I don’t know whether to talk about Mum or the dog now.

Let’s start with the dog.

“You’ll have to clean his eye.” Mum said.

“Jesus,” I said, “”that’s terrible”. Kerry’s right eye was really pus-sy. I cleaned it out with Optrex, and an ointment called Goldeneye, which works for low grade eye infections in humans and canines.

I kind of knew in my heart, as I left the dog locked in the kitchen for the hour that we would be out of the house, before mum’s first appointment of the day, that he would have pissed all over the floor by the time we returned.

Going out involves allowing 10 minutes for mum to actually make it from the armchair to the back door on her frame, and maybe if we have little time, wheeling her to the door. She then has to make it over the threshold and onto the step, by way of a large and unattractive aluminium (?) rail, and the handle of the kitchen door, and onto the little patio. We had got so far, today, when I noticed that I had missed scooping up some dog crap on the patio on the way to the back gate. So I had to take a chance on mum not falling, and clear up the poo, and then manoeuvre the wheelchair in behind her, having covered up the tiny bits of crap left on the patio with cardboard covers from ready meals, from the recycling.

Needless to say, I still got dog crap on the wheels of the wheelchair, and by this time we were late and I had to chuck the chair into my boot with the tiny bits of crap. So small but so potent. It was an uneventful dentist visit. Mum’s gums had healed well from the final plucking out of her bottom teeth. The bumps in her gums were from extra bone that the jaw had made in the attempt to keep those final four or five teeth in, which was interesting, I thought. She should come back in March for a complete set of dentures.

I was stunned to realise that Mum has no entitlement to reduction on NHS charges despite being 82, on full attendance allowance, and mad. It will cost her £220 quid for a full set in March. I suppose it’s good value.

We got fish and chips from the chippie and went back so I could clean up the dog’s piss in the kitchen in preparation for leaving him to piss again in the afternoon as a way to pass the time while I took mum to the osteopath. He really doesn’t like it on his own.

I started to feel very sorry for myself as I washed the kitchen floor. How did I come to be such a Cinderella? How come my sister does so little but buy Mum a blouse and a tin of Febreze every three weeks?

And then it got even worse. The dog went out, crapped, and came back into the house and trod little paw size bits of crap all over my clean kitchen floor and the red carpet in the hall and the lounge. I went into ‘Cinderella with Apoplexy’ mode. “HOW HAS MY LIFE COME TO THIS.”, I bawled, as I pulled the dog towards a bowl of soapy water that he really didn’t want to put his foot in thank you very much, and then realised that I had no towel so he wandered away over the carpet with his still slightly pooey very wet paws. “WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS………..SHIT.”, I yowled as I got down on hands and knees and wet-wiped the sixty five bits of paw shaped shit out of the carpet.

“I’m sorry,” said mum.

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