It’s no secret among those who know me, have ever met me, hell if they’ve even glanced across one of my social media profiles that I am a big dog lover. Bar one excruciating year when me and the Hubster first moved in together there hasn’t been a single time in my life when I haven’t had a dog. We had one when I was born and two more after that while I lived at home then I got my own starting with Dotty the Frenchie, then Bentley the bulldog (also affectionately known as Dickhead) then nutjob Bella, another frenchie for a short time, then my lovely old rescue lady Diva and finally Doris. Bentley is the only one still here. Point is I’ve kept alive a lot of doggos, in varying degrees of good and bad health and always in the lap of luxury as they deserve.

When we adopted Diva I started volunteering for the rescue we got her from, Geordie Bullies Springboard Rescue, helping to raise funds, homecheck potential foster homes, adopters etc and I really enjoyed it. I joined forces with my friend who is also a crazy bulldog lady, in running the Berkshire Bulldogs group on Facebook organising group walks for fun and for fundraising. The English bulldog has become “my” breed, my husband quite willingly tells people our house is “like a shrine” due to all the ornaments and pictures 🤣 I personally don’t see the problem. They are bloody high maintenance, Bentley has more lotions and potions than I do and a beauty regime to match but I’m more than happy to oblige. Sadly I’ve had to give up a lot of the physical side of my volunteer role. I no longer organise walks and I cannot home check due to being in a wheelchair 😞

In my younger years I had a multitude of other pets too… the obligatory gold fish when we were small rising to a bunny rabbit, then a rat named Roland who was nothing short of a fucking psychopath 😳 then a couple of guinea pigs who I refused to put outside so they lived in my room 🥰 All my lovely pets lived good healthy lives. I have a Diploma in Animal Welfare to back all this up too.

So with all that being said why the actual fuck can’t I keep a plant alive?! I mean in theory it should be relatively easy – plant it, water it, make sure it gets light… compared to the high maintenance dog breeds I seem to choose it should be a piece of piss. Now I’m over 40 with a house and garden I thought I’d invest in some pretty flowers for the garden. Pah! What a joke. I’m forever pestering my mother with “what’s this plant” or “does that one come back year after year” questions. I mean I even managed to kill an Aloe Vera – that’s practically a fucking cactus!! Who kills a flaming cactus!? That takes some serious doing 🤦🏻‍♀️ So my incessant questioning is necessary even if it doesn’t seem to help me. I have been pleasantly surprised this spring to see a bright red tulip reappear from last year! A little win I feel 🏆 the agapanthus I planted last year doesn’t look totally dead but I suppose time will tell with that one. I mean, I don’t want be totally green fingered and prune and preen all day long but it’d be nice to not have a completely bare garden. I feel like this is something I should be able to do, yet I can’t, and I think I’m not a “real” grown-up without being able to grow flowers in my garden. Hell I can’t even keep a house plant alive!!

I suppose, luckily, there isn’t an RSPCA for flowers otherwise I’d be in jail 🤣 Much more important to keep loving, sentient animals alive and well 🥰