Motheaten and Moulting

... that well-known firm of London solicitors (senior partner: Cuthbert Moulting). Herbie's pale beige undercoat is coming out in handfuls. He didn't shed much at all this spring, and I do wonder if the chemotherapy had something to do with that. Either that, or the cold wet summer it's been.

Anyway, I may yet be able to felt a whole new little greyhound out of clouds of fluff I'm gathering.

Herbie seems to be slowing down and sleeping more. He still wants to go for walks (we saw a double rainbow this afternoon) but I get the impression he's trying to conserve energy.

Eight and a half

Herbie had a half-birthday on Thursday. Eight and a half might not sound like much to anyone else, but it means the world to me.

He is moulting, patchily, about two months later than Holly. I don't know if cancer has thrown out his internal clock, but he is looking a bit motheaten round the rear.

Nothing to Relate

... nothing that isn't anxious-sounding, anyway. Weirdnesses at work, house purchase slowed to a crawl, a family member trying to pick a fight no one else wants... the reiki principles are coming in handy this week ("Just for today, do not anger, do not worry). I am trying to remain calm and serene, but spend much of my time sounding like Muttley just after he's been hit on the head by Dick Dastardly (if anyone remembers the Wacky Races cartoons!) Or do I mean just before he gets hit on the head?

Herbie and Holly came in the car to visit my sister, and were baffled to see a cat on her windowsill. Herbie kept looking from the cat to me to her, as if to say "Does she know there's a cat in her house? How did that get in there?" Yes, Herbie, she knows all about Solly, she put him there on purpose. It's a bit tricky, because Holly isn't cat-safe, and never will be.

Glorious sunshine today, crunchy autumn leaves and T-shirt weather. The world economy may have gone south, but at least it's a nice day...

Autumn...

... and the greyhounds are nesting.

Overheard in the local Co-op:

"Bit back-endish this morning."

"Too back-endish for me."

They mean the back end of summer, i.e. it's definitely time to switch the central heating on. I've had to search for gloves, and the woolly scarf is on stand-by. It's cold and dark now on our pre-work rambles. At this time of year, I'm chasing the light at each end of the day. By November, winter is winning, and the dogs only have a brief lunchtime outing in daylight. The guilt of being a working "mother".

The lumps in Herbie's armpits are growing bigger.