I’m pooped………Mum is on a fitness binge and apparently she needs my assistance!!!
Now like any other dog on the planet, I love my walks. But I’m used to going round the block twice a day. However, for the past 4 days we have walked for 3 miles at a time (to the end of the village and back to be precise). How Mum has enough breathe to walk that far is beyond me…because she spends the entire time talking to me ten to the dozen. I obviously don’t answer as I am trying to conserve my energy for the hike back (the outbound journey is all downhill…….so it goes without saying what the return walk is like)
I wouldn’t mind the generic babble that emits from her mouth for the 60 minutes we spend walking…….but she doesn’t draw breathe. ‘Oh look Jay…cows in a field’ (yes Mum…the same damn cows as yesterday and the day before) ‘There’s that man on his bike again Jay’ (yes Mum, and I’ll bet my last sausage treat we see him again tomorrow – pushing his bike up the hill).
This evening was slightly more eventful than usual. nearing the end of the village as always and just before we turned back…..Mum stopped and peering over a hedge. ‘Oh no Jay….I think that sheep’s dead!’. I can only assume I was supposed to react differently than standing still with my tongue hanging out, praying to the God of water…….‘Jay, come and look. Do you think he’s dead’. For the love of God….I don’t care if he’s dead. I bet wherever sheep go after they die they have lots of cold, wet water.
Dutiful as ever and because I just wanted to turn around and go home, I glanced over the hedge. He looked dead, I must admit but then how am I supposed to communicate that to Mum. I tried to mime dragging my paw across my neck like I’ve seen then do on TV….but Mum is hopeless at cherades.
‘Come on Jay…we’ll go and knock on this house and tell the farmer his sheep is dead’…….Excellent…….the farmer had a drive about 4 miles long. So we walk to the farm and Mum knocks on the door and a little old farmers wife answers the door. And I listen as Mum tells this frail old lady that unfortunately, one of the sheep is dead in the field. ‘Oh no…..which one’ replies the old lady.
They all look the bloody same…which I would have pointed out had Mum not started rambling on about the colour, shape and size (her description sounded just like a sheep…surprise surprise.) Still unclear which sheep had met its maker, the old lady decides to follow us to the field so she can see for herself. 30 minutes later (I think the old lady was stuck in reverse)…we arrive back at the field to find the damn sheep skipping up and down like Larry the Lamb.
Mum was surprisingly quiet the rest of the way home. She seemed to intone that it had been my error in thinking the sheep was dead and that my ‘confirmation’ as I glanced over the hedge had led her to the farm……..
Ellie should count herself lucky that she is housebound at the minute (she has sore paws so can’t go for a walk for ten days and she has them bandaged up like Mohammed Ali before a match)…
Walked to Death Jay xxxxxxx