I’m sitting here twiddling my paws, waiting excitedly for my mistress to arrive. She left Belgium yesterday, having handed in her ID card and returned her library card. I’m not actually sure which of those was the more important. She did a last check round to make sure we hadn’t left anything and assures me she checked my bone cupboard especially carefully. In fact, the removals men were impressed by the size of my metre long raw-hide chews. They asked just how big a dog I was. My mistress reassured them that they last me for three months but I don’t know if they were convinced. If all goes according to plan, my plan, then I will meet them next week and they can find out for themselves.
I was sad to hear that further efforts were made to get the moles to leave after I had gone. I’m rather hoping that they will have put their little bags ready with the rest of my mistress’s stuff and climbed into the removals truck. They have become a bit like friends over the last two years. I shan’t be sorry if when they open the truck up next week, a little family of moles come trooping down the ramp. I think my master and mistress might have a thing or two to say about it though.
My mistress stayed in London last night so that she could take the other car to the garage to be changed to English specification. It will still have the wheel on the wrong side but at least the lights will point in the right direction. She was going to call in to get its English number plates sorted out but I think she concluded that seeing me was more important, although she actually said it was grandpa she really wanted to see.