It didn’t feel like ten weeks. Mind you, ten weeks ago today I was minding Boris and that feels like a lifetime ago so, maybe time is relative. Whether time is fluid, bumpy or a bit like jelly, it was Puppies Get Shorn Day again.
While it means a lot of walking (for me) it also means a bit of a sleep in. Actually, not really a sleep in but I don’t leave the house as early as I normally do. Instead I do housework.
I looked at the sky before deciding to hang a load of washing on the line. The beautiful blue skies of our rather short term Indian Summer had gone and today were replaced with grey clouds moving rapidly with the rare glimpse of blue as if in memoriam. I also looked at my phone which helpfully provided me with the news that there would be a less than 50% chance of rain at 2pm. I decided to risk it.
As it turned out, my phone was correct. This initial load was bone dry. The second load, however, was still drying in the extension when I went to bed having been given a bit of a slow soaking in the gentle falling drizzle that started at 2pm.
We left the house for the long haul up to Kate’s place, the girls having a fine old time running around and shying away from any contact with strangers. This is quite handy even though it can be a bit embarrassing, particularly when other people’s dogs always come up to me for a prolonged pat.
Then, of course, the never pleasant walk along Upper Hale Road before arriving at Kate’s gate. This is traditionally where Emma starts shaking in terror. Of what, I don’t know. According to Kate they are both as good as gold and seem to enjoy the whole process. Whatever her problem, it’s not like Emma has a choice.
I left them with the efficient, no nonsense Kate and headed into town to shop.
Shopping done, unpacked and the last but fateful wash put on the line, I headed back up to collect the girls. And, of course, they looked beautiful and felt like velvet.
The rest of the day (after food, washing retrieval and housework) was spent taking every opportunity to give them a cuddle. (It’s just occurred to me that perhaps they don’t let strangers fuss over them because they are completely fussed out by us.)
Mirinda eventually came home (she was at a meeting in the not very salubrious Kilburn and returned determined that no matter how poor we become, we’ll never live there) and we settled in for dinner as the rain thundered down on the extension…though, oddly, not enough to make the roof leak.