Where to start...

No, really, where do I start...? I guess with the truth. I'm lost. I feel so utterly lost and confused, I don't know which way is up anymore. So much has happened over the years, I feel I could write a book, but at the same time, I feel I have accomplished nothing; at least, nothing of actual worth. My existence feels pointless and empty. I am very little, to very few, and even then more of an annoyance or convenience, than of any importance. Even my dogs don't particularly like me, and that perhaps is what I struggle with the most, because for most of my life, dogs have been my saviour, my guiding light, my only truth, and yet now, they are the core source of my daily struggle. How to explain any of this succinctly... If only I were Lady Whistledown... I'm failing at everything, succeeding at nothing. Everything I try to make better, I somehow make worse, no matter my intention.

The dogs, for example, we have struggled from the day we brought spud (not his real name!) home. He's 3 and a half now, and barely a days goes by without stress of some sort caused by him. Yet, it's not at all his fault, how can it be, he's a dog. He didn't choose an owner who would end up so strangled by perimenopause that she can't think straight most days, can't function beyond the basics of breathing and moving. No, the poor boy has been crying out for help, for someone to understand him and help him navigate the world he seems to find very challenging, but instead, he's got me, utterly useless and unable to do more than prove food and water, and boring, mostly stressful, secure field walks. Despite the thousands spent on vets, scans, tests, trainers, nutritionists, behaviourists, we're still no closer to having a happy, responsive dog, who can cope with the crazy world in which he finds himself.  And yes, I did previously say dogs, plural, because in the infinite wisdom of trying to help spud, we got pickle (also not her real name!), a supposed Weimaraner....oh, I never mentioned, spud is a male GSP, yep, we're sucker's for a crazy gundog. Anyway, we got pickle, she's also 3 but she's a girl. The plan was to bring a happy, healthy, confident dog into the fold to help spud. Well, that fucker backfired didn't it. Like the twat that I appear to have become, I decided to adopt a dog from another country without having ever met it.  You see, we'd had a Weimaraner before, a truly wonderful dog. She was our world, yes, the classic, can't have kids, so the dog became or baby story, cliché, but it's true. She was everything to us , a truly incredible dog, she was a dream to train (back when I seemed to have the capability to do such a thing), and was the one to fool us into thinking gundogs were a great idea. Anyway, I digress. Pickle, was advertised as a Weimaraner with no particular issues, just a reluctant re-home, so I thought nothing of bringing her over to us. The unfortunate truth, is that she is most definitely not full Weimaraner and she has many issues. So, in terms of helping spud, nope, she's done pretty much fuck all on that point. The only thing pickle has really brought to our lives, is more stress. Not only is she not confident, she's also a bloody possessive little madam who bites visitors. She has similar tummy issues to spud, and does not like to be left alone. So yay, way to go me, nailed that little idea didn't I 🤦🏻‍♀️

So, I guess we've established a few things now; I'm in perimenopause, I've 2 unruly dogs that I can't train, I'm highly stressed, lost and generally fed up with life and the shit it continues to hurl my way. Oh, and I'm married, probably worth mentioning that... It's a big part of the story!