"Bully Boy and the Bruiser"

Somehow we've acquired three dogs, a (loud and obnoxious) pet crow, an infintissimal supply of ants, a very active wasps nest (complete with a dozen homegrown wasps), a chipmunk and a friendly ghecko - oh, and don't forget some domestic spiders.

Despite how hard we try, we cannot keep our house clean. I swear, all of our possessions seem to be reproducing at an alarming rate, and we're living in the midst of what feels like a very sorry church jumble sale...full of useless, random tat.

I am going through novels at an alarming rate, and still have not yet come up with a decent enough idea to write one of my own. Instead, I scribble madly in my little white notebook, lyrics for songs not yet composed, and wonder idly if we'll ever get round to setting up my little music studio.

The husband has helpfully suggested that one option might be to set it up on our bed, and dismantle it nightly. But given that our bed is already being used as a clothes depository, a sleeping space for four, a cinema, a library, and children's play area, I don't know if one more function can be squeezed out of the sorry chunk of wood.

Yesterday when I picked up Dumpie from kindergarten, the reception was less than cheery. With the handing over of the now familiar clear plastic bag and 'poo n' pants filled combo' it became immediately apparent why.

"I am SO sorry it happened again. I try to get him to go in the morning", I apologetically simpered.

The Indian woman just shook her head glumly and shrugged her shoulders.

"Did he not ask you to take him to the toilet?" I put forth pointlessly....Duh

"No."

So I gathered up Dumps, his little school bag, his poo bag and didn't even bother putting his little sandals on - just legged it out of there humiliated.

I know what these people get paid, and it's not enough to clean Dumpie's smelly bum on a bi-weekly basis, that's for sure.

The husband made him wash out his smelly pants in a big bucket - a task Dumpie so much resented that he retaliated by whipping the now wet poo pants at his father - necessitating a shower for both.

Later we took the monsters to the beach for sunset and an ice lolly. There, a 5 year old bully of a boy, whose parents apparently spend most of their time propping up the local beach bar, starting beating up on Dumps. I went to step in, horrified, as I watched the older child spin Dumps round, out of control and to the ground.

But before I could get there, little ol' Dumps had jumped to his feet, unscathed, and taken the boys arm and scratched it hard. The boy whimpered, "Ow! My arm!" and Dumps stood across from this bully, and pointed his finger in his face and said, "I told you NO hurt me or I hurt YOU!"

Oh my.

A little later, poor Egg my little 'Pacifist' was innocently playing football on the beach with some older children as the last of the sun disappeared into the Sea. The bully boy suddenly went charging toward him, for no reason, and knocked him to the ground, before trying to tussle with him and wrestle his shirt off.

Egg - shocked and understandably upset - began to whimper, but before I could run over and tell the child off, Dumps appeared out of nowhere, and came charging toward the big lad, tackling him to the ground in a move which in years hence might land him a football scholarship in some big American College. No way was anyone going to mess with his big bro!

Every family needs a Dumps. I must remind myself of that next time I'm handed the illustrious 'Poo Bag' at school pick-up. I wouldn't change a thing about my little bruiser :)