At my feet

There’s a dog at my feet.
Not my dog. I’m babysitting a Spoodle.
It’s a long time since I had a dog adhered to me like a shadow. When poor old Lil died it took me months to remember that I didn’t have to hold the door open after me – I’d been waiting for her to follow me everywhere every day for 16 years.
Now Shiloh and I are blogging. She’s a very big help. This morning she helped me get dressed, and as you can probably imagine was an enormous help to my girlfriend while she was working out this afternoon.
She has even brought us a small indefinable fluffy thing that may be part of another living creature. It’s too disgusting to tell. Can’t be a rabbit. I watched her this morning and she pays no attention to rabbits at all.
Perhaps it’s a bit of whatever beast pulled out all my irises and freesias and threw them around the garden for fun.
It’s a jungle out there.

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