I think I may be getting too old for this sort of thing.
My young Westie girlfriends, Florrie and Lucy, have come to stay for a few days.
I know they're cute (especially little Lucy), but, well, between you and me, I do find their company ever so slightly exhausting.
Did you know I'm nearly fourteen? I don't think I do too badly for my age. I really can still walk quite a long way. At my own pace. In my own time. Minding my tender paws. And not straining my dicky heart.
Why all this rushing around anyway? If you walk slowly round the park, you can see more, sniff more, and take time to appreciate the changing seasons. And Florrie, there's really no need to race up to all the other dogs and bark at them, now is there?
At least at home everybody eventually calms down.
And Florrie (inexplicably) seems to like the new kitchen cushion.....
PS Gail wants me to include this fragment of a poem which she likes. Heaven forbid that she thinks it relevant to me. She says it's by T.S.Eliot, although I thought he only wrote about cats....