That dog has been digging in the garden again........
Summer arrived today.....Woke up at 10 am due to having made the hour long drive into town at 2 am to pick up a very merry mikester who had graced a wedding reception with his presence. I arrived back home at 4.30 am after having made sure the merry one actually managed to open the door and dissapear inside. I am sure he slept in the kitchen with the dogs. He sure looked like it when I saw him this evening.
Now..if I wake up at 10 am I am overwhelmed by guilt. If I wake up at 10 am and it is a whopping 22C and blazing sun I panic. Thats when I throw myself in the car with poor puppy in tow and do a rather good impersonation of Häkkinen all the way thinking of my beautiful dark bay mare standing alone in a dark stable when all the other horses are outside in the sunshine due to her lazybum negligent mummy only to arrive and find that the apple of my eye are happily chewing outside. Mimmi the angel having noticed the absence of the blue Renault has of course let her out hours ago. At 10 am Mimmi superwoman has also exercised her two racehorses, built a stonewall along the driveway and are about to leave the premises on the motorbike to go watch her brother in a speedway race. I muck out the stable and sneak back home feeling suitably inadequate. Coffee with my 82 year old neighbour Ethel manages to perk me up enough to drive out to the lads farm to investigate just how hungover they are, or rather Mike since Peter was working last night. Turns out the lads are about to set fire to a giant heap of branches that were pulled together last week for the annual bonfire. Needless to say we failed miserably to set it alight last week but thats all part of the deal. After 25 minutes of various arsonist tricks we stand back to watch it blaze away....only to feel the first raindrops of a two hour downpour falling which effectively puts an end to THAT fire....walking back to the farm we notice the dogs having dug up half the orchard hunting for moles. Evidence of grey fluff suggest a rather abrubt ending to the diggingparty for some old mole or another and Peter mutters that it might be easier to cut the grass next time. I doubt it.
The dogs are still digging.
