It now becomes immediately obvious on walking into our house that we have a young, not-very-well-trained dog.
The wooden floors within ten feet of the back door are covered in a thin layer of garden soil and there are tell tale pawprints through the dining room. I would clean them up but what's the point? I mean, I eventually will get the mop out, but I'm not going to drive myself bonkers about it.
We're all talking in that silly "who's a good girl?" voice. I mean, I didn't even talk to my babies like that.
The flower beds in the back are looking a bit erm, well horizontal. The problem is that as soon as she gets excited and wants to run, she just races around the perimeter of the fairly modest garden, ie. flower beds. Poor thing hasn't had all her innoculations yet so we can't take her out for a good long run. Again, I'm not going to get upset about it.
The back door is permanently open, which wasn't ideal this past weekend as the temperatures plummetted. She's not house-trained and pees on rugs from time to time. She seems to have found a poop spot thank the lord, (poop makes me gag) but the pees are still a bit of a gamble. There are also a lot of flies whizzing around the house, which I can deal with, but Americans have a very low tolerance for bugs of any kind. We usually have a hanging screen on the back door to keep them out, but with a dog walking in and out all day that was just a recipe for disaster.
Everyone seems in a better mood when the dog's around. (Unless she happens to pee in their bedroom.) We watch her antics with never-ending fascination and tell each other about them if someone happens to miss one.
I am in two pairs of trousers that didn't come close last year. I haven't lost any weight from my daily two mile power doggy walks, but something's going on and I, for one, am not complaining.
The Little Guy still thinks he's dreaming. Yesterday he was sitting with his arms round her neck, as usual. "Dogs smell of love", he announced.
Ok, we can keep her!