41 what you may well ask. Well while Wilma is off on her day out to London with our Mistress, the best we can hope for is to count the dead heads on the roses. Our humans are odd, in case you haven’t worked that out already. They’ve had this thing for years. They count how many rose buds they get on the roses in the front garden and decide if it is a record year or not. The record is 803 and they are currently up to 762! But there are still more to go. They are actually excited waiting to see if this turns out to be a new record. You have to humour them, they don’t get out much.
Apart from that, it’s going to be a quiet weekend. Our Mistress is, of course, back on speaking terms with Wilma. To be fair she was only a little fed up with her for an hour or two and they did still snuggle down in bed together. Alfie’s leg is refusing to finish healing at the joint of his elbow so he’s still somewhat indisposed with his cone. Shadow, well she’s just the same as ever. You only have to speak to her nicely for her to bounce around the room as though she’s won the lottery. I kid you not. Our Mistress tries not to speak to her at all, if she can help it as it always gives rise to the same excited response. It is not the only thing that does that. Any member of the family coming home after being out for anything over three minutes has the same effect on her. Give her a new chew or a bone and you’d think all her birthdays and Christmases had come at once. She does seem to be one of the happiest dogs we know, although our Mistress also says she’s somewhat brainless as well, but thankfully I got my thinking ability from my father’s side.
Well I’ve probably got some more rose buds to count so I’d better get on.
Have a lovely Saturday
Aristotle
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