Thursday, 10 March 2016

The only way is up...

Words from a Bird.  Day 70

So the countdown has started till Reg arrives.  We have two days left of relative sanity. 

There are signs of the approaching mayhem. A new dog bed has appeared in the kitchen, and the tiniest red collar in the world is waiting on the kitchen worktop.  There is puppy food and treats, and squeaky toys and balls. All the things a new puppy would want.

Couple this with my slight (ha!) OCD, and now let's look at what is really going on in the house.  Well for a start, anything chewable has been removed from the lower shelves, carefully hidden away from little teeth. This doesn't sit too well with me as you can imagine.  I mean, who wants to see a giant red cherry on the same shelf as a miniature turquoise stem vase.  It's like a bloody Bring and Buy sale in my kitchen as it has lots of higher storage, so things are just stacked anywhere with no aesthetic consideration.

The stair gate has been reinstated in the kitchen.  I can guarantee that the husband will fall through this at least three times over the coming weeks.  I will mainly swear at it, as I'll be trying to open the damn thing while carrying either a basket of dirty washing, or ironing (depending on my direction of travel at the time).

I do remember losing two rugs to Percy's gnashers in the early days, so the lounge will remain out of bounds until I forget to close that stair gate for the first time.

The lawn has been mowed.  Reg is so short that we could easily have lost him in the back garden.  I'm not saying the grass is long, but I am sure I saw a couple of gazelles grazing by the bird bath last week...  While we were scything the grass, (the husband bears a striking resemblance to Poldark whilst scything as you can imagine) we also picked up anything that Reg might find interesting.  As this is the first time in the garden since the heady days of summer, these items have included several beer bottle tops, a bottle of sun cream (ever the optimist) one flip flop and three slightly damp chair cushions which didn't quite make it into the storage box.

Percy knows something is going on.  I see his eyes narrow every time something interesting comes into the house.  Something which invariably he can't have as 'it's not for him'. 

I just hope that we don't come down on Sunday morning to find Percy sitting at the front door with his suitcase...
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