Chim- Chimunny...

A decided thaw - warm winds and the top smear of soil un-freezes and becomes very wet and slippery. The water butts and pond start to thaw, too, and except for in the most shaded places, all the white rime turns to wet.

On our walk in the Rec we meet a lovely rescue Greyhound called Polly. Only 6 weeks out of the racing game she's still a bit nervous of "normal" social, doggie gatherings, so she's getting used to the likes of us. She was well treated, though, by the syndicate who owned her, and they carried on paying for her keep right up to the moment she was "rescued". She's a lovely Weimeraner-style mousey-grey with white patches.

Very reserved one minute, her natural dog socialising skills burst out the next and she skitters off on a "showing-off" run, as she did whenever Dad threw my yellow frisbee ring. I'd take off at full speed after it, and she'd see this and blast after me, quickly (obviously!) over-hauling us and racing on ahead, then seeming to remember herself and curving round to come loping back to her own Dad with a mischievous playful glint in her eye.

Bit of fun today, as Dad sweeps the chimney out. Lots of exciting smells and curious activity, a foiled chance to get sooty, and a lovely sneaky chance to thieve the roll of masking tape which Dad put down in between taping up 2 corners of the dust sheet. Dad is left completely confused, unable to find it when he's just put it down a second ago, till I hear him say "Where's Deefer?" and the game is up. Can't imaging how it got out onto the terrace.... can you?

Some luck might rub orfe if I shake 'ands wiv youuuuuu.... ah!

Deefski

Walked off our Feet

Bitter North wind today, but where it's been wintry-showering, Dad opts for Reculver rather than the sheltered-from-the-wind Forest because Reculver is not muddy. When we leave it's not showering - in fact it's quite bright and hazy sunny. We clamber over the mound where the church ruin is, then head southeast up behind the oyster farm to the railway tracks, to complete the "full circuit".

That's about Meggie's limit these days. When M+H were young this was about an hour at Dad's route-march pace, but now Meggie rolls along at her rolling gait happliy enough for the inland loop, but starts to slow as we rejoin the concrete sea-wall, breaking now and then into a slow walk, while she recovers. Dad slows down of course, and we amble home, in this case into the teeth of the gale. It's about an hour 45 mins now, which is about Meg's lot.

Well, I say "amble" - Dad and Megan "amble". For me and Haggis it's more of an "average speed = amble" thing. We are actually racing ahead, then behind, then ahead again, then I attack him for a playful bounce every now and then. Later in the walk, Haggis also slows to an actual amble, and I am left racing about, leppin' on and off walls, down onto the beach and back up, orbitting around the slow-moving (ambling) group of old gits.

This way we all get our fill of exercise, and by the time we get back to the car out of the wind, we are all done in. Walked off our feet. We have sufficient energy to make a fuss of very elegant Weimeraner, Arthur , in that beautiful mousey ghost-grey they have ("I didn't name him that", says the man, apologetically, "that was 'the wife' ". We think it's a very good name for a handsome boy), but fall asleep as soon as we hit the car seats. We hope Dad has sufficient energy to drive home without falling asleep.

Deefer