Don’t you sometimes sit, thinking about things and wish you could be a kid again? Things were so simple back then.

That’s me, once again with a limb in plaster with another fracture. I used to break a bone quite frequently. Kind of happens with living with Brittle Bones (Osteogenesis Imperfecta). If it wasn’t a leg, then it was an arm. Once or twice, even both arms. It happened so often that we stopped counting after about the 50th fracture.

Apparently, I even became addicted to the painkiller Valeron. I don’t know, or remember, though I still enjoy its taste to this day. How do I remember? Had some when I broke my arm in 2008.

Sadly I don’t remember so much from that young age, except the stories told, and the pictures you see here. They are a select few that I put into my own personal little photo album. A friend scanned them in, and I thought they would be a nice secret shared with you today.

The beast in this picture is Jock, my grandfather’s Staffordshire Bull Terrier. He was the most gentle dog that ever lived. I was always on the floor as a child. I think this was before I got my first wheelchair, or it could not fit in my grandparents’ house, because of the stairs. But, even as a baby, he knew how to behave around me, dropping to his belly as he approached before he smothered me in kisses. He was also very protective of me when we went for walks on the beachfront.

I don’t remember a day where Tessa, left and my Jesse, rightI did not have a dog in my life. They were a constant companion. My grandparents had Jock, in Port Elizabeth, and we had Jesse, in King William’s Town. She is the black staffie, pictured here with her sister, Tessa. I spoiled her as a puppy and regularly walked her as she got older.

Quite a nice surprise shared for this Sunday, don’t you think? I know it’s not that mind-blowing, but it is different from what I usually write about. Stay tuned for something new next week …