Dexter Dog Diary, Week Two, Wednesday
Wednesday (çarşamba, 16 mart, 2010)
Sonny is getting the knack of this new pair of humans; he has resigned himself to the fact that he will not be sleeping under the bed “on-his-watch”, so he continues with his experiments to find out what will be allowed.
The other evening he was lying on her lap as she watched TV. This morning, Sonny, ever-so humbly, comes to say “good morning” and is welcomed as he leaps onto the bed. Well, I know both sides to this story: Sonny thinks that they are fobbing him off with ulterior-quality cat food; he is an incredible fuss-pot. I happen to know that his favourite, the priceless chunks of unicorn meat in ambrosia sauce, has run-out. The inferior concoction that they have had the audacity to serve him is simply the next tin on the shelf. I also happen to know that Sonny has some sort of a plan that is well beyond the understanding of a mere dog – let alone a human! If cats were allowed to play international chess, all of the Grand Master would be cats.
It is a privilege to see him in action. He leaps casually onto the bed, after giving the impression that he might do so if they really want him to. So, by the time he lands, he knows he is doing them a big favour. Then, in stark contrast, he virtually head-butts her hand to let her know that she will be allowed to stroke him. Y has sussed the general direction of his scheme but can only see as far as his request for his breakfast – now – and laughingly expresses that belief. Abruptly, Sonny disdainfully leaps off the bed as if he could not care less about breakfast – or anything else!
Nothing special to report for the rest of the day, really: they go off to Girne for the market. I have been listening, but I don’t think he has. So, it probably comes as a surprise to him when, on the way back, they head for Pete and Elaine’s place at Arapköy for lunch. They must have had a good time because, when they get back, there is only enough time to dump the shopping before she dashes off for her line-dancing at King’s Bar, Turquoise Bay. Meanwhile, he surprises me by getting his priorities right - for a change – and we animals get fed before he puts away the shopping. Then we are off for a sensibly short walk but, I am afraid to say, he has a nasty attack of the “fix-its”. Yes… he is a “fix-a-holic”!
According to my sources, he had been comparatively “fix-free” until that box sparked another of the attacks that typify this chronic condition. In their ignorance, Wiggie and Co. left a box on the table with a post-it note saying: “We know you like fixing things, can you have a look at this please?” or words to that effect. Well, he was into that on day-one. I’ve mentioned some of the other attacks: the Roman blind; the front door. Today, it is the turn of the patio door. I wonder if he can get treatment on the National Health Service? He is not very clever, but he occasionally gets lucky with mechanical things. The box contains something electronic… need I say more? No? I will anyway. As I say: day-one, and he unpacks the box; it contains an impressive-looking searchlight, complete with its own charger-unit. The note tells him that it has never worked, despite having been given the required initial charge. After having fiddled around with the lantern, two small batteries, a few bits of metal and the halogen bulb, he declares that the latter is OK – even I could see that light-up – and that there is no life in the rechargeable battery.
He plugs the charger into the wall-socket and, with an air of apprehension, switches on. Nothing happens, of course, because there is nothing attached to the connector at the end of the wire. He tentatively applies the two little stubby wires from the bulb to the connector. Still nothing happens. In some ways this is a relief, but it does nothing for his “fix-itis”. Before you can say “Doberman Pinscher”, he has dived into the tool-box and is sawing away at the charger-unit with a hacksaw blade. Thankfully, he did unplug it first. More jiggery-pokery with the batteries and the lamp and he declares that the wires are OK. Therefore, it must be the charger-unit that is faulty. Lucky-old Tim comes to dinner the following night, so he gets lumbered with the lantern to see if it will take a charge from his unit. The answer is positive, so the search is on for a new charger – or an electronic-repair shop.
Now, this is where old Brand X really begins to believe that he has lost his marbles: Remember… I told you about my car-ride to Karakum? Well, on the way there, he is convinced that he has seen a shop sign: “Electronics Hospital”. However, on the way back, there is no sign of said shop. I gather that on each of the subsequent trips the result has been the same. He is genuinely worried, and concludes that the only explanation is that the inscription, “in black and gold”, was on the side of a panel-van parked outside one of the parades of shops along the highway. They even take it in turns to drive so that they can both take have a good look!
When they get back from today’s trip to Girne (via Pete and Elaine’s) in spite of the panic to get her off to dancing, he is a relieved man: they actually found the “Electronics Hospital” – nothing like the “black and gold” sign, mind you, but it does exist. However the techno-wizard wants 20TL to do the repair, which is way above what X imagines that a replacement will cost. Watch this space…!