Haha, you weren't expecting that were you?
Well, let's be honest here. Maybe it's not that bad, but for the last week at least, I have woken to damp mist and gloom. I have even heard it rather than seen it. The sound of cars on the wet cobbles outside tells me in advance that nothing has changed as they splash through the puddles. I have taken my Sin (dog, not deed) for walks, but not to our usual haunts. I now actively look for paved paths instead of forest tracks. The latter are so knee deep in mud and craters full of water that only my Sin (dog, not deed) can appreciate them. Which she does. With great abandonment and pleasure.
Sin, as many of you know is old, arthritic and given to saying 'S'not fair' at very frequent intervals. Such is her attitude to the world. But given the sight of a good bog (real, not lavatorial), with acres of mud and strategically placed puddles, she remembers what it is to enjoy life. Hope springs eternal in my doggy's breast and when rewarded, she becomes a puppy once more. Not only is her greatest joy to dash through the puddles at high speed kicking up fountains of mud that spray anyone unwary enough to be within several metres distance, but she also likes to wallow in the stuff. Since she is mostly black anyway, it is not a good sign when even the small tan coloured areas on her nose, chest and bum are black as well. Not good at all. Not good for my car, for my furniture or for my temper. I feel a real heel denying her of one of the few pleasures she has left in life (apart from lounging on my bed, lounging on my sofa, being fed biscuits whenever tea is made, being taken everywhere I go...). However, there are limits to my supply of doggy shampoo, doggy towels, clean throws for the sofa, and to my good nature. So proper tarred footpaths it has to be. Until the sun comes back, that is.
|Memories of one bright(er) day last weekend|