Thursday, 23 February 2017

I didn't know my own strength...

I can usually tell what kind of day I am going to have within about half an hour of getting up.  Take yesterday for example.  Opening the bathroom cabinet to reach for my deodorant, imagine my surprise when I pulled out a bottle of surgical spirit.  Same size, same colour, just not my deodorant.  This is the husband's and to date, I haven't been brave enough to ask him what he needs it for.  It was an omen (cue scary music and evil crows) and for a second I wondered what else would be flung my way. 

Well not a lot actually.  Work went well.  I have almost caught up with the email deluge from my two days off.  Of course, I have yet to catch up on Tuesday's and Wednesday's work, but I'm not Superwoman.  As I said to Master P yesterday morning, having a holiday is bad news unless you have a fairy to do your work for you.  In Binland, there are no fairies...

But the highlight of my day was a fantastic walk in the woods with my wonderful friend Mrs P and her Rottweiler puppy Neville.  Now the word 'puppy' conjures up a ball of fluff small enough to sit on your lap.  A tiny scrap of cuteness which makes us ladies of a certain age go all gooey (and slightly relieved that our bearing days are over).  Neville does not fall into this category.  To be honest with you, if Neville sat on my lap, there is a good chance that I'd never walk again, or at least never in a straight line. 

While we walked around the woods, Mrs P was talking about Neville's anxiety, and I was telling her about Serenum which I give to the rug-shredding, carpet-tearing Reg.  'But you better get Serenum Plus', I said, 'They do two types, one for normal dogs, and a slightly stronger one for dogs who are the same size as a Shetland pony'.  So I can tell that you are building a picture of Neville.  Couple this with the most beautifully gentle nature, and you have a wonderful dog.  He also happens to be Reg's best friend. 

Long gone are the days when Reg could swipe Neville across the face in 'play'.  These days you are more likely to see Reg walking underneath Neville, his back gently rubbing over Neville's undercarriage.  They also quite like the game where Neville pretends that he is going to eat Reg.  This results in me taking home quite a crusty looking dog, his hair very Sid Vicious circa 1976.  I said to Mrs P that Reg's only saving grace is that he can run like the wind when he's had enough of being Neville's plaything (or 'bitch' as I like to call him).

After an hour and a half of woody woofer walk, both of mine were keen to get into the car, and they hopped onto the back seat and curled up for a snooze.  Neville, who hasn't yet mastered the skill of jumping into the back of the car had to be manhandled in by Mrs P.  Front legs in first, and then a deep breath in, legs braced, and Neville's back end was unceremoniously hoisted over the threshold by Mrs P.

I think that Mrs P is hiding a multitude of sins under that anorak of hers...

Super human strength for one...


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