Another day, another greyhound

And then there were two. Herbie has been joined by Holly, a little black and white bitch, who looks oddly like a border collie that’s re-growing its fur. She’s a badger, i.e. has a black face with a white blaze, with a sweet nature, but unfortunately she’s also very fit.

The rest of this household are middle-aged and verging on the ploddy, but now we have a young fireball in our midst. Herbie has started wanting 100m head start before I let Holly off the lead, and even then she outruns him. Plus she jumps, spins, barks, plays racing games on the stairs, and is generally just – a young dog. I feel old. She will be too, soon enough, and I should just enjoy her youth while she has it.

Now, more than ever, I want to be At Home With Herbie. And Holly. Half my co-workers have left, so Boss from Hades can’t be shared round as much. Guess who gets most of the flak/ insane power-plays/ lies/ blame/ tantrums? Yup, me. And to add to the stress, my house is partially sold, i.e. someone’s put in an offer and is now doing very little. Can’t pack in job until house is sold.

Trapped like a trap in a trap. But like a greyhound, as soon as the trap door is opened, I’m going to be off at speed. Exploding from the traps. If the house isn’t sold soon, I’m going to self-destruct, and quit the job, refuse to sell house, and take in ironing, or anything to pay the mortgage. Unfortunately selling your body on the streets only works when you’ve got streets. Here in the country…. I’ll think of something.