As she grew older, my mother developed a rather unhealthy obsession with her dog, Hamish’ s bowel habits. When, after I had travelled 2 hours from Sheffield to see her in North Wales. One of the first subjects she always crossed was the consistency of his stools.
This often discussed before I had managed to take my coat off.
Now most dogs ( and I’m especially referring to welsh terriers here) have the grace to look embarrassed when going to the loo in public. Mary will back into some bush off the beaten track and will complete her toilet needs with the decorum of a debutante.
Unfortunately, bulldogs show no such reserve and will take a dump, generally rather gleefully, in full view of the Dagenham Girl Pipers if they got the chance.
It’s almost a badge of pride if one can pass something the size of a large haggis in front of as many passers by as possible.
Like my mother I have noticed this glitch in their usually bouncy and diva- ish personalities, but only now am sharing it with you all.
This morning on the Dyserth walkway, Dorothy knocked one, the size of an average anaconda, out in front of a large group of middle aged lady walkers, much to the disgust of one whom loudly complained it all as being “ Revolting “
True the walkers had to form themselves into a fork of two branches in order to negotiate the massive turd as I was looking for a suitable receptacle in which to envelope it in and I thought Dorothy did try to make the best of things by grinning widely at the walkers as they tiptoed past.
I must be feeling benign this morning as I didn’t rise to the revolting remark .
That’s not like me.
Anyhow it’s been a nice morning all told.
Walk, shop and brunch.
I bought sunflowers, bespoke spiced sausages, a reduced priced haggis and some mozzarella cheese
And cooked sausage with egg for brunch made special with dusting of mozzarella and Korean hot sauce
I finished that with my daily bucket of coffee.
Bliss…..
I took my time over brunch and read as I was eating, only being disturbed by commotion in the lane when forty or so vintage tractors, out for a jaunt passed cottage with a roar.
We went out to wave as they got a little gridlocked by the church
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As usual Dorothy followed me and sat watching carefully from the doorway .
A “ Thats my boy “ look on her fat face.
from Going Gently https://ift.tt/atOS2bl
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