Merry Christmas

Not a festive pic - Herbie has another histiocytoma, under his chin this time. He also has a new blanket, an early Christmas present. Underneath his bottom at the moment is the foil that I'd baked some chicken in. Holly would like it, even though he's licked it clean, but as he's lying on it, there's no chance she'll get it tonight.

Herbie is quite arthritic now, and as he suffers gastric problems with most anti-inflammatories, all I can do is give him painkillers and Cortaflex. At some point I expect his back end will go, and that'll be it, but for now he's still my rickety old boy. Who won't share his foil with anyone.

Roll on Christmas. Lots and lots of foil.

Almost Hallowe'en

The clocks have just gone back, and I've got a whole extra hour to do all the things I've been putting off. I took the dogs to Wigtown a couple of weeks ago, the Scottish book town. It was quiet, out of season, and I have to wonder how long they can hold out against t'internet. I hope we don't lose the joy of bookbrowsing entirely - there's nothing like finding the book you never you needed, or even that such a book existed, just in the course of wandering through a shop.

Galloway, where Wigtown is, is very green and full of cows. We stayed near Whauphill, where there was a big shiny red tractor factory, or dealership or something - we always knew we were nearly home when we saw a long row of tractors. There's not much in that part of the world, but there are good beaches close at hand.

Herbie is very creaky, but he comes to life again when he sees a cat.

Phew...

.. it's a scorcher, 27 degrees centigrade. This is the weirdest weather ever. Or else a divine punishment for buying three months worth of toilet paper just in case the snows come early this year. I might starve, but I will not run out of toilet paper in a hurry.

The dogs begged for a walk at lunchtime, so I took them to the arboretum. After a hundred yards, they both turned to me with a "Remind me why we came here?" expression, so we went home again, pausing only to sniff a very shaggy Scottish terrier who had obviously grown a thick winter coat that wasn't needed just yet. I find the expression on floor-level black dogs hard to read, but this one was clearly saying he hadn't bargained on this heat.

My sister's cat was hit by a car last week, and now has a broken pelvis, broken cheekbone, and one eye stitched shut in an attempt to save his sight in that eye. He's at the same age as the last one, Solly, was when he was hit and killed - that adolescent/adult border age, when they haven't quite understood about cars, or think they can outrun them. He's now on cage rest for six weeks. He looks a mess at the moment. Unlike my sister, who has hair again, and eyebrows.

At work, they have decided to reorganise, again. Parts of the outfit are still working through the last round. It's keeping us all on our toes.

Autumn Again

... and Herbie is his usual lively self. We're seeing out the tail end of Hurricane Katia. It's not often we get hurricanes here, but this one has taken down a few power lines. I have a wind-up radio, and a wind-up LED light, and today my hands are sore from all the handle-turning. Tomorrow I'm going out to buy a tiny battery-powered radio.

Anyway, the power's back on, my neighbours have shared their tales of dire suffering ("we had to eat corned beef and pickle sandwiches") and the man at the end of the road, who clears up trees, has had a bonanza, and a lot more firewood. It's been good to have a reminder of what the weather can do before it gets bad. Holly, however, is unimpressed. She's currently performing her impression of a very small hedgehog.

Another wet summer

... I don't know why I'm surprised, it is England, after all.

Herbie is more arthritic when it's raining, so he's spent much of the time in his favourite horizontal pose. I've been painting things, moving furniture round and re-organising the house ready for winter. I've just bought a pair of Yaktrax as well - the theory is, they stop you slipping on icy roads. Last winter Holly was tugging to hurry me on, while I took little tiny steps, tottering like an eighty-year old in stilettos, holding on the hedge for balance.

My sister's finished chemo, and her hair is growing back. She looks as fuzzy as a baby chick. Probably not the image she's going for, but she's also still here.

Still Here

A summer cold, so confined to quarters. There's a lot of it about. Herbie's becoming quite stiff, even with all the Cortaflex, but he's still here. So's my sister.

It sounds a bit gloomy, but I am starting to think about winter. The hawthorn berries are turning red, and already the rowan trees beside the church are heavy with scarlet clusters. It's a month early for all that. I've just ordered two loads of logs, and a copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder's "The Long Winter". It's not just a nostalgia read, it's an essential part of my winter preparations. This year I'm picking out a winter library. We don't normally have extreme winters here, so when folks from further north say, "Well, gosh, don't you guys have snow tyres/ snow shoes/ window quilts/ snow blowers" or whatever, the answer is, no. But this year I'm going to read up and prepare. So far, I have a year's supply of Earl Grey teabags in a kitchen cupboard. I may have a little more work to do.

Idling

I'm not focusing on anything much this week. My sister's not been well, so I'm a bit preoccupied. Herbie's had something wrong too, a digestive upset, and although he's over it, he's still fragile. Instead I've been reading the Tiny House Blog and thinking maybe I could give up everything except the dogs and live in a small shed somewhere. If it wasn't for the planning laws, I could sell this place and buy a little patch of woodland, and live in a hut in the woods. Somewhere with lots of rabbits for the dogs. Or even a pheasant.