Monday, 19 February 2018

I am eight!

It is my misfortune to live with a human who is in general totally useless at birthday celebrations.

So yesterday I reached the grand age of eight years old and all I got was a rawhide bone, pigs ears and Dentastix (like a toothcare product counts as a present?) plus a quiet domestic night in Nottingham with Gail, her lovely friend Janet and Janet's lovely young friend Helen.

In fairness, Gail was tired after all the running around after Human Granny, Helen was tired 'cos she's at that stressful stage of writing up her Physics PhD thesis, Janet was tired after her recent influx of visitors, and I was a bit below par 'cos my paw problem has flared up again.

Well I must say I found Janet's piano playing most beautifully mellifluous and soothing. And now I understand why Gail is so modest about her own lack of talent in this area.

And then there were wonderful smells emanating from the kitchen where Helen was relaxing by cooking a delicious (although from my perspective disappointingly vegetarian) sweet potato chilli supper for the humans.

The highlight of the evening came just before bedtime, when Janet introduced me to a blissfully yummy new treat - sliced pear.

More please!

All in all not such a bad way to celebrate one's birthday, I suppose.

Friday, 16 February 2018

Watch it. Woof it. Work it.

So Gail and I are back in Nottingham again to check up on how Human Granny is settling back into her care home after her time in hospital. The good news is she's doing perhaps better than expected and when we saw her last night she even thought to ask after my paws!

Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day for the long train ride down the East Coast line.
While Gail was enjoying the window view of the winter scenery, I was conducting important sentry duty in the aisle.

After all, these days one is instructed to keep an eye out and report if anything amiss on the train.

The slogan is:
See it. Say it. Sort it.

Although I think my version is better:
Watch it. Woof it. Work it.

 A man towing a most enormous suitcase got on at Kirkcaldy (the name of the town has the usual unnecessary number of letters in its Gaelic version) and he apologised profusely to me for disturbing me as he passed down the carriage.

You do meet the nicest people on the train.

Saturday, 10 February 2018

It wisnae me!

So Gail and I are now safely back in Scotland, and I am delighted to report that Human Granny is recovering from her hospital stay (precipitated by something called a UTI, with complications). She is back in the familiar environment of her care home, being no doubt fussed over by the kind carers and looking so much better than she did a couple of weeks ago.

You will never believe what a colleague apparently asked Gail when she went into the office yesterday morning.

"Oh dear Gail, whatever happened to your cheek? Did Bertie bite you?"


It wisnae me!

Perhaps I had better let Gail explain.

Gail here: it has been a stressful ten days in more ways than one. As if the drama of mother's unscheduled hospital admission was not enough, while down in Nottingham I went to see a nurse about what I thought was a boil which had erupted on my cheek, only to be told it had all the characteristics of a skin cancer. Cue a hastily arranged visit to a doctor to learn I had a 'keratoacanthoma' (a fast growing but usually benign type of tumour). I managed to get it removed on Wednesday afternoon, just before returning to Aberdeen. The wound doesn't look too pretty at the moment, but at least I can't blame it on Bertie! 
So Gail and I are looking forward to a weekend of recuperation watching the Six Nations rugby, with Gail fervently hoping for an England victory against Wales this afternoon and me willing Scotland to defeat France tomorrow. Go Hoggy and wee Greig!

I would like to be licking Gail's cheek better, but that seems to be frowned on at the moment...