I stayed up until midnight last night, waiting for Max to get home. And he never appeared. I even braved the cold to stand on the back porch in my pajamas with a tempting frying pan of delicious-smelling cooked sausages. Nothing. Not even a whimper. So I tossed and turned until the wee hours of this morning, fretting about him. You see, he is not what one would call a spring chicken. Each morning, when I let him out to do his first business of the day, he is so stiff that when he walks, his rear competes for the lead with his head. Even his stubby little tail is bent. So given that last night was freezing, all I could think of was his frozen body lying in a ditch somewhere. On my watch.
Now, I happen to be very fond of this little fellow.
He kindly cleans up the floor beneath Charlie's high chair following every meal. And inspects Charlie once he's finished eating, just in case a tasty morsel is hidden in his clothing. He eats sheep nuts and pea pods and barks at the vacuum cleaner and snores louder than Bern after too many Speights. To cut a long story short, I was feeling quite ill at the prospect of what the morning would bring.
So I woke up feeling a little less than perky. And crept out before the kids woke up, just in case I made a gruesome discovery. Nothing. But then I remembered Paul saying that sometimes the dog manages to shut himself in the shearing shed (now why didn't that memory surface at 3am this morning?). And that is exactly where I found the little bugger. Curled up in a downy soft nest of wool beneath the shearing platform, looking remarkable well rested.
Thankfully, Grace and I had planned some long-overdue girl time own for today. Janette very generously offered to mind Charlie, and when Grace chose to see a movie, I sighed with relief. At least I could sit down and doze for a few hours in a comfortable seat (I can't vouch for the rest of NZ, but compared to Canberra, the Invercargill cinema has seats like armchairs). I didn't, however, vouch on seeing this.
Now, I happen to be very fond of this little fellow.
He kindly cleans up the floor beneath Charlie's high chair following every meal. And inspects Charlie once he's finished eating, just in case a tasty morsel is hidden in his clothing. He eats sheep nuts and pea pods and barks at the vacuum cleaner and snores louder than Bern after too many Speights. To cut a long story short, I was feeling quite ill at the prospect of what the morning would bring.
So I woke up feeling a little less than perky. And crept out before the kids woke up, just in case I made a gruesome discovery. Nothing. But then I remembered Paul saying that sometimes the dog manages to shut himself in the shearing shed (now why didn't that memory surface at 3am this morning?). And that is exactly where I found the little bugger. Curled up in a downy soft nest of wool beneath the shearing platform, looking remarkable well rested.
Thankfully, Grace and I had planned some long-overdue girl time own for today. Janette very generously offered to mind Charlie, and when Grace chose to see a movie, I sighed with relief. At least I could sit down and doze for a few hours in a comfortable seat (I can't vouch for the rest of NZ, but compared to Canberra, the Invercargill cinema has seats like armchairs). I didn't, however, vouch on seeing this.
Or LOVING it. I tried to close my eyes but they treacherously refused. Ironically enough, Grace didn't really enjoy it very much, so I had to bribe her with a choctop so we could stay until the end. See how impressed she is?
She wouldn't even let me have my photo taken in the WANTED poster. Just begged to be taken home.
She wouldn't even let me have my photo taken in the WANTED poster. Just begged to be taken home.
