For anyone who hasn't owned a young, fit, full-of-fun labrador, try to imagine what effort goes into attaining this state. Think walks, games, meals, refreshing afternoon sleeps, more walks, games, meals and refreshing evening sleeps. That's Flossie's day.
Except for the refreshing sleeps, that's also what my day looks like, with added shopping, cleaning, Own Life thrown in, much of it centred on Mud Control and trying to remember the drill for getting out of the front door in an orderly manner when an exciteable dog is spinning and bouncing in ten different directions at once. Fran coached me repeatedly in that one, but it's not easy when the hall is small and narrow, the lobby crowded with dog and self, and the front steps easy to fall down in the most undignified manner.
Oh, and there's the 'picking up' - rather a shock after the rather less copious bodily functions of a tiny Yorkshire terrier....
For anyone concerned about the cats, Lottie is fine, cool as a cucumber; she and Millie are fearless, although Millie is also outraged on principle. Scooter and Hamish are just dizzyingly-fast blurs on the horizon, and Tosca is still extremely put out. But Flossie is impervious to it all; she's just having a very good time, thank you; hostile vibes and Death Stares go unnoticed.
Today she learned to find the favourite squeaky toy, a farewell present from Fran, after I hid it somewhere on the ground floor. Too easy, she thinks; she aspires to searching for a collection of 20 articles, just like her friend Harvey. Perhaps I should include my reading glasses in the selection of items to find and bring back.... That skill alone would earn Flossie her keep.
She is in bed, snoring a little. I'm off to my own