As well as our own two dogs, The Lurchers, and Snowy our foster Greyhound, we've been doing some dog-sitting as well the last few weeks. Yes I know, I'm mad but you knew that anyway didn't you!?
Last week it was Flo Jo. If I'd remembered to take a photograph of Flo Jo you'd understand the irony of her name. She's a chocolate labrador. In her body anyway. Her legs think that she's something a lot smaller. Consequently she waddles around with her body swaying because her legs can't quite understand what they're doing with the wrong body. She belongs to our neighbours and, because the children are asthmatic, she's only allowed in the kitchen and spends all day outside in the garden. No, I don't like it either. I particularly don't like it because her disproportionate body and leg combination means she suffers from arthritis in her hips. And being outside all day does not help. So when she comes to us she's spoilt. She's allowed in the house and revels in stretching out in front of the log fire. By the end of the week she was hardly noticing her arthritis at all. But it's not my place to tell my neighbours how to look after their. Well, OK, I did but it went in one ear and out the other.
Today another colleagues two retrievers arrived. They've stayed before but we didn't have Snowy then. Two entire males caused the recently castrated Snowy a little consternation but as they ignored him completely, I think he'll settle down.
So what's not fair? This is what's not fair. I do most of the walking and feeding and general care of our dogs and our guests. Himself does do his bit but his work means it's usually me that does the most. And that's fine, it's just how it's always been and it's not an issue. But who always gets the thank-you-for-looking-after-our-dogs gift? Not me, dear readers, not me. Himself gets gifted with whiskey and beer and home-made pork pies (yeuch) and me? I get diddley squat.
It's not fair I tell you. Not fair.
Last week it was Flo Jo. If I'd remembered to take a photograph of Flo Jo you'd understand the irony of her name. She's a chocolate labrador. In her body anyway. Her legs think that she's something a lot smaller. Consequently she waddles around with her body swaying because her legs can't quite understand what they're doing with the wrong body. She belongs to our neighbours and, because the children are asthmatic, she's only allowed in the kitchen and spends all day outside in the garden. No, I don't like it either. I particularly don't like it because her disproportionate body and leg combination means she suffers from arthritis in her hips. And being outside all day does not help. So when she comes to us she's spoilt. She's allowed in the house and revels in stretching out in front of the log fire. By the end of the week she was hardly noticing her arthritis at all. But it's not my place to tell my neighbours how to look after their. Well, OK, I did but it went in one ear and out the other.
Today another colleagues two retrievers arrived. They've stayed before but we didn't have Snowy then. Two entire males caused the recently castrated Snowy a little consternation but as they ignored him completely, I think he'll settle down.
So what's not fair? This is what's not fair. I do most of the walking and feeding and general care of our dogs and our guests. Himself does do his bit but his work means it's usually me that does the most. And that's fine, it's just how it's always been and it's not an issue. But who always gets the thank-you-for-looking-after-our-dogs gift? Not me, dear readers, not me. Himself gets gifted with whiskey and beer and home-made pork pies (yeuch) and me? I get diddley squat.
It's not fair I tell you. Not fair.
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