Ectoplasm

ectoplasm. n. protoplasmic emanation from spiritualist medium ; stuff that allegedly oozes from ghosts or spirits and makes it possible for them to materialize and perform feats of telekinesis

Lindsay, dog rest her soul, was the fluffiest, moultiest dog ever. Following a bath/pond accident she quadrupled in weight and took a week to dry out. The first time we swept up following her passing we did remark tearfully, that never again, would sweeping up result in an Abe-sized fur ball. How wrong were we?

 

Most ghosts (apparently) do the ectoplasm thing, bit of mild aura left lying round. Not Lindsay – the old dudess continues to moult from the Other Side. A never ending moulty prescence that no amount of dyson/vax/mopping/sweeping/exorcism can control. Most ghosts returning to check on this world are subtle, an odd shadow in the corner of the eye, a flicker of strangely refracted light, a rub of the eyes and its gone. An intangible presence made up of vague emotion and sixth sense. Not huge tumbleweeds of Looby fur that block the Dyson. The other doglets are silky furred or "forgot me conditoner" furred - these visitations are huge clouds of Lindsay fur.

 

Most ghosts visit by breeze or shadow NOT BY POLICE HELICOPTER!. There has been a police helicopter hovering over Canine Feminist Collective HQ recently. Its her, we know it is. Its Lindsay, snickering and Father Jacking and just generally having a riot. A dog flying a helicopter? She’s etheral and other worldly, she can do anything now. 

Lindsay should be playing and frolicing at Rainbow Bridge (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Bridge_%28pets%29 )  waiting for us in a green meadow paradise. 

Meadow, Schmedow. Rainbow Bridge may be revising their admission policies. First lager lout canine spirit, flinging cute bunnys round, peeing on kittens and snooting the boy-parts of innocent puppys. 

"Lets send our beloved,bereaved humans a loving sign"
"Lets send em fur balls bigger than That Abe, wet feet, and a rainy season, woot. C'mon!!"
 

Should have known really – Lindsay was never going to get the hang of elusive paranormal phenomena, the slight moving of the waterbowl, the occaisional feint odour of Dog on the breeze. No, we have full blown Looby farts that linger for days, water bowls tipping themselves inexplicably over our feet/paws, shards of Mini Roasty left in our beds and Police Helicopters hovering over Canine Feminist Collective HQ.

In other barks - we still miss the old Bitch