Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Tag: Frieda


Frieda (featured as the header of this blog) is beautiful and wise. She is also very funny, and adores affection. When we are at home, that is. At home she will lie really close to me on the bed or on the couch and sometimes use her nose to prod me for love. She is a snuggler, and even cuddles with Chassie the cat, who adores her with a face licking passion. He seeks her out to lie next to. She knows words; biscuit and breakfast and supper and walk. When we say them her eats prick up and she bounces around, digging up the couch and throwing the cushions everywhere. At the park though she tolerates any public displays of affection grudgingly and runs away to do her own thing as fast as she can. She likes stealing found toys, and will play ball occasionally; totally on her own terms. Frieda is sensitive to loud bangs. She will steal things off the kitchen table when we are out and leave them on the spare bed. We will know she has done this if she doesn’t come running, toy zebra in her mouth, to greet us on our return. I love Frieda the most.

I love Linus the most. He is Frieda’s black brother and he is the best boy dog ever. He is round where Frieda is skinny. He is clumsy where she is agile. He bounds in slow motion. Linus is the friendliest, happiest dog when he is well. Sometimes he doesn’t feel too good, because he has IBD and is allergic to most protein and he has to be on a special diet. Sometimes he eats cat poo which makes him feel really terrible. Linus lies with his back feet posed back and out on the kitchen floor. Linus has the longest hair growing from his Hobbit feet. He will not even acknowledge me, or the ball, when I throw it. Linus loves jumping on the bed and sleeping with me in the morning when I lie in a drink coffee. He lies on his back with his whole tummy exposed.

Frieda and Linus are my perfect furry companions, the dogs of my heart and soul, and the gentle daemons of my spirit.

Dog Love

An open letter in the form of a poem to two dogs who can’t read

Hot breath tells me you’re lying next to me

When I wake up and it’s cold and dark

Gentle snores comfort me

When thoughts of the world keep me awake

No greater joy than you, Linus, throwing your black head back

And bouncing away over the grass, still looking at me,

“Look Megan, look at my happiness now.”

No greater pride, Frieda, than you catching popcorn every time,

Chasing squirrels, and being all independent in public

But defining love in private as you slide up for a snuggle.

I love telling everyone who comments on your beauty

And softness and prettiness and kindness

How we found you at the SPCA and saved you, you being rescues.

But I always know it was you who did the saving

Of me.

Telling the time by the passing of animals

When I met Big Friendly for the second date, Gally, my gorgeous white Taiwanese refugee dog, put her paw firmly on his bejeaned leg and chose him for her own. In time Big Friendly was claimed by Pablo, my ancient cat, who demanded that he pour fresh water into his bowl and take him to drink, and Bayla, the oldest Taiwanese refugee dog, and my first heart dog. When I fell in love with Big Friendly it was partly because of and through my animals.

When Bayla died I was in Grahamstown, and it was Big friendly who had to witness and manage her passing. With Gally we were both there. We are still scarred and raw from the death of Annie, Chassie’s sister and most unusual beloved cat, who was run over in the road outside our house on the one occasion she ventured over the wall. That was about seven years ago.

We know dog walkers from Gally and Bayla’s time, who too have different animals attached to them. Our Linus and Frieda, well known in the neighbourhood and on Facebum as our most beloved pups, will soon be five.

Our nephews’ lives are marked in animal time too, with those that were there when they were born, now gone or leaving, and new ones coming into their lives to mark their transition into puberty and teenage-dom.

Megan’s Head, this blog, is like the historical record of these things, and if that is the only reason to keep it going it is a good one. Frieda’s delicious face stares back at us whenever we open it up.

If you are an animal person you will know how to tell the time with the passing of animals.

Tonight You’re Mine Completely

Big Friendly (my husband, for those of you who have come to meganshead only recently)  and I started the slide down the slippery slope almost three years ago when we got our pups Frieda and Linus. Up until then I had been successful in keeping our past animals off most of the furniture and all of the bed. But with the arrival of ten week old Frieda and Linus all resolve, reason, and general clarity disappeared. Now everybody is allowed everywhere all of the time.

I had a bad bout of flu this last weekend, which kept me in bed (even though it was our 11th wedding anniversary on Saturday) most of the time, and this is basically what it looked like. sickbedmashup


Sometimes there were more, and sometimes there were less. But, if I was in it there was at least one other being on or in the bed. At night, when Big Friendly was in it too, there was another cat added to the mix. Jasmine now sleeps between us, while Chassie stays close to my feet.

When I got up to wee I would come back to this. coneheadandcat


Or sometimes this.closeupsnuggles



Honestly, I am totally used to it. Some mornings Big Friendly and I have to pretend we are still sleeping because the slightest noise means we are up, and then Frieda and Linus, who have been draped over the couches, bound into our room, jump onto the bed and stand, sit or lie ON us.

When Big Friendly gets up to make coffee I have an ‘animal and me’ lie in.

So, every now and then I get to stay in a hotel room when I travel for work. When I close the door behind me I am utterly alone. No furry body follows me to the bathroom and watches me pee. No feline meows at me to open the shower door. There are no bowls to be filled, no cones of shame to take off or put on, no beady eyes asking for strokes, no Jonesie the part-time cat demanding to be let in then let out then in again. And when I finally climb between the sheets of the standard king in the hotel room, that whole bed, for that night, is mine, completely. There is no fur, no spit, no bloody speck from where Linus chewed his paw. No pulled bits of blanket where Chassie or Jasmine kneaded there furry heads off. No stinky dog or cat breath on any part of my body. No warm but immovable lumps making me contort into an unsleepable position. I say to myself with a gleeful sigh, “Tonight you’re mine, completely,” to a bed. I breathe. I flick through the channels on the hotel TV. I read a few lines on my Kindle. I turn off the light. And lie there. Awake. Alone. With all the space in the world, and missing each warm body.

This post is one of nine tandem blog posts, all with the same topic, and all released at the same time. Please check out the other offerings by these amazing writers.










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