Mistress with her arm down the toilet. Can there be any more glorious, more edifying sight for a pretty young Parson Russell Terrier than that of her Mistress with her arm down the toilet? I don't think so.
Much has happened since I last put claw to keyboard. The Coronavirus is growing worse, almost by the hour, and its shadow is falling ever nearer to my basket. The events in the USA the night before last, when their nation's Capitol was stormed and infiltrated by vile thugs, resulting in loss of life, incited and goaded by the very President of the country. It sickens me and I will not even mention him. He will not have the oxygen of publicity here. He might have a partly-orange face like me, but I think I wear mine better, inside and out.
But enough of this. There are innumerable other places to read about such sorrow and I don't want it to be here. I am simply happy enough to be alive and well here on this Friday. This then: after the toilet maladies at the beginning of the week, Mistress had to prepare the... less than tidy... room for the arrival of the emergency plumber. This involved tidying away of one of my more advanced Giz-nests, a good one, with treats and at least two chews in (I wasn't happy, I had worked particularly hard on that one), then preparation of the offending wee-station itself (still leaking water). Having protested impotently at the dismantling of my bathroom stronghold, I sat down in the room doorway and enjoyed every single second of my Mistress scrubbing at, swabbing and scouring the wretched receptacle. I enjoyed each one. When Mistress saw me watching and grinning she said some very rude words. I laughed. But then, when she started advancing towards me in her rubber gloves, armed with her befouled scouring pad, I chose to run away squealing and wait out the rest of the time in the car. I think she has forgiven me for enjoying her misery. Mostly.
I don't know why humans are so obsessed with toilets. I can understand the room, because the thing was broken and there was an outside-human coming to mend it. But no matter where I go, every time I lay a pretty dog-egg Mistress or GrannaPea picks it up in a little green bag. Why? I mean, I am grateful that they admire my work so much - and I do work hard to create eggs of especial beauty - but where do they put them? What happens to them? I don't know. Perhaps they are building a house out of them. It should be a good house, they are quite robust. And it would have a good bathroom.
The plumber came. He was called Ross and was very nice. He repaired the problems very well under my supervision. I think that people only like doing things when I am watching them and so I took care to watch him very closely. He didn't mind though and talked to me while he was doing his mending and pipe works. I am sure he wishes that he could have stayed in that bathroom talking to me and playing with his pipes all day. But he couldn't. And now everything is mended and nice again. But I am not allowed to rebuild my nest.
Mistress and me are still staying with GrannaPea at the moment, even though the pipes are mended. It is easier and these are not easy times.
On Thursday (last night), they re-started the Clap for Carers which first happened in March last year. I wrote about it before (First dose of The Clap). It went on for a few weeks before they stopped it at the end of May. Now it has been re-started in this third English lockdown as Clap for Heroes, to include all the people who do important work, like bin-men, delivery drivers, vets (hmmm), supermarket workers, postmen, loads more, as well as NHS peoples. I like it. I approve of anything that is nice to people and makes people smile. I asked Mistress if I could join in and so, last night at 8.00pm, I was given a little pot and a wooden spoon to bang out my little barky thank-you.
I approach my instrument.
Thank you!
I had a very nice time with my little drum-kit. Until Mistress took it away because "it was being abused". She said I would turn into Animal, off of The Muppets (I don't care, I like him), and my music was stolen from me. Until roughly 8.00pm, Thursday next week.
Animal - Godfather of the sticks 'n' skins...
Who would even dare to try to foresee what might happen between now and then? Not me. But however else we are further tried - or cheered - until then, I can only do my best and...
… Stay safe, be nice to each other, don't give up hope and keep smiling.
Lots of love from Gisèle x
No comments:
Post a Comment