I’m Wilma and I bark
I’m Wilma and I bark – I think I need a therapy group. Now, normally that isn’t a problem. It’s my way of keeping Mum on track. Sometimes I’m a bit loud and sometimes I’m a bit optimistic, but there is normally a reason. Unfortunately as Rafa is so deaf, barking is one thing he manages to hear. He quickly goes into action mode, thinking there is a threat. Sadly, he keeps thinking that threat is me. When the alarm clock goes off at 7am, I add a couple of barks to make sure Mum can’t ignore it. I’m finding being attacked by Rafa at that time of day a bit difficult to take. To be fair, it’s no better later on either. This morning he is starting his new medication and I cannot begin to tell you how much I hope it works.
Hard at work
Ari is still hard at work moving plants. He moved one of the two cotton lavenders yesterday. Today he’s hoping to do the second one and the sage as well. They share a bed, so he thinks if he gets one up they will both come up. I just hope he’s right. Once those are done he can move on to the ones by the fence where the builder needs to bring machinery through. He’s more worried about those as he thinks the roots of the roses may be deeper and he has no experience with quince at all.
Finding a role
One thing that Rafa has said is that he isn’t quite sure where he fits in. Obviously I write the diary and I’m Mum’s right hand dog. Ari is the gardener of the family and spends a lot of time out with his plants. Rafa doesn’t know what he should be doing. It’s a fair point. His birth mother, Shadow, just sat around looking pretty when she retired from breeding, but I don’t think that’s really Rafa’s thing. If he didn’t get so hyper when he did it, then ball games could be his thing, but they really don’t do him any good mentally. He is a dog in need of a job. I did suggest he could help Dad with his stamp collecting, but Rafa was thinking of something a little more active.
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