Today, while Mirinda and Fi had fun in Stockholm, I was having a bit of the opposite. Poor Emma was having even less fun. Halfway through our walk around Trosa Mountain, she was suddenly struck with constipation.
There’d been no indication that anything was wrong until she went into the familiar pooing pose and didn’t come out of it, as nothing had been evacuated. Her face was a mask of confusion as she maintained the pose, trying to push things out. To no avail.
Eventually, and it did take a while, I helped her by trying to extricate a big lump of something from her rear end, using a poo bag. Occasionally, Emma would try and scrape it free by dragging her butt across the gravel path. It was not pleasant. For either of us.
Once we’d managed to squat and stagger home, I put Emma in the bath and proceeded to pressure wash her free of whatever was causing the blockage.
Freya, of course, ignored the entire ordeal. Until we got to the bathroom. She sat in the doorway, looking plaintively at us, dreading the fact that she might be next.
While it was only a small part of my day, it was definitely the nastiest.
Mind you, moving four great concrete slabs from behind the stuga to near the letterbox wasn’t that much fun either. They weigh far more than they have a right to. I needed four to act as the base of a little house for the wheelie bin. Slipping and sliding on leaves didn’t help. Still, eventually I’d completed the change of location.
A far more pleasurable task was the first stage of my fruit mince preparation.
Mirinda returned home with a few things I couldn’t find in the ICA. She located them in the market in Stockholm. It didn’t take long before I’d mixed the fruit, nuts and suet and laid it to rest up ahead of tomorrow’s light roasting.
In the meanwhilst, Mirinda had a good class at uni and Fi spent an enjoyable day with Jason.
And Freya wondered where all the snow had come from.