter in a manner akin to a 5 year old, namely, by coming along to offer sympathy & hold my hand. OK, maybe not literally hand holding, but let it be said, when I book my dental appointments, more often than not, I check my mum’s availability first. Pathetic isn’t it? And before you say anything, it’s not the pain I fear. Sheesh, I can cope with PAIN! The 13 year-old appendectomy survivor within me scoffs at mere pain! No, it’s all the poking and prodding I don’t like. The not knowing what’s gonna happen next, or where in my mouth will suffer the next onslaught of drilling, scraping, jabbing or pulling. It’s the being completely and utterly at someone else’s mercy, while flipped with your feet in the air, blinded by a torture lamp that is more often seen at your friendly local, CIA black site.

Ian, with his 'successful' extractions

So no wonder I’m scared of dentists! And that’s before we even start talking costs… Apparently the UK has some of the highest dental costs in the world, and the highest overall in Europe, according to Keith Pollard, chief executive of health-care publisher Intuition. I guess this explains why there is a rising trend in home dentistry in the UK, with DIY dental kits are being sold in record numbers. Just earlier this week, several newspapers featured the story of army veteran Ian Boynton who, unable either afford private treatment or find an NHS dentist, has extracted 13 of his own teeth since 2006 using no more than his trusty, rusty pliers, a thought which fills me with more horror than house spiders (which says A LOT). Naturally, he has only managed to extract said teeth & not replace them, leaving him with the gappy-faced grimace of a 18^th century sugar baron, not a look which I wish to try to pull off.

So where does that leave me? Well, my fear of dentists still remains, as do my next four appointments over the next two months, which (should) successfully root canal & crown my recently cracked tooth. However do think of me in June, although I may not be smiling as I stare into the cavernous gape of my now empty bank account, at least I’ll have my teeth all fixed & gleaming, ready to take on the next toffee apple that comes my way… Unlike poor Ian.