Bit of Supertramp this morning for you with It’s Raining Again. It sure feels that way here.
It’s not been a particularly joyful spring, just cold and damp with sharp winds. I’m still doing everything with a hat on, it’s that bad.
Yesterday, it was Tobby’s one-year anniversary of being here. I can’t believe he’s still going strong. Really, I took him very soon after Ralf died, because I was worried about him. He’d fallen over three or four times on his last walk, and he was wobbly and thin.
Glad to see my grass is about as long as it is right now! Rains must have been as bad last year! Not so good seeing my Tobby’s ribs. He was 21kg. He’s 26kg now, which is about right. Funnily enough, he’s asleep in the exact same position he first slept in.
Bar one or two moments, he’s been the perfect guest. He and Heston have an uneasy tolerance of one another. They never growl – I never heard Tobby growl even once, though he does bark. He had that lovely note on his file to say ‘No Children’ which usually means they have nipped someone. Here, we’re all used to his toy-hogging ways. If Tobby has a toy, he does not want to play. He just wants to walk around with it in his mouth.
I mean, I thought it would be days or weeks, not months. A year seems almost incredible. He’s fab. He still follows me everywhere – still sleeps at my bedside. He climbs up next to me for cuddles in the evening and still races down the garden as if he didn’t have arthritis at all. At fourteen, he’s had a very good innings but you can see in his eyes that he’s not ready to be old yet. This is why I love my Mali boy. I love the way he sleeps with his tongue hanging out and I love his very very gentle kisses. He’s got the gnarliest teeth I’ve ever seen on a dog, but any kind of anaesthesia at his age would be a risk.
Funnily enough, speaking of anaesthesia, we had a meeting with the local vets on Friday night. That’s what we do for fun these days. No bars and clubs. No, we end up discussing the legalities of vouchers for cheap sterilisation at midnight. The vets around here are surprisingly handsome or surprisingly beautiful, it must be said. One of them is called Dr Gorgeous. Well, almost. Dr Gorgues. I’m passing no comment. I think All Creatures Great and Small gave me very low expectations over the presentation of vets. Mind you, I’m of an age where I now find Christopher Timothy not without his charms, in his younger days it must be said. I re-read all the James Herriot books last year and some parts had me crying laughing.
Anyhow, it wasn’t quite so merry on Friday night discussing at what age cats can be sterilised, or whether morphine or gas is better for surgery…
It’s timely, of course. Kitten season is about to really set in. My four are doing fabulously. Two were reserved on Saturday, leaving just the little white boy and the little black girl. It’ll be a good month before they’re ready to go though. They’re still at the staggering-falling kind of stage, though it’s fantastic to see what a good job mum is doing of keeping them clean.
It’s a refuge-y kind of week this week. There had been problems with the transporter to Germany which meant that a lot of dogs were reserved but we had no way of getting them there. This Friday, I’m doing the drop-off in Poitiers. We have five dogs going up this week, and more later in the month. We’ve also got a food drive next weekend, so I’ll be collecting dog and cat food at the supermarket. Luckily, I have a couple of clients on holiday this week otherwise I’d be very short on time. I suspect my to-do list will be really quite unwieldy by the end of the week though. And the weather is doing a good job of getting in the way of good progress – showers predicted all week. We even had storms and rainbows yesterday. Let’s hope it gets a bit warmer though. It’s time to put the jumpers away.
Anyway, I’ve got a gazillion errands to run. Have a fantastic Monday and hope it’s not raining again where you are.