Nearly an old git

It's official. Dad's nearly an old git. At midnight he turns 50, poor soul.

Meanwhile, they are trying a bit of a get tough policy on small dogs who persist in barking in the back garden, potentially winding up the neighbours and giving the Westie breed a bad name. At the minute, if ever I try it I am rounded up and stuffed indoors, while Mum and Dad sit sunning themselves on the terrace and Meg and the H lie on the block paving looking very smug and mouthing "Nah-Nah-Na-nahh Nahhhh" at me through the glass. Might be a fight I choose not to continue.

Happy Birthday Dad
(schmooze schmooze)

Deefs