The perfect storm?

Us dogs always know when something is up, don't we?

My familiar routine was disrupted this week when Gail came home from work early on Wednesday and started rushing around making lots of phone calls, packing bags and generally acting fraught.

We did go to Agility Club as usual that evening, where I was feeling full of bounce, despite Gail's apparently distracted state.

But when I woke up on Thursday morning, my paw was hurting REALLY BADLY and I absolutely did not want to walk further than the nearest lamppost.

I lifted up my paw and gave Gail my best pity party look, but instead of being all sympathetic (like she usually is) Gail just looked at me and said. "Oh no Bertie, this is such bad timing!"

So there was a hastily arranged visit to vet, where Ashley, my favourite vet lady, gently examined my left paw and the words "inter-digital cyst" and "antibiotics" featured in the ensuing conversation between her and Gail.

Then instead of being taken home to rest I was bundled into the car and we drove a very long way indeed.

The weather was truly horrid. I'd like to make a pun about gales and Gails, but from the way my precious human was gripping the steering wheel in an effort to stay on the motorway, as torrential rain lashed the windscreen of the wind-buffeted car, I suspect any jokes about the Scottish weather would not be appreciated.

Rain turned to heavy snow as we crossed the Pennines and still we drove on.

It dawned on me that we were on the way to Human Granny's house, which seemed odd as we'd only returned from there less than three weeks ago.

We finally arrived in Nottingham and, oh dear, I am so sorry to report that my beloved HGY is not at all well.

I fear Gail might not have much time to assist me with my blog for the next week or so.

Creature of habit

After a stay in the 'special vacation residence' it's so nice to be home, and back to the familiar daily routine.

An early morning run in the park, greet my pals, then stop by the paper shop on the way home to pick up the Guardian. (We are proud to be Guardian readers in this household, where a boycott of all Murdoch-owned media has been in operation for decades.) A quick post-walk grooming session, accompanied by a crunchy treat to keep teeth busy and away from the brush.... Curl up in favourite armchair and watch Gail fire up the computer and focus on her work. Occasionally remind her of my presence by jumping up and snatching a pen or a tissue off her desk.

Mid-morning coffee for Gail and playtime for me.

(See my new toy, a Newfoundland dog stuffie. Friends you were right, Gail is not so mean after all.)

A lunchtime romp in the garden and a noisy conversation across the wall with next door neighbour, springer spaniel Molly.

Later on, another, longer walk, maybe by the river, along the old railway line, into town, or, on a good day, a short drive in the car to a nearby wood.

Then it's dinner time. Kibble and perhaps another treat. A cuddle from lodger Marie-Thérèse if she's in.

A five minute pre-bedtime trot round the block, then down for the night on comfy kitchen cushion, with hot-water bottle (yes, even in summer) and another wee treat.

Then sweet dreams 'til morning.