Yesterday I was working away at my desk when I happened to look round to find that OMG, there had been a MURDUR!  </ Taggart>

This photo doesn’t really do the scene justice, because there was stuffing EVERYWHERE. Whoever the victim was, it was clear they had been, not just killed, but also skillfully disemboweled. Closer inspection, however, revealed not just one, but TWO possible victims:

On the right of the picture: Bluddy. So called because he is a BLUE version of BUDDY. This unfortunate creature is “Buddy”:

As you can see, Buddy hasn’t been well for quite some time. My mum performed pioneering surgery to sew his face back on after the, er, event that led to its removal, but ol’ Buddy, he just hasn’t been the same since. Sometimes he can’t even remember who he is, the poor guy. We keep him around now for purely sentimental reasons: he was Rubin’s first toy, and actually, we’ve had Buddy longer than we’ve had Rubin, because as soon as Terry and I knew we were definitely getting a dog, we rushed out and bought Buddy for him. When we brought the young Rubinman home, Buddy was bigger than him. Then a year later? Buddy was dead. Shame.

Anyway, back to our crime scene, and as I’m sure your keen minds have deduced, our victim was not, in fact, “Bluddy”, but …

Yes, it’s the DUCK! Who is simply known as, er, “Rubin’s Duck”.  Or who WAS known as “Rubin’s Duck”, past tense. I don’t think that duck will ever “quack” again, somehow, which is a shame, because it does actually “quack” when Rubin presses it with his nose. DID actually quack.

Of course, we didn’t have to look far to find the alleged perp: he was standing right there at the scene of the crime, looking strangely pleased with himself:

He’s all “Yeah, I did it. SO? I’d do it again…” And he would. For now, though, his work here was done:

Still looking inappropriately smug, considering he just disemboweled one of his best friends. That’s the closest we can get him to sit to that dustpan and brush, by the way. Not that I want to spoil anyone’s illusions of how Rubin is a WOLF or anything, but he is TERRIFIED of that thing. Any closer and he will totally lose his mind. I think it must come to life at night and attack him or something.

This concludes our investigation into the Sad Case of Rubin’s Duck. Don’t have nightmares, folks…

I hate gardening. And, yes, I know, I’ve already made my point about that, thanksverymuch, so don’t worry, this isn’t going to be YET ANOTHER POST about how much I hate and resent the fact that I work hard all week, and then on the weekend, instead of relaxing, or doing something nice, I have to do hard, manual labour in the freaking GARDEN instead.

Well, to be fair, it kind of IS about that. But it’s mostly about Rubin. Because Rubin is insane. And as much as I hate working in the garden, I’m pretty sure Rubin hates it even more.

You see, Rubin hates being parted from Terry or I (or my parents, or Terry’s folks, or whoever his “humans” happen to be at any given time). On Saturdays, Terry goes hillwalking with his friends, which means it’s just me and Rubin, therefore I am the chosen human who mustnotbeleft. Unless, of course, I leave the barrier at the top of the stairs down by mistake (Terry had to make a “barrier” to place at the top of the stairs, to stop Rubin going down and peeing on the washing machine. We call it his “perimeter”. As in, “Quick, Jack, set up a perimeter!”), in which case he will be more than happy to leave me all by myself, while he goes downstairs to pee on the aforementioned washing machine. And sometimes the sofa.

Anyway.

So, Rubin and I are alone together, and I go out to GARDEN. (Did I mention how much I hate… I did?) Rubin cannot be left in the house, or he barks the place down. (Note: he doesn’t do this if we leave him to actually go somewhere. He’s fine with that. It’s only if I go outside and he knows I’m rightthere but he can’t get at me. Then he barks like a crazy thing. Which, of course, he is.) So I have to take him with me. This is OK while I’m working in the back garden. There are a few horrified minutes when the lawnmower gets switched on and Rubin reacts with shock and awe, but after that he will relax and go about his business, leaving me to go about mine.

(Unless The Man is out in the garden behind ours, because if Rubin can see anyone AT ALL while he’s in the garden, he will start barking at them like a crazy thing, and when I come out to bring him back inside, he will run away and force me to chase him.)

When I go round to the front, though? All hell breaks loose. I can’t take Rubin into the front because the garden there isn’t fenced in, so he could – and would – run out into the road. Having him on the leash isn’t an option while I’m operating a lawnmower, and you can’t tie him to something stationery either because he would freak out. So I leave him in the back garden. (I’ve tried putting him back in the house at this point, but he knows I’m out there and he gets hysterical. Like,REALLY hysterical. And he tries to climb the furniture so he can get out of the window.) But the back garden has a wrought-iron gate. HE CAN SEE ME. But… he can’t REACH me. And so he goes hysterical. You would be amazed by how much noise a small dog can make when he really puts his mind to it. The whole time I’m working in the front garden, Rubin will be barking. He will not stop. He will not take it down a level. No, he will remain utterly hysterical for as long as it takes for me to return to him. And then he’ll start up all over again when I return to The Front to pick up my gardening stuff.

Solution? Well, I can’t very well leave him barking like that, so this time? I had to pick him up and CARRY him with me. Like a clutch bag, basically, with him tucked under one arm, while I used the other to pull out weeds and people walked by going, “Who does she think she is, Paris Hilton?” . Rubin was perfectly happy with this. He just sat there like a little lord, gazing around the street like “Yoos better not mess with me, right?” And all was calm once more.

(And I know what you’re thinking: I could just have waited until another time, when Terry was home to look after the dog, but unfortunately you can’t really do that in Scotland – if you get a brief window of dry weather, you have to grab it before it’s gone.)

And that was how I passed my Saturday morning: carrying Rubin around like a furry clutch bag while I weeded the garden.

On Sunday, though? On Sunday I bought shoes:

Sometimes I look at Rubin and I think, “GOD, what is that on his face? Has he been eating cat droppings again?”  “You know, I really wish I was him.” I mean, not in respect of the Eating of  Unmentionables, obviously. And, all things considered, I’d probably prefer not to have to pee in the garden. (Which, funnily enough, isn’t Rubin’s preference either.) But every day in Rubin’s life is just a voyage of discovery.  Everything Terry or I do is utterly, utterly fascinating to him. It’s just one new and thrilling thing after another – even when it’s just exactly the same as yesterday in every single respect.

To illustrate this, here is a quick glimpse inside Rubin’s head, starting from the point where he wakes up in the morning:

RUBIN’S BRAIN:
“Awake. OMG! OMG! This is the best day EVER. Whee! Wait, is that…?

AMBER & TERRY OMG! I totally haven’t seen them for SO! LONG! Excitingexcitingexciting! AMBER & TERRY WHO WOULDA THOUGHT IT?!!! WOW!

Outside. Pee. Peepeeepee. Hee! Best. Day. Ever. OMG! Soooo much fun, peeing in the garden, I think I… OMG! POST WOMAN! POOOOOOSSSSTTTT WOOOOOOMMMMMAAAAANNNNN!!! Alert! Alert! Warning! OMFG! Attack! Attack! SO. HYSTERICAL. AAAAARGH! AAAARGH! AAARGH!

Inside. Just can’t get over it. Can’t believe it happened. She was, like, in my driveway and everything. I will never forget it as long as I live. EVER. Maybe sleep now, though.

Sleep.

Awake! OMG Amber is sitting on the bed putting her makeup on!!! Aaaaargh! I want to sit on the bed too! Can I sit on the bed? Can I sit on the bed? Can I sit on the bed? Can I sit on the bed? Can I sit on the bed? Can I sit on the….

On bed. OMG! Best day ever. Best moment of life. WOWOWOW! Cannot belieeeve it! Amber putting makeup on. SO. INTERESTING. Cannot stop looking. Am not going to take my eyes off this. Stare. Starestarestare. STARE. Maybe sleep now.

Sleep.

AWAKE! OMG Terry is … he is GOING DOWNSTAIRS! Can I come? Can I come? Can I come? Can I come? Can I come? OMG!OMG!

Downstairs. Terry opening fridge, aiiiieee! WOWWOWWOW. Best day of life! Give me something. Give me something. Give me something. Give me something. Give me something.

HE GAVE ME SOMETHING OMG! OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!

!

Back upstairs. Watching Terry intently. SO. INTERESTING. Will not take eyes off him. Stare. Starestarestare. OMG AMBER! Is going into bathroom! WOW. Am going to get in before her! Ruuuuuuuuunnnnn!

Fail. Will never get over it. Outside bathroom door. Waiting. Will wait here for as long as necessary. Staring at Terry while waiting. Fascinated by him. Will watch him forever… OMG AMBER! IS BACK! WOWOWWOW! It’s been SO! LONG! Whee!

 Sleep now.”

Rinse, repeat.

And that was all before 10am. Wouldn’t it be great if we ALL got so much excitement out of the simple things in life?

rubin

There hasn’t been much time for blogging this week. Well, there’s been time for BLOGGING, obviously, because, well, that’s pretty much all I’ve done. But I’ve done so much of it here, here and here that there just hasn’t been time to do any of it, er, here. Sorry. I’d say that all work and no play makes Amber a dull blogger but I guess you already knew that.  So!

Other than the almighty blogathon that has been my week so far, nothing has happened. I mean, AT ALL. I haven’t yet succumbed to swine flu, which has surprised me, really, because normally if there’s a flu going around, I will get it. Sometimes twice. I’m guessing Swine Flu is probably waiting until I go on holiday next month before it gets me, because, you know, no point in ruining an ordinary working week when you can ruin a much-anticipated holiday instead, is there?

(Did I mention I’m going on holiday next month? I am going on holiday next month. Yes, I am going to Florida. I cannot. wait.)

Anyway, where was I? I’m sure there was a point to this entry, but dammed if I know what it was.  Look, here is a picture of my dog!

And we can only really guess at the ways in which this incident traumatised Ted, because here is what I found him wearing when I walked into the bedroom yesterday:

You see what I have to put up with?

I'm laughin at yoos!

Yo, peeps, Rubinman in da house! Yes, it’s really ME, the R-Man! I’m here because, it’s like, I read Amber’s last entry? The one where she’s whining about me peein on that “radiator”? And it was as I thought. They see me peein’: they hatin’!  So, like, here’s my side of the “story”. I think you’ll find it’s quite different from what Amber tries to to tell yoos.

So, I have called this entry “Watergate”, and the reason I have done that is because it’s about me peeing in the house. Hee! Do you see what I did there? Do you? Do you?

Anyway, yes, I have been peein’ in the house. Like, A LOT. I’ve not just been peeing ANYWHERE in the house, though: the Rubinman is more cunning than that. No, I’ve been peein on the radiator in the office, and I’ve been doin it every chance I get. Which, like I said, is A LOT.

Before I go any further here, I just want to clear one thing up. Amber and Terry? Them? They’re all, “Wah, Rubinman! Peeing on the radiator is not big and is not clever! Wah!” But, as with so many things in life, They are WRONG about this. Wrong, wrong, WRONG. They are so wrong they could not BE more wrong. Because peeing on the radiator IS big. And it IS clever. And don’t let anyone ever tell yoos differently, kids, srsly.

Here is how I do it, just in case yoos need any tips: I wait until They go to see “Gym” and THEN I do it. They go to see this “Gym” dude almost every day. WHO IS HE? Who is this mysterious “Gym” and why do they go to see him so much? (Also, I gotta say this, but they dress like a couple of asses when they go to see “Gym”. Sorry, but it’s true.  Lycra pants, Amber? Really?)

Anyways, I put up with this “Gym” crap for a while. And then one day I was just like, NO. ENOUGH. I’m not puttin up with this ONE SECOND more. Because I like it to be all about me all the time, you know? And when it’s all about “Gym”, it’s not all about me? So, like, this “Gym”, dude? He is takin the attention that is rightfully mine. Srsly, I am ALL about the attention, so I am totally goin to hunt down this “Gym” and I’m going to bite his bum. It’s, like, Gym? If you’re readin’ this? You better worry, dude, and I’m not even jokin.

So, it’s like, that’s the story of WATERGATE. (God, I totally crack myself up sometimes, I really do.) I’m goin to keep doin it until they crack. I think that might have been today, actually, because when they came into the office and they saw the pee, their faces were all mad and they were, like, goin insane? Hee! And what’s funny about THAT is, they haven’t even found the pee I did ON MY OWN BED yet, either. LOL!

Smell yas,

RUBIN

P.S. WRONG

No one puts Rubinman in the corner!

After my fun walk through Bandit Country, Terry and I decided it would be better if, for my next trick walk, we went somewhere far, far away from the Banditos. Or far enough away that I’d find it harder to get into trouble, anyway.

So we went to South Queensferry:

Forth Rail Bridge

Rubin was determined not to look at the camera here because he was too busy crying like a baby, so desperate was he to begin his walk.

He was crying like a baby in this one, too:

That’s the Edinburgh skyline you can see in the background: the big hill is Arthur’s Seat, and you can see Edinburgh Castle to the right of it if you look closely enough. We didn’t, of course, because Rubin was too busy struggling to get out of my arms and down onto that beach. Once he did, though, he was totally in his element:

Well, sort of:

Incoming waves are scary, apparently…

We walked for about two and a half hours altogether (and Rubin was still tugging at his leash by the end of it), ending up at Dalmeny House:

Dalmeny House

You can totally imagine arriving here in a horse-drawn carriage, in the 19th century, can’t you? You, a poor governess with nothing to your name but the clothes you stand up in, the house rising before you, home to the dashing Earl of Blahblahblah, and his mad wife, who is locked in the attic…. (It’s actually the home of the Earl of Rosebery, and I don’t think he keeps his wife in the attic, but you know what I mean…)

Then we turned and came home, only it took us quite a long time because we’d walked so far. Still, it was worth it to be able to walk somewhere without being verbally abused for once, you know?  And I think Spring may well be my favourite season now. If we lived somewhere else I’d have said it was summer, but the weather’s always so awful here in summer that it never fails to be a bone-crushing disappointment. You wait all year for it, only to realise that it’s going to be all rain, all the time, and actually, the weather was nicer in Spring.  We DO sometimes get a sunny day or two in Spring, you see, and it’s that time of the year when the horrors of winter are over at last (oh please, oh please) but summer is yet to disappoint us, so the days stretch before you, all sunshiney and hopeful.  Love it.

So, a good day was had by all. And no one called me “ginger” even once – bonus!

Well, would you look at that: looks like I DIDN’T find anything other than my birthday surprises to write about this week after all! Let’s just pretend I did, OK? I won’t tell if you don’t…

Anyway, as I mentioned last week, I was a little apprehensive about what “Rubin’s Surprise” was going to turn out to be because… well, he likes to pee recently. Mostly in places he shouldn’t, and by “places he shouldn’t” I mean “on the radiator in the office”.  When I turned around from my busy, important work today, though, and saw this:

I relaxed a little. I mean, I don’t think even Rubin would gift-wrap pee, although you never really know with him. As you can see, though, he’d gone to a not inconsiderable amount of effort here:

So I decided to risk unwrapping it, and here’s what I found:

Aww, books about doggies! He must have had to save up his pocket money for ages to buy those! And now I need to go and finish my work so I can read them…

I wrote a post earlier today, but I deleted it because, well, I suspect there’s probably only so much whining people can take from someone whose current main problems in life are the facts that:

1. It snowed a lot this week

2. She had the cold (AGAIN), and it made her feel, like, really tired and OMG, doesn’t that suck?

3. She still has Two Heads

4. And a really, red, flaky, nose

5. And eye bags.

6. And RED WEALS. Because OF COURSE the red weals would return, on a week when my hair looked like straw, my face looked like that of someone recently exhumed, and I had two heads. OF COURSE they would.

7. Her husband is currently talking like Jack Bauer and complaining about the presence of “daggers” in his throat.

8.  Gah.

Still. I wrote a big long whiny entry about all of that, and then I read it back and my abiding impression was that, yeah, it could be worse, couldn’t it? Boo hoo, I got a second head! So what, some people don’t even have ONE HEAD, how about that? Oh God, I’m talking to myself again, aren’t I?

Anyway, my point still stands: it’s not been the best week I’ve ever had in my life, but hey, it could be a helluva lot worse so, you know, rather than do a whole lot of whining about it, here are some photos of my dog, instead. You are welcome.

 OMG! Fierce! Scary! Run! Save yourselves if you can!

Could. Not. Be. More. Cute.  (Note the back leg resting on the desk : he lay like that for ages…)

 Umm. Yeah…

Santa's Little Helper

Yo ho freakin’ ho!

Yes, folks, this “blawg” message comes to you from me, the Rubinman, Santa Claus, standing in for Amber because – guess what? Yeah, she’s freakin ILL. AGAIN. She totally got the cold, like really bad, on Christmas morning, and actually, yoos should probably all be grateful she did, because if she was here right now she’d just be all, “oooh, mememe, monkies, the cold, me, monkies, cry me a freakin’ river, ME, the end.”

And obviously, yoos would all be like, “Who gives a crap about you, Ginger? Tell us about the Rubinman, that handsome and yet really terrifying young WOLF yoos live with?”

Well Ithe Rubinman is doin good.  It’s like, when Amber and Terry went to that “Tenerife” place, I went to live with my Norma and John, and not a moment too soon, because at least they know how to feed a wolf properly, you know what I’m sayin’? Since They came back, Amber and Terry have been callin me “Fatboy” and they just better watch their backs, because I got a bum-bitin’ here with both their names on it. I mean, the Rubinman has got one. Not me, because I am Santa Claus. Ho ho ho.

Yeah, so, for Christmas I brung Amber and Terry quite a lot of stuff. I, like, brung them a lot of clothes, and I also brung them “money”, and I brung Amber one of them “S.A.D. lights” so she can shine it in her face and, like, pretend she’s in the sun and stuff? So, it’s like, you never know, next year she might even write a “blawg” post or two that ISN’T all, “oooh, the cold, ooh don’t like it, gimme sunshine, gimme monkies, woe!” Yeah, right.

Also, They ate, like A LOT of food for that “Christmas”. A LOT of food. And They didn’t even give the Rubinman any of it. It’s like, yoos should totally send him food, ya know? They had a good time, even although Amber totally whined about how it was, like, the third time she’d been ill this month, and stuff.  What a clown she is, seriously.

Thank Dog that handsome wolf was there to keep her in line is all I can say.

Hope yoos all had a good “Christmas” too,

love

Rubin Santa Claus

Stud

Now, clearly this isn’t the classiest post title I’ve ever come up with in my life, but let it be a warning to you folks: if you have “problems” with vomit (you know, like I DO), you’re going to want to skip this one…

So Rubin was ill over the weekend. I could tell on Saturday morning that Something Was Up, because he didn’t freak the hell out to quite the same extent as he normally does when the post arrived in the morning. Like, normally he reaches Excitement Level 10, but he only got to about a 9.5.

“Something is wrong with Rubin,” I told Terry and my parents, who we were visiting that night. “He is ill, is probably dying. Either that or is faking it for sympathy.”

“Pish!” said my peeps. “Is fine. YOU are one who is faking it. Rubin in rude health. Lookit him being all healthy!”

But I knew I was right, and so when he suddenly and extravagantly threw up the next day, all over his bed, I was not at all surprised, and I would have phoned my dad to say “I told you so!” if I hadn’t been too busy gagging at the time. Dad, if you’re reading this, though: I TOLD YOU SO.

Anyway, we washed Rubin’s bed (by “we”, I obviously mean “Terry”, by the way),  and gave him an old towel to lie on while it dried, because, well, if he’d been sick once, chances were he would be sick again, and sure enough, not an hour later, that old towel was also making its way through a spin cycle, and Terry was once more down on his hands and knees, scrubbing vomit from the floors.

I, meanwhile, took Rubin out into the garden. You know, just in case. He issued out of the back door with all guns blazing, and proceeded to bark enthusiastically and hysterically at the imaginary postwoman who lives at our back gate, so I assumed he was feeling better. “Is better,” I told myself. “Whatever he’d eaten that didn’t agree with him, it has gone. He is fine now.”

And this was how I came to make my fatal mistake – bringing Rubin back upstairs and settling him down on my knee. ON MY KNEE. My knee, from which, Rubin was perfectly placed to vomit copiously ALL DOWN MY LEG twenty minutes later. GOD.

As this happened, I made my second fatal mistake: lifting him from my knee while he was in mid-vomit. Because my chair was right next to the open doorway of the room. The open doorway which Rubin soon filled with vomit, leaving me trapped in a small room with vomit down my leg and more of it barring my exit.

DID I MENTION I AM NOT GOOD WITH VOMIT?

(I hope you weren’t eating while you were reading this by the way.)

And that was how we spent our Sunday. Rubin is absolutely fine now, so we reckon he must have eaten something, probably while he was outside, ferreting around in the grass. We’re keeping a really close eye on him, needless to say, and are making a tremendous fuss of him, which he has been thoroughly enjoying.

As relaxing Sunday afternoons go, though… well, let’s just say we’ve had better.