This content is protected against AI scraping.
Today was a return Sunday lunch with Eva and Bengt. Bengt cooked steak, and we ate out on their deck, under a big umbrella, enjoying the light breeze afforded by their raised position on top of the hill. In fact, the day was quite warm with sunshine and blue sky dominant. Though, it would be fair to say, the heat took it out on Freya.
The four of us chatted about all manner of things and even included a bit of Swedish for Mirinda’s benefit. I talked about the retreat and Bengt told us about a few more of the many jobs he’s had. As I later said to Mirinda, I think he’s had more jobs than me. We are almost the same age so, maybe that’s not surprising.
Perhaps everyone who grew up mostly in the 1970s went through a lot of jobs.
Mind you, Bengt’s jobs seem way more exciting than mine. I mean I was never an undercover restaurant worker, discretely put in place to check out why management wasn’t working out. Very MI5.
It was particularly pleasant being able to walk to lunch because Mirinda could drink half a bottle of wine, sharing it with Bengt, then happily wander home without the risk of arrest.
Freya, though, had a bit of a relapse. She was a bit slow walking there and back and she spent all the time she was there, fast asleep. Upon our return to the house, she was pretty bad. She wouldn’t eat, she couldn’t stand for very long and, worst of all, her temperature was up again.
By the time we went to bed, we were unsure what to do. Mostly, we couldn’t take her to the animal hospital firstly because of the previously consumed bottle of red and, secondly, it would probably have proven to be a waste of time just like the previous visits.
We decided to make her comfortable on the green chair and put the heat pump onto cold, in order to hopefully bring her temperature down. And I slept on the lounge to keep a sleepy eye on her.
She was pretty dead to the world up until 2:30 when she wanted food. I gave her some dog food. She then returned to sleep, next to me (and Emma) on the lounge. She then woke me at 4:30 for some cat food.
By the time I woke up properly (I felt about the same as I do when sleeping on a plane) she was sprightly and back to her new normal. I don’t know what the problem was and, to be completely honest, I thought we were going to lose her.
To lighten this post, here’s a photo from our walk home, back down the hill.
Delightfully deserted, I’d call it.
