Wednesday 22 November 2006

Early this evening, my partner used two words that I had hoped never again to hear united in the same sentence. The words were "vet" and "willie".

Alas, the problem with the Right Honourable Member for Jasper South that has been bubbling under for a while now was beginning to worsen. At least, this time, I had the dignity of a male physician attending to my plight. Another injection was administered and my partner and I returned home with ten days' worth of two different tablets - the vet wants to "really blitz" the problem. Good man. He also advised me not to pick at the affected area. My treacherous partner told him, right in front of me as I lay helpless on my back on the examining table, that I was a "notorious fiddler". This may be true, but what can I do? I am beautiful, and can't keep my paws off myself.

Speaking of things beautiful, I met a new young lady of my own breed on Saturday afternoon. My partner, Maisie and I took a lovely long walk through fields and the woods that surrounded the local golf course. Wonderful territory, absolutely teeming with deer, pheasants, rabbits and, in particular, (unfortunately) squirrels. We had just commenced the return leg of our walk through the woodlands, I had had a pleasant chat with a female Jack Russell named Blossom, when there before me stood a vision of radiant loveliness. A pale coffee-coloured Staffordshire Bull Terrier! She was accompanied by a young gentleman who was very friendly and stopped to chat. He remarked that I looked FAR younger and fitter than my eight years, which endeared him to me instantly. The feisty young beauty at his side was eleven months old and named Latté. She was terribly sweet and respectful and we instantly bonded. Her partner was (as far as I understand these things) an extremely attractive young man, who seemed to take some interest in my partner - he asked her if she lived close by, commented that he hadn't seen her before on this route, and generally made himself agreeable. We were about to move off, when it was noticed that Latté had disappeared. I had been busy observing the man's behaviour towards my partner (and graciously accepting his compliments directed at me). Well, calling and whistling for Latté yielded no results and I was horror-struck by the idea that she may have been kidnapped by a band of maurauding squirrels. I sped manfully deeper into the shady woods, located the unfortunate damsel, and escorted her back to her partner, who was most grateful and appeared to be laughing at some jokes of my partner's. Hmmm. Well, back we went to the car, but these most interesting and attractive strangers formed the main topic of my partner's and Maisie's conversation on the return stretch.

No reply has been received from BC. I can't say that I'm surprised (because I'm not). My partner was weeping last night. She didn't think I noticed, but I did.

She was absolutely exhausted after her return to work yesterday and, knowing her, overworked herself as well, so she was unable to go in today. I knew it would be too much for her. She will try again tomorrow, and I have counselled her to take things a little slower. The fact that BC will not be in attendance at her play, except for a vague mutter about coming along on Saturday, does not help. She must be strong and my energies will be channelled into supporting her so that she knows that at least ONE man in this world can be relied upon. Poor girl. Sometimes I wonder if her parents ever hear her crying at night; they are only in the next room - but they never say anything, so perhaps they do not. I will snuggle extra close to her tonight.

However, my plucky partner is being very brave and steeling herself for the first night of the play tomorrow. She has to have LOTS of stage make-up applied so that she can take on the appearance of her character - a bedridden 81 year-old. Not easy, as her natural complexion is that of a youthful English rose, but there is a highly skilled make-up artist in attendance - although the make-up process takes almost an hour to complete. The make-up artist, incidentally, is a great associate of BC, so there is much that cannot be said during this hour of transformation.

My partner takes great care to remove the make-up after a performance (particularly if she is going to the pub with the cast afterwards), but her cheek does taste a little peculiar when I give her my goodnight kiss. Perhaps a little more moisturiser - I shall suggest this.

Good night.