Hey look! The sun's out and there are clear blue skies all over Cheesetown. Up in the woods there are definitely buds on some trees, and snowdrops are starting to poke through.
Ned has forgiven me for last night's shampoo and trim, and is elegantly wafting the scent of Tesco's Vanilla and Peach No Tears Shampoo and Conditioner through the house.
And on the back road between Cheesetown and the nearest M&S Emporium, I am singing along with my pal Lucinda Williams. It's warm enough to get the roof of the Mazda down.
That's how good it is.
I've got a job!
A better job than the one I had before!

And before I need to change the music to Steven Patrick (I was looking for a job and then I found a job/ And heaven knows I'm miserable now) Morrissey, before I need to worry about dog care and child care in the holidays, before the reality of walking the Nedster at half six every weekday morning kicks in, I'm going to enjoy it.

Look it worked out. Lost a stinking job to be there for W though his last months, had the time to look out for Cherub. Got job.
Simples.
Karma
Ha!

Look!!! It only took three weeks, and about ten hours to convince them....but having called in the EXPERTS it is official.

I AM THE BEST PERSON FOR THE JOB AT THE SMALL BOUTIQUE COUNTING HOUSE.

And I am the only person in the Lothians who can say that.

No news is good news.
Apparently.

My recruitment consultant phoned to let me know that the small boutique counting house, which is now in possession of three test papers from myself and A N Other, has called in the experts.
Said testing experts will today be Interpreting the Results.

This blog comes with a warning that it is not for the squeamish...

Even non-dog lovers have to admit Ned is a good looking dog. Hey I can say this... But look, because he is so smart, handsome, and gorgeous it's easy to forget his origins. Without being too snotty about this, he came from a farm. He's a working dog, from a proud line of working farm animals.
And as I've pointed out lately, that gives us something else in common, what with being workers with nothing to do....ahem, I digress.
It appears that the DEVIL finds WORK for idle Collies.

This morning while I was getting ready to take him out he started making a noise. It was as if he was trying to blow bubbles.
Pacing up and down the hall, blowing bubbles. This would be a new thing even for Ned.
It's not worrying me, because it's quite funny.

So there I am in the hall, down at eye level with him, seeing if he's OK, when, erm...how can I put this... he barfs up a half digested squirrel.

Yeah, you read that right.

Yes I am quite sure.

I made myself look at it.
Look at the length of the tail column, still attached, the back legs and innards have gone, but the front paws and jaw are still there.
It's mainly bleached white, but covered in what I'm assuming is last night's dinner.

WAAAAAAHHHHHHH

And every time I look at it it gets worse.
The half digested squirrel guts on my hall carpet.
These are the times when you want your mummy - then realise You Are Mummy. Macy - it's you who is going to have to scoop and dispose of the curdling rodent remains.

The Nedster has been told.
The dirty paw marks and mud smeared across the walls are par for the course.
The humping of every blonde Labrador he meets is a dog thing. Amends can be made.
But the barfing up of half digested vermin on my feet. That gets filed under unforgivable.

Yes, yes, yes. One day (anytime soon in fact), I will have unalloyed Good News to report. The background of the blog will change to a lovely lively pink, I will blog away on such happy topics as the Flowers and Birdsong here in Cheesetown...

But bear with me. We're not there yet.

George has died.

I haven't mentioned George specifically. He was an older guy Ned and I met when we first moved over here. Like us he was out walking most mornings. He was from London originally, but had fairly settled into Cheesetown. Quiet, laid back, loads of friends round about the place.
He liked Ned, though he worried about him everytime he ran off after rabbits. Bit of a health and safety guy, old George.

First I heard about it was from Petal.. She was upset, what with George and her being together for over 9 years.

It was a tumour. Massive tumour. The vet said it was kindest to let him sleep.

That's the trouble with dogs. You get attached to them - even the ones that aren't your own. Mornings aren't the same without old boxer dog George to worry after Ned.

Sleep tight George.