The Man had a rough time of it this month.
He returned from work one day, complaining of a sore leg. He dropped his trousers in the kitchen and examined his thigh. The Woman glanced over while taking his dinner out of the oven and commented, "It's just a spot."
To which he replied, "Spots don't have legs!"
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| You are correct. Tick. |
Exasperated, he asked the Woman where the tick remover was. She checked the cupboard containing all my pet stuff and couldn't find it. "It must be up at the cabin." She could tell how distressed he was and immediately volunteered to go to Pets at Home to buy another one.
While she was away, he sat at the kitchen table, his trousers around his ankles, eating his Yorkshire-pudding-encased dinner, researching all about ticks on his phone. He didn't want my wet nose anywhere near his thigh, despite my persistence. Funny how the presence of a blood-sucking insect makes my resting my chin on his leg less cute.
When the Woman returned, she told him to deal with it himself. She didn't want to be blamed if it went wrong. I watched in fascination as he plucked and twisted using the various-sized tools, the beastie resisting being removed like a hungry baby around a mother's nipple. Eventually, using the smallest tool, he managed to remove it.
He fretted for days, fearing Lyme Disease. He kept checking his leg for signs of infection and swabbing on the Savlon like it was cake icing. Fortunately, the rash faded, and everything went back to normal.
Except perhaps for his memory.
When he took me to the vet to get my annual vaccine boosters, the Woman tasked him with buying another bag of my pet food and picking up something for their lunch. When we arrived at the surgery, while awaiting the vet, the Man suddenly realised his wallet pocket was empty. He'd left his money in his other trousers. He confessed this omission to the receptionist, and unfortunately, they still continued with the treatment. He was allowed to pay later over the phone. He'd been so pleased to remember the vaccine card, too (the Woman had looked it out for him).
I've noticed a big drop in his cognitive function now he's getting old. I play on this to get more treats. I felt sorry, though, when he caught Covid at the end of the month. Mainly because he didn't carry as many treats in his pocket, given that he was barred from the kitchen.
Mid-month, we did get to go on a short holiday up north to Cruden Bay.
We stayed at the dog-friendly Kilmarnock Arms Hotel.
The room was huge, with a stone, underheated floor and a bed that I made my own (until the Man brought in my cage). The hotel provided a metal food bowl and a dog towel but no dog treats.
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There's only one bed.
Where are you two going to sleep? |
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| Are you sure it doesn't say there should be dog treats? |
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| My own private area outside the room |
Upon arrival, I'd overheard the receptionist tell the Man I was welcome anywhere in the hotel, but for some reason, he took that to mean 'excluding the kitchen'. I was allowed to join my owners in the restaurant and bar for every meal, but despite my best efforts with the staff, I only managed to get tickles from them—no food.
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Breakfast - she's not letting me go
in case I bolt for the kitchen. |
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Dinner - "I promise if you drop the lead,
I won't bolt for the kitchen."
(They didn't believe me) |
I knew the kitchen's location. My nose drew me towards it every time we went to the restaurant. I could smell all the delicious cooked meats. But I still got not a sausage!
