Why can't every day be like Christmas...
...sang Elvis Presley.
Well Elvis dear, I'll tell you why. Christmas can be a bit of a challenge.
Unlike many Christmas babies, I lurve Christmas. I really enjoy buying and giving gifts, and am more than partial to receiving them too!
This Christmas, our first in Melbourne, husband and I offered to host dinner for my extended family. Because Christmas is nicely nestled inside summer we had planned a backyard picnic degustation. The prediction of rain, hial, and even snow for Christmas day meant sitting 28 people in our dining room. This first challenge was overcome without too much trouble. My lovely parentals bought us some champers and wine glasses and a quick trip to Ikea on Christmas Eve (when all their Christmas stuff is half price and the place is quiet) saw out house nicely decorated. Trestle tables care of the Stellas and chairs from various sources arrived. So far so good.
The next challenge was a purely personal one. I had put togehter the menu for the night and had given myself the task of doing 'Smashed Chicken'. Sounds friendly enough, but what I had to do was cut off the neck and remove the giblets (mmmm, squishy organs which are still attached...) then cut the chook up the centre, cover it with a tea towel adn smash the crap out of it with a rolling pin. The cutting and pulling off of necks was a less than desirable task, yet somewhow more desirable than scraping out chook organs. I felt vaguely wrong about the smashing part, but also a little bit de-stressed by it. (^_^)
It was a short while after I had prepped the chooks, after having thrown said organs and necks to the dogs, that I noticed my slightly good dog Beans behaivng very strangely. He was very quiet and still (both huge feats for this hyper little foxie) and hiding under a bush. I got a bit worried and asked husband to come and have a loook at him. Husband (thankfully) thought to check the dogs gums as the colour is a great indicator of what's going on. Sure enough his gum were a white-blue colour, meaning he either had internal bleeding or was suffering from shock.
Where does one find a vet on Christmas day when one hasn't even got a vet here yet, let alone know the lay of the land? The Yellow Pages and three phone calls later we were on our way to Bundoora, about 9km down the road, and a $118 consultation fee.
As soon as we got there Beans began to perk up a bit (must be the smell of pigs ears and other dogs) and the vet checked him out. She couldn't find anything wrong with him. I was worried that he had maybe got vitamin A poisoning from chicken livers, however that is appraently a build up thing over time. He had no internal bleeding and nothing caught in his throat, so it was all a bit of a mystery. I got a text from mum saying they'd found a huge vomit in their bedroom so we assumed something he'd eaten hadn't agreed and had somehow put him into shock. We left with some bland food for him to have in 24hrs and instructions to keep an eye on him.
Phew! All good. Home we went.
And we went straight back home to a blackout. Yes, no electricity. We were due to have almost 30 people arrive in the next two hours and we had no power. Thankfully all my cooking was being done in the Weber BBQ. Lucky we'd bought candles at Ikea, or it was going to be a very dark Christmas indeed.
Dad went to go and have a quick snooze and found another massive pile of vomit. I'd have been feeling pretty shit too if I'd thorwn up that much food! Beans had kindly vomitted right next to dad's pillow and over his bedding. Awww, what a nice little grand-dog.
Half an hour later I noticed Beans' face was looking a bit funny. I then realised he had now come out in haves. His whole body was bumpy, his belly spottey and face swollen. Back on the phone to the vets and we were told to come down for some injections.
A measely $18 later Beans had a cortizone and anti-histamine injection.
Back at home the power came on, our alarm went off (as it does every time we have a blackout), Beans made a full recovery, we had three litres of brandy cream (mum trebled the recipe as it didn't sound like enough) and the relatives began arriving.
The rest of the night went quite well, with way too much food (as always, despite mum's worrying), lots of drinking, hilarious KK presents, and a lovely family arguement (which thankfully didn't involve me).
So, Mr Presley, why can't every day be like Christmas? Becasue I would be very poor from vet fees, pulling apart and de-organ-ing my meals, cold and eating spoiled food without electricity, be hand washing dog vomit our of linen and nursing the bruised egos of family members. Also I would be so bursting with food that I probably wouldn't be able to get out of the door.
I did however get some lovely presents so that's OK.
I was only vaguely happy to come back to work today.
Well Elvis dear, I'll tell you why. Christmas can be a bit of a challenge.
Unlike many Christmas babies, I lurve Christmas. I really enjoy buying and giving gifts, and am more than partial to receiving them too!
This Christmas, our first in Melbourne, husband and I offered to host dinner for my extended family. Because Christmas is nicely nestled inside summer we had planned a backyard picnic degustation. The prediction of rain, hial, and even snow for Christmas day meant sitting 28 people in our dining room. This first challenge was overcome without too much trouble. My lovely parentals bought us some champers and wine glasses and a quick trip to Ikea on Christmas Eve (when all their Christmas stuff is half price and the place is quiet) saw out house nicely decorated. Trestle tables care of the Stellas and chairs from various sources arrived. So far so good.
The next challenge was a purely personal one. I had put togehter the menu for the night and had given myself the task of doing 'Smashed Chicken'. Sounds friendly enough, but what I had to do was cut off the neck and remove the giblets (mmmm, squishy organs which are still attached...) then cut the chook up the centre, cover it with a tea towel adn smash the crap out of it with a rolling pin. The cutting and pulling off of necks was a less than desirable task, yet somewhow more desirable than scraping out chook organs. I felt vaguely wrong about the smashing part, but also a little bit de-stressed by it. (^_^)
It was a short while after I had prepped the chooks, after having thrown said organs and necks to the dogs, that I noticed my slightly good dog Beans behaivng very strangely. He was very quiet and still (both huge feats for this hyper little foxie) and hiding under a bush. I got a bit worried and asked husband to come and have a loook at him. Husband (thankfully) thought to check the dogs gums as the colour is a great indicator of what's going on. Sure enough his gum were a white-blue colour, meaning he either had internal bleeding or was suffering from shock.
Where does one find a vet on Christmas day when one hasn't even got a vet here yet, let alone know the lay of the land? The Yellow Pages and three phone calls later we were on our way to Bundoora, about 9km down the road, and a $118 consultation fee.
As soon as we got there Beans began to perk up a bit (must be the smell of pigs ears and other dogs) and the vet checked him out. She couldn't find anything wrong with him. I was worried that he had maybe got vitamin A poisoning from chicken livers, however that is appraently a build up thing over time. He had no internal bleeding and nothing caught in his throat, so it was all a bit of a mystery. I got a text from mum saying they'd found a huge vomit in their bedroom so we assumed something he'd eaten hadn't agreed and had somehow put him into shock. We left with some bland food for him to have in 24hrs and instructions to keep an eye on him.
Phew! All good. Home we went.
And we went straight back home to a blackout. Yes, no electricity. We were due to have almost 30 people arrive in the next two hours and we had no power. Thankfully all my cooking was being done in the Weber BBQ. Lucky we'd bought candles at Ikea, or it was going to be a very dark Christmas indeed.
Dad went to go and have a quick snooze and found another massive pile of vomit. I'd have been feeling pretty shit too if I'd thorwn up that much food! Beans had kindly vomitted right next to dad's pillow and over his bedding. Awww, what a nice little grand-dog.
Half an hour later I noticed Beans' face was looking a bit funny. I then realised he had now come out in haves. His whole body was bumpy, his belly spottey and face swollen. Back on the phone to the vets and we were told to come down for some injections.
A measely $18 later Beans had a cortizone and anti-histamine injection.
Back at home the power came on, our alarm went off (as it does every time we have a blackout), Beans made a full recovery, we had three litres of brandy cream (mum trebled the recipe as it didn't sound like enough) and the relatives began arriving.
The rest of the night went quite well, with way too much food (as always, despite mum's worrying), lots of drinking, hilarious KK presents, and a lovely family arguement (which thankfully didn't involve me).
So, Mr Presley, why can't every day be like Christmas? Becasue I would be very poor from vet fees, pulling apart and de-organ-ing my meals, cold and eating spoiled food without electricity, be hand washing dog vomit our of linen and nursing the bruised egos of family members. Also I would be so bursting with food that I probably wouldn't be able to get out of the door.
I did however get some lovely presents so that's OK.
I was only vaguely happy to come back to work today.
posted by Miff at
8:16 am
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