What is with my hair lately??? I washed it three times on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, yet still it looks like rubbish! Like I'd not washed it in a week, then ran my fingers through it repeatedly. Ugh! Hate my hair. I look like David Tennant on one of his bad hair days. Well, my hair's so fine, forget perms and sets and styling...nothing takes. And even hair spray--I have to use so much sometimes, it winds up going through the day looking wet--and still mussy. On one of the extremely rare occasions--ever 10 years---that I actually go into a beauty pallor to have my hair fussed with for some special event or whatever, I'll be lucky if the posh style lasts halfway through. And if it's windy, at all--forget about it. Have I mentioned that I love wearing hats? 
Anyway, I'm wondering if this sudden case of Mad Hair Disease is the result of my being so ill. 'Dunno' but my hair sure did look like absolute rubbish, yesterday.
Had a dream, last night, about my first dog, Shamrock. She was half purebred collie and half retriever mix. She mostly looked collie--except for her dumb ears--they were shaped like a retrievers, but partly stood up, when she was alert--they looked sort of silly.
Shamrock was incredibly gentle and kind--we had a neighbour who positively loathed and detested dogs--and he always petted Shamrock affectionately. Where he chased all other dogs from his yard, he'd smiling, call Shamrock over and give her a treat or pet her. Everyone--and I mean, everyone--loved my dog.
A DOG LIKE SHAM--BUT SHAM'S EARS DROOPED.
She was also hugely smart, and, she was my absolute very best friend. We went everywhere together, and had a genuine rapport that's so very rare--whether between animals or humans. Sham just seemed to always know what I was thinking....almost to the point of it being uncanny. She was sharp as paint, when it came to learning new tricks. She could shake--either paw, sit, get up, come to me, roll over, lie down, turn left, turn right, and speak. Often without any readily noticeable signal from me, but a slight nod of the head, or merely eye contact or a soft whisper.
She caught on to a new trick, one day, purely by accident--and she learned this literally in about five minutes--I sometimes think she made this trick up on her own--but I know that would just be silly. Anyway, she was rolled over on her great whopping back (she was large, weighed about 70 pounds), and I, just kidding around, did a Dirty Harry impression, "Go ahead, make my day!" And using my finger as a gun, pointed at her and went, "BANG!" Well...Shamrock yelped, and flopped over---just like she'd been shot! I had a flash of "Eureka! A new trick!" And had her roll over again, just to see if she'd repeat the action--did the "bank" thing--and yes, she did it again, exactly as before--so all I did, was scratch her belly (to heck with dog treat rewards, Sham's weakness was belly rubs), and repeat the "trick" several times more-and she never forgot it, not ever...right down to the yelp and the flop! Of course, it was sometimes less effective, when she forgot herself and wagged her tail when she was supposed to be "dead," but I think if Sham had been a person, she would definitely have been an actress, she was such a tremendous ham. The later became the number one request from people, for all the neighbours loved this new trick of hers.
Sham had one other "trick," that was popular with the neighbours, and made them laugh hysterically. Shamrock was EXTREMELY vocal--I mean she could actually sob and cry and carry on like a human being...it scared the neighbour kid, who never knew what to make of it. Well, at the end of Sham's repertoire, I'd have her sit. Then I'd walk up to her and say, sympathetically, "There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" On cue, everytime, Sham would bury her head in my knees and actually start "sobbing" and crying at the top of her lungs---a real "Oh woe is me!" act. Oh, the neighbours would be laughing and going "Awwww!" Shamrock was such a huge ham during her "performances," but she also used to pull this act whenever I came home after being away for any length of time. She was such a baby. In high school, I'd barely be off of the school bus, when she'd come running up to me joyously, and then start bawling her eyes out..."OHhh! I missed you mum, how could you stay away so long?!?"
The neighbours would always know when I was home, by the sound of Sham's sobbing.
Speaking of the neighbours, One day, one of the neighbours decided to put a post and rail decorative fence in the corner of his yard, and plant some shrubbery around it. He'd worked hard all day, in the hot summer sun, put in the last post, securely in the ground, and went into the house for a cold beer. He came out, and found Shamrock doing her damnest to pull that last post out of the ground--she had that sucker in her teeth and was yanking on it for all she was worth--digging up the soil as well--bound and determined to remove that post. Well, it didn't belong there, did it? There never was a post there before.
Anyhow--I was just...appalled, when I'd found out. Stammered out an offer to pay for, and repair the damage. I was refused. Seems the neighbour was so amused by the whole thing, he considered it worth the wasted post and work. I guess, he could have stopped her, early on, but it seems he was laughing so hard, he just stood there on his porch, busting a gut and having a good old time. He said it was the most entertainment he'd had in months--took her over a half hour to pull that post out, and the man just stood there the entire time, just laughing. Well, some people are easily amused, I suppose--or maybe it was the beer? People just loved Shamrock. She had just the most perfectly gentle and loving nature, that even people who were normally afraid of dogs, would take the time to pet her.
I've had pets all my life, but only once, if you're very lucky, will you get an animal companion like Shamrock. I was truly blessed, the day she was born in our cellar, to my sister's dog, Happy. The day I picked a puppy at random, and said, "I want that one." That was the luckiest day of my life.
Have to go to work soon. Eight or ten hour day---will depend on how I'm feeling. I'm knackered, from everything, still. I'd quite frankly, give and arm and a leg and another arm, just to have a week--or even a weekend--off. No such luck, gotta' pay that rent and stuff.
I wish I was somewhere else, doing something else, but wishes are for children and the wealthy. I'm just a low-income, old maid, telemarketer. And if I don't end this post, I'll be late for work! Cheers!
