Is this diseased dog yours?

Today was mostly spent in the garden, taking advantage of the sun which, according to Mirinda’s little friend, was going to turn into rain by the afternoon. It didn’t, as it transpired.

So Mirinda set to, clearing up the beds, killing weeds and opening up clogged plants. She was very productive, producing great trug loads of rubbish to be black bagged before disposal.

In the afternoon we popped up to Homebase in order to get a much needed burn bin. The old one was only half there, having burned, cracked and fallen apart. There were also a few other bits and pieces we needed before the compulsory trip to the garden centre for some annuals and a small handrake which Mirinda claimed she needed. Actually, she seems to have invented it because the only thing I could find that came close to a ‘handrake’ per se was a child’s rake. Still, it’ll do the trick perfectly…or so Mirinda says.

The plants we bought were then dotted around the garden, ready for me to plant them during the week.

Taking a well earned rest, we relaxed with cups of tea and an episode of The Mentalist, which I have introduced Mirinda to, having seen up to Series 4 myself. It’s rather fun watching them again.

Anyway, we were happily ensconced in Patrick Jane’s antics when there was an anxious knock at the door. I was prepared for the inevitable religious panhandler but was disappointed to find two woman (mother and daughter, I think) who were in a bit of a state over a little caramel and white dog that was wandering around the street near our house. I was pretty sure it belonged to the Crazies but couldn’t be certain because it didn’t sit still long enough for me to see his collar.

The older woman was worried because (in her words) he looked diseased and she didn’t want to touch him. Anyway, she explained, she was scared of all dogs apart from her own. The weird woman then explained that she had to get her husband to hospital otherwise she’d try a bit harder to find the dog’s owner. She’d knocked at our door because she thought he might have been ours.

I told her to take her husband to the hospital and I’d take care of the dog. I managed to get a look at his collar and, yes, he did belong to the Crazies. I took him next door and knocked on the door. Mrs Crazy opened the door and the dog dashed by her like a flash. She looked all surprised (probably wondered how the dog knocked on the door) then realised I was standing there. She explained that the dog often wandered off when they went for a walk but eventually found his way home. He couldn’t get in their gate so he’d just been hanging around, waiting.

I went back to our house to find Mirinda deep in conversation with the two women. I told them everything was fine and they, finally left. I was a bit concerned that they’d return to tell me that her husband was going to need urgent medical attention because of their tardiness…but they didn’t.

We laughed, querulously, then went back to The Mentalist.