Oh my good grief.
My plan for this week’s blog was to introduce you to Islay, the latest addition to L&F HQ. She’s a saluki/greyhound/deerhound lurcher, and two weeks ago we rescued her from a crack den in Newcastle – a long story for another time, as it turns out. So she, Callie and Sizzles now constitute the Humby Hounds and now that they have got a bit used to each other and are learning that fighting without biting really is a thing, Whizz and I foolishly began to think we could refocus on matters L&F, and domestic, and the other jobs we both do, and generally Move On. However. Today has been … messy. It seems that their (not inexpensive) raw food breakfast had something nasty lurking in it, and that when the three hoovered it up with their usual gusto they inadvertently pressed ‘go’ on giant geysers of gurgitant. (No, that isn’t a word, but it should be and I think now is ….) Whizz and I have spent the whole day in Marigolds, finding different sized piles of nastiness in unexpected places: the reality of having three very distinct sizes of dog is that this whole situation quickly became a bit like a scene from the horror version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The washing machines have been running constantly; the Aga is covered with drying bedding; the washing line is bedecked with more. And it’s all somewhat familiar – ah, the days when three small Irvines would simultaneously contract some virulent bug and I would spin between them all frantically trying to keep up with, let alone get ahead of, the constant streams of effluvium. Pure glamour – plus ca change.
