Candy?
by Roger McKillop
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: None.
Description: The Pomsky Princess receives a new home and a new name.
Swearwords: None.
Description: The Pomsky Princess receives a new home and a new name.
“Candy, Cannnndy.” Now who the hell is this bloody “Candy?” Mmmm, that’s Mum callin’ but the other one’s Granny, eh, could it be the cat? Well if it is, he’s payin’ no attention, mind you he blanked me when I wanted to play. Grumpy feline git! “Candy, come on my girl.” Look over my shoulder, no one there. Oh, she’s giving me food, yum! Let’s forget who this Candy is for now! Downed the grub, licked me chops, stretch an’ yawn.
Head droops, eyes close an…..Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. This is my first night in this strange but welcoming house, I wake up to find mum tickling my tummy. Oh yes, I’ll have a pint of that, if you please! “Candy, it’s time for bed.” She picked me up, while I was looking round for this Candy bugger. She put me in a cosy bed in my cage with en-suite pads and built-in toys. I chewed Teddy’s nose for a bit, then remembered that I was away from my pack. Mum had gone to her bed and I was alone. The cry built up inside of me, the emptiness of exile started off as short high pitched whines, grew deeper, longer and louder. Then the feelings of loss and separation burst from me in a body shaking howl. As my world was falling apart, fingers reached inside my cage and began to stroke my neck and scratch my ears. I looked up from my misery and saw my mum. She had come out of her bed, lay down beside me and continued to comfort me. “Candy, my wee girl, it's ok.” Candy? Eh, no one else here, so…………………Oh! Got it, Candy means, come and get fed, wanna tickle, wanna walk and yes it must mean me! Ok, that’s one doggie PhD for me then!
Mum stayed beside me all night. Her gentle touch calmed me so I could sleep. I loved her for that and knew that I was loved in return. There was I, a small grey-brown fluff-ball, with a dark, short, snout, mismatched eyes, pointy ears, “tiger” stripes and a wimpy tail but she loved me. It came in warm cozy waves from her and I was going to return many fold what had been given. I slept in the comfort of my new pack, secure in the knowledge that I belonged. All that now remained was to sort out the pecking order, mmmmm and I’ll start with that bloody cat!
I awoke feeling bladder pressure, decisions, decisions, do I chew the mat or pee on it? Need to pee, need to pee neee… mmm, it does look tasty though, OK decision made, do both! Just spotted a flaw in the plan, while you shake and chew one end, it's difficult to keep my end over the other! Oops, wet paws! And another thing this cage is too tidy it needs to be properly Ev?/Cand?/Me’d! Oops, more problems, mucking up my bed tends to spill my water, so soaky totties again! Mum took me outside so I could “be a good girl.” So we settled down to our morning ritual of “two piddles and a poo.”
Back up to the house and look for the cat. He must be in a better and more playful mood by now. There he is, so, flounce in, mouth open, tongue lolling and tail wagging, drop into pre-play crouch, both front paws out in front and bounce from side to side. A masterclass in inter-species communication, meaning, obviously, “chase-me, chase-me” which only an idiot and it seems this cat, could fail to understand! Response, play face, excitement, action, there was NOT! The booger (oops, slipped back into a wee bit of Munster there) bloody blanked me. Well they say “revenge is a dish best taken cold”, just you wait moggie!
On the subject of communication, I was used to the sibilant tones of Munster, augmented by bouts of Denis’ Dubliners CDs. I knew that Mum and Granny were talking English BUT, by Jeasus, it wasn’t English like I’d ever heard! I, now, understood that Candy was me and I recognised “wee” but the rest went over my head, except “Dindins!” I very quickly found out that Candy had pronunciation variants. Many of them started with the word “Ya!” As in “Ya scunner!” “Ya devil!” And Granny’s favourite “Ya wee bugger!” This was used to indicate that some part of Candy’s behaviour had not met with desired standards! As an example, when I tried to help Granny with mopping the floor. The best way for me to offer assistance, obviously, to me that is, was to grab the mop and help her to shake it about. Nope, no good cause it elicited the following and unintelligible response, “Candy, ya wee bugger, leave ma mop alane! A cin dea ma ain hoosework!” One day after pushing all the cushions off the settee, Granny gave me a real ear-bashing! I got down, looked at her walked over to near a pee-pad, got eye contact, fixed her with an Agnes Brown stare, dropped my rear end and peed on her carpet. That’s what you get for giving me into trouble. By the way Granny lives near Scotstoun stadium but I state here and now, I will always remain a Thomond Park’ Pomsky Paddy!
Oh yes, unfinished business, let's try that cat again. Where is he? In the front room, snuggled up on the settee. Right, two of us can play that game, I’ll muscle in and join him. Mmm, it's high for a wee doggie! Ok, down to the front door, use the lobby to gain speed, through the the front room and take off, with a warning cry if “In-coming!” This will show him, “Pomsky-Puppy-Power!” DOOSH! He swung a paw from out of nowhere and caught me squarely on my snout! I bravely looked him in the eye, turned and ran howling to my mummy! I was just lulling into a true sense of security. I will be back kitty!
I enjoyed my toast morning and night as well as my puppy food but everyone else seemed to be eating much more tempting grub! While still mooching, unfruitfully I may say, for some mum food, she told me about my name. Evidently when they came to let me pick her, when she picked me up my coat seemed different from my brothers and sisters. She said I was a wee, soft, fluff-ball. On the drive back to Dublin she said that I was “like some puff-candy.” This amused her and she vowed that, when she takes me to her house, after my week’s quarantine, if I eat any of her stuffed toys, I would get a pink re-spray and a stick placed so that it would make turning round in narrow spaces very problematic! Yes, yes yes! Just found out the cat’s name is “Coochie!” What a handle to your jug! No wonder he’s such a sourpuss!
The other members of my new pack were Mum (thinks she’s the boss), Granny (the scary real boss), Uncle Gordon (the early morning soft touch, who gives me treats to stop crying. Sod, whimper whine; munch Munch MUNCH!) and John (delegated for daytime walkies), me, of course ( supplier of cute, innocent looks and occasional wet patches) and Coochie (“The Target!”).
Now, revenge is achieved by knowing your victim. Know the cat, now the method. I kept away from him, especially after my nose found out about the hidden claws, sneaky git! He always sleeps in Gordon’s room. I followed him in one day and received a perforated snoz for my troubles. Ok, if he wants to keep me out, I want, desperately, to get in! Now why is he so protective of that room? Possessive of Gordon? Mmmm, no, cause Gordon often tickles my tummy. He’s an easy target for the waggy tail, jump up, flop down, legs in the air routine. So it can’t be that. Safety of sleeping place from possible attack? Nope, cause he regularly kips in the front room! What’s he got to hide? Eh, wait a minute, where does he get his food? I’ve never noticed a bowl beside mine, mind I don’t see much when grub scoffing! Let’s look, nope no extra bowl, gotcha puss! Gordon’s door is usually shut so try scratching. Only resulted in a “Candy gonny stoap that ye noisy bugger!” from Granny. Ok plan 2, sit with pathetic, lost puppy look on my face pleading for entry. Entry was there not but I glommed a couple of treats from John, so there was some profit in the day! I managed to follow Gordon in one day but he picked me up and took me back out BUT not before I had completed my gander round! There in the corner was Coochie’s bowl with delicious cat food, I’d heard about fusion cooking and was happy to try infusing me with his nosh.
Now I don’t know if anyone was sussing out my plans but next day there appeared a barred gate blocking Gordon’s room. It was too high for me but smarty-kitty-features, could jump up and over to get fed. I barked, scraped and whined to get in but all that happened was the smug feline git would walk along it and look down on me like the gloating git he is! One day I was on my tod in the lobby, looking at the gate, try pushing, ouch, smacked my bloody chin ‘cause my paws went through the bars. Try burrowing under, mmm not enough room. Try nearer the door, more room but still not enough, cause of this bar against the door frame. As I pulled my nose out, my head went up accidentally and the bar moved! Mmmmmm, interesting, nose under the bar, push up and it moved again. The bottom of the gate also moved in a bit, very interesting. Heh-heh, gotcha this time, Coochie, me old mate. Finally with the bar at the top I could push the bottom of the gate inwards and get into Gordon’s room. Quick look round, no witnesses, with a metaphorical cloak pulled over my head and a sinister “Ha-ha-ha” I entered the inner sanctum.
There in the corner was the target of this raid. I hurried over and started to exercise my jaws, munch, crunch and yum. Strangely as I eat it up, I noticed that food kept pouring into the bowl. No wonder the moggie muppet wanted to keep this to himself. With my head in his bowl, I heard his hiss of disgust and angry snarl, the walls and my bum blocked him out. Oh joy, revenge is sweeeeeeeet! He whacked my rump, to no effect, being a fluff-ball has its advantages. I looked back in disdain and thought, “You’re not ignoring me now, Coochie-kitty! Talk to the butt!” Then, all of a sudden, my Munster genes came to the fore and wee Pomsky Paddy me thought, “Erin go brath agus pog mo thoin!” (Ireland forever and kiss my ass!)
Head droops, eyes close an…..Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. This is my first night in this strange but welcoming house, I wake up to find mum tickling my tummy. Oh yes, I’ll have a pint of that, if you please! “Candy, it’s time for bed.” She picked me up, while I was looking round for this Candy bugger. She put me in a cosy bed in my cage with en-suite pads and built-in toys. I chewed Teddy’s nose for a bit, then remembered that I was away from my pack. Mum had gone to her bed and I was alone. The cry built up inside of me, the emptiness of exile started off as short high pitched whines, grew deeper, longer and louder. Then the feelings of loss and separation burst from me in a body shaking howl. As my world was falling apart, fingers reached inside my cage and began to stroke my neck and scratch my ears. I looked up from my misery and saw my mum. She had come out of her bed, lay down beside me and continued to comfort me. “Candy, my wee girl, it's ok.” Candy? Eh, no one else here, so…………………Oh! Got it, Candy means, come and get fed, wanna tickle, wanna walk and yes it must mean me! Ok, that’s one doggie PhD for me then!
Mum stayed beside me all night. Her gentle touch calmed me so I could sleep. I loved her for that and knew that I was loved in return. There was I, a small grey-brown fluff-ball, with a dark, short, snout, mismatched eyes, pointy ears, “tiger” stripes and a wimpy tail but she loved me. It came in warm cozy waves from her and I was going to return many fold what had been given. I slept in the comfort of my new pack, secure in the knowledge that I belonged. All that now remained was to sort out the pecking order, mmmmm and I’ll start with that bloody cat!
I awoke feeling bladder pressure, decisions, decisions, do I chew the mat or pee on it? Need to pee, need to pee neee… mmm, it does look tasty though, OK decision made, do both! Just spotted a flaw in the plan, while you shake and chew one end, it's difficult to keep my end over the other! Oops, wet paws! And another thing this cage is too tidy it needs to be properly Ev?/Cand?/Me’d! Oops, more problems, mucking up my bed tends to spill my water, so soaky totties again! Mum took me outside so I could “be a good girl.” So we settled down to our morning ritual of “two piddles and a poo.”
Back up to the house and look for the cat. He must be in a better and more playful mood by now. There he is, so, flounce in, mouth open, tongue lolling and tail wagging, drop into pre-play crouch, both front paws out in front and bounce from side to side. A masterclass in inter-species communication, meaning, obviously, “chase-me, chase-me” which only an idiot and it seems this cat, could fail to understand! Response, play face, excitement, action, there was NOT! The booger (oops, slipped back into a wee bit of Munster there) bloody blanked me. Well they say “revenge is a dish best taken cold”, just you wait moggie!
On the subject of communication, I was used to the sibilant tones of Munster, augmented by bouts of Denis’ Dubliners CDs. I knew that Mum and Granny were talking English BUT, by Jeasus, it wasn’t English like I’d ever heard! I, now, understood that Candy was me and I recognised “wee” but the rest went over my head, except “Dindins!” I very quickly found out that Candy had pronunciation variants. Many of them started with the word “Ya!” As in “Ya scunner!” “Ya devil!” And Granny’s favourite “Ya wee bugger!” This was used to indicate that some part of Candy’s behaviour had not met with desired standards! As an example, when I tried to help Granny with mopping the floor. The best way for me to offer assistance, obviously, to me that is, was to grab the mop and help her to shake it about. Nope, no good cause it elicited the following and unintelligible response, “Candy, ya wee bugger, leave ma mop alane! A cin dea ma ain hoosework!” One day after pushing all the cushions off the settee, Granny gave me a real ear-bashing! I got down, looked at her walked over to near a pee-pad, got eye contact, fixed her with an Agnes Brown stare, dropped my rear end and peed on her carpet. That’s what you get for giving me into trouble. By the way Granny lives near Scotstoun stadium but I state here and now, I will always remain a Thomond Park’ Pomsky Paddy!
Oh yes, unfinished business, let's try that cat again. Where is he? In the front room, snuggled up on the settee. Right, two of us can play that game, I’ll muscle in and join him. Mmm, it's high for a wee doggie! Ok, down to the front door, use the lobby to gain speed, through the the front room and take off, with a warning cry if “In-coming!” This will show him, “Pomsky-Puppy-Power!” DOOSH! He swung a paw from out of nowhere and caught me squarely on my snout! I bravely looked him in the eye, turned and ran howling to my mummy! I was just lulling into a true sense of security. I will be back kitty!
I enjoyed my toast morning and night as well as my puppy food but everyone else seemed to be eating much more tempting grub! While still mooching, unfruitfully I may say, for some mum food, she told me about my name. Evidently when they came to let me pick her, when she picked me up my coat seemed different from my brothers and sisters. She said I was a wee, soft, fluff-ball. On the drive back to Dublin she said that I was “like some puff-candy.” This amused her and she vowed that, when she takes me to her house, after my week’s quarantine, if I eat any of her stuffed toys, I would get a pink re-spray and a stick placed so that it would make turning round in narrow spaces very problematic! Yes, yes yes! Just found out the cat’s name is “Coochie!” What a handle to your jug! No wonder he’s such a sourpuss!
The other members of my new pack were Mum (thinks she’s the boss), Granny (the scary real boss), Uncle Gordon (the early morning soft touch, who gives me treats to stop crying. Sod, whimper whine; munch Munch MUNCH!) and John (delegated for daytime walkies), me, of course ( supplier of cute, innocent looks and occasional wet patches) and Coochie (“The Target!”).
Now, revenge is achieved by knowing your victim. Know the cat, now the method. I kept away from him, especially after my nose found out about the hidden claws, sneaky git! He always sleeps in Gordon’s room. I followed him in one day and received a perforated snoz for my troubles. Ok, if he wants to keep me out, I want, desperately, to get in! Now why is he so protective of that room? Possessive of Gordon? Mmmm, no, cause Gordon often tickles my tummy. He’s an easy target for the waggy tail, jump up, flop down, legs in the air routine. So it can’t be that. Safety of sleeping place from possible attack? Nope, cause he regularly kips in the front room! What’s he got to hide? Eh, wait a minute, where does he get his food? I’ve never noticed a bowl beside mine, mind I don’t see much when grub scoffing! Let’s look, nope no extra bowl, gotcha puss! Gordon’s door is usually shut so try scratching. Only resulted in a “Candy gonny stoap that ye noisy bugger!” from Granny. Ok plan 2, sit with pathetic, lost puppy look on my face pleading for entry. Entry was there not but I glommed a couple of treats from John, so there was some profit in the day! I managed to follow Gordon in one day but he picked me up and took me back out BUT not before I had completed my gander round! There in the corner was Coochie’s bowl with delicious cat food, I’d heard about fusion cooking and was happy to try infusing me with his nosh.
Now I don’t know if anyone was sussing out my plans but next day there appeared a barred gate blocking Gordon’s room. It was too high for me but smarty-kitty-features, could jump up and over to get fed. I barked, scraped and whined to get in but all that happened was the smug feline git would walk along it and look down on me like the gloating git he is! One day I was on my tod in the lobby, looking at the gate, try pushing, ouch, smacked my bloody chin ‘cause my paws went through the bars. Try burrowing under, mmm not enough room. Try nearer the door, more room but still not enough, cause of this bar against the door frame. As I pulled my nose out, my head went up accidentally and the bar moved! Mmmmmm, interesting, nose under the bar, push up and it moved again. The bottom of the gate also moved in a bit, very interesting. Heh-heh, gotcha this time, Coochie, me old mate. Finally with the bar at the top I could push the bottom of the gate inwards and get into Gordon’s room. Quick look round, no witnesses, with a metaphorical cloak pulled over my head and a sinister “Ha-ha-ha” I entered the inner sanctum.
There in the corner was the target of this raid. I hurried over and started to exercise my jaws, munch, crunch and yum. Strangely as I eat it up, I noticed that food kept pouring into the bowl. No wonder the moggie muppet wanted to keep this to himself. With my head in his bowl, I heard his hiss of disgust and angry snarl, the walls and my bum blocked him out. Oh joy, revenge is sweeeeeeeet! He whacked my rump, to no effect, being a fluff-ball has its advantages. I looked back in disdain and thought, “You’re not ignoring me now, Coochie-kitty! Talk to the butt!” Then, all of a sudden, my Munster genes came to the fore and wee Pomsky Paddy me thought, “Erin go brath agus pog mo thoin!” (Ireland forever and kiss my ass!)
About the Author
Edinburgh-born Roger McKillop is a retired Sports Studies lecturer. He has been writing poetry in Scots for many years and has had his work published in The Scots Magazine. His pen name is Roger Ceann Maol Beag, which means Wee Roger with the Bald Head!