Born to herd
Never mind run, I was born to herd. We had a lovely walk yesterday and one of the fields now has cows in it. I was of course on a lead, as I always am around livestock. But a girl can dream. I thought I looked pretty good sitting with ‘me herd’. Mum says that it doesn’t matter what I say she is not buying me any cows. I think that’s just plain mean. I could have real fun if they were my own cows. Oddly Mum seems less convinced and started discussing the dangers of an untrained dog around cattle. It’s in my blood. I could do it. She on the other paw remains unconvinced. She pointed out that she too has ancestors who were farmers and she could equally well say it’s in her blood, however she is not about to find out.
Waiting for Dad
Dad is still busy learning what all the plants are that we see. Mum and I were waiting patiently for him. Again, she was a spoilsport not wanting me going into the long grass. I know she’s looking out for my well-being, but quite honestly what happened to the freedom to choose my own mistakes?
There were more people around when we were walking yesterday, which was making Mum a little more nervous, but it was all right and we kept at a good distance – except when I saw a dog I wanted to play with. I might have forgotten myself then.
Get well, Winston
Our friend Winston in Canada had got to have chemotherapy for lymphoma. We just want to send him all our love and tell him we hope it all goes well and is successful. Mum said to reassure him that the side effects from chemotherapy aren’t as bad for a dog as a human. I don’t understand the science behind it, but that’s good news. Please get well soon, Winston. We’re all rooting for you.
Love
Wilma
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