Life is still all very quiet this end with us trying to stay out of Alfie’s way, but yesterday you would have thought it was our Mistress’s birthday. You have to set this celebration against the fact that she has been up at regular intervals through the night, every night since Tuesday. On Tuesday it was just because of Alfie, but then from Wednesday it was because Wilma had an upset stomach. On Friday night they had to go outside at 2.30am, 4.30am, 5.30am and then our Mistress gave up at 6.30am. It was much the same the night before, without even counting the clearing up in the house that I mentioned yesterday. Anyway, from an ‘incident’ in the utility about 10am yesterday morning there was no problem until Wilma went outside and managed a semi-solid poo at about 3pm. This led to more celebration than you can imagine and certainly rather more than it warranted. It’s the sort of thing you don’t talk about in polite society, along with the difficulties of dissuading us all from wanting to eat it when Wilma was sick. Hey, we’re dogs. We sniff where each other has peed. We lick our butts. What can I say?
Anyway, the good news is that at last Wilma seems to be getting over the rancid fish incident and our Mistress is now optimistic that she might get a little more sleep and only wake when Alfie moves and whimpers. Me? I’m as quiet as a mouse from when I go to bed at 9pm until when I get up at 7am. Ok, so if breakfast is late I can be pretty noisy, but in between I’m a positive lamb. Shadow’s not too bad but she’s more prone to grumbling about things than I am. She says it’s her right after putting up with the rest of us, but I’m not so sure.
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