Still and all

The primroses have melted away, replaced by thick carpets of yellow cowslips standing erect against the greensward. This is the natural order of things, the tough early flowers giving way to the less hardy ones as the earth warms up and the air softens above it. But elsewhere there is confusion as Nature seems to have lost control of spring. Today has been typical of recent events: it began sunny but chilly, that biting northerly wind changing direction a few times but its provenance in the Arctic never in doubt. By lunchtime I was in shirtsleeves working in the garden, though when the sun disappeared behind a cloud it felt like winter and everything went back on again. We drove to the garden centre and had to find shade when it got too hot, but on the way home a sudden cloudburst made everything gloomy. Back home again the wind dropped completely and the sun glowed benignly in a clear sky. A good time for our evening walk then. But we quickly found ourselves in a seasonal nomansland as a few fat drops of rain fell and, looking around, I saw that the sky was suddenly, shockingly blue black, the colour of that Quink ink you had to buy when they had run out of royal blue. The sun still shone on us the whole way round our route as the rain fell, though now a double rainbow had shot a curved arc against the darkness. Primitive tribes must have wondered if the world was ending when these freak conditions occurred. I sometimes ha me doots too. But we plodded on, Hugo unusually frisky as every few yards yielded up the scent of hare and he had to stop and sniff, and then do a long stare into the distance. They are there alright, we've seen them bobbing about in the wheat field, scurrying along the deep tracks left by the tractor. Oh but he'd like to give chase, but even worse than him disappearing over the horizon is the thought of a hare hunted to heart-bursting exhaustion and then being grabbed by that long sharp jaw. No, he has to stay on a lead around here. But yesterday we went again to the beach with his friend Stella, and he showed off his speed and agility to the more mundane dogs. Sorry, that's not meant to be a value judgement on the others: he just looks magnificent in full flight.

My Guy

Is there anything sweeter than a dog snuggling up to you and putting its head on your lap, looking trustingly up to you? Well yes, of course I know there is, but it's still pretty adorable. But it wasn't like that earlier. I took delivery of a new ride-on lawnmower a few days ago, and this morning I decided to try it out. Despite the persistent heavy bursts of hailstorms threatening to rip your face open with their sharpness and velocity, the grass has dried up quickly and was fine to cut. Hugo did his usual dancing around and barking, in danger of being run over, so I put him in the kitchen. After a while I noticed him on the work surface, so decided to catch him at it and try to shock him out of it. I raced into the house, bellowed at him to get down, and as he slunk past me I flicked his flank with my gardening glove. He yelped - honestly, it couldn't have hurt him - and escaped through the open door. I called him back, very firmly and crossly, but he cowered on the ground and wouldn't come. He looked terrified. I felt sick. Why was he so afraid? I've wondered before if he might have been harshly treated, but seeing him like this was terrible. I wasn't really cross. He wasn't doing any harm, but it's just not nice to have a dog walking where food is prepared. Not the end of the world. I gently called to him and he came, reluctantly, but then I stroked him and told him it was OK really, that nothing was worth him being so afraid. After a while I started a game, and he responded as usual, eagerly, full of fun and happiness. I was still feeling shocked though. My poor, sweet little boy. I had no idea he'd react like that. But it was a first and a last. My recent weekend guest was reading an article in the paper about the expensive treatments dogs can have nowadays, and she asked me if I'd spend £30,000 to cure Hugo of some medical problem. I told her no, of course not, but I'd probably risk my life if he was being hurt. Silly fool.

Here's my new best friend. We're going to have some wonderful times together.

Creature Comforts

We played hide and seek yesterday and it was the best fun. I made Hugo wait in one room upstairs while I hid in another - down the side of the bed, in a wardrobe, under a towel - and when he found me each time he was delirious with joy and pride. We played chase too, and so far he hasn't tripped me up and caused me to break my hip. I get tired before he does, but he is 32 years younger than me.

It's been so cold lately that last night I covered him in a blanket when he curled up in his bed. He didn't stay under it, and when I felt him in the morning his back, head and ears were cold. He sneezed on the way downstairs, just to ram home the point. Whippets have no fat on them and can't keep warm by themselves. I found it very distressing that, while I was cosy in bed with my electric blanket and 15 tog Hungarian down duvet, he was shivering on the landing. It's not going to happen again. I've devised a solution, thus:

I think I like it ...

Though I feel a bit sick.

Any chance of taking the sleeves up a bit?

I promise to wear it if you do ...

Otherwise I'll have to sulk ...

 

That's better. Now I mean business

I've googled whippet sweaters but honestly, they're tacky and garish and they don't fit any better than this lovely cashmere sweater of mine that shrank in the wash a few years back. I think he looks lovely in it, and the best thing is that he'll be warm. I met Mike on our morning walk and he said: For goodness sake woman, just let him get under your duvet with you and be done with it. No! No, no, no!! No!

Deep Breathing

Yoga is supposed to relax you and fill you with serenity. Didn't work this morning. I arrived to find a full car park and, trying to squeeze into a tight space, managed to knock over a wall. There was a loud bang, and I expected everyone to come rushing out but nothing happened. The top layer of bricks on the low wall had completely slid off and separated, shocking to see. And embarrassing. I didn't examine the car then, but went in to start de-stressing. So Hugo sitting in the car right outside the wondow howling his head off didn't help. After a while the teacher suggested we focus on something else to help ignore the noise, though nobody had mentioned it, and at that point I offered to move the car. "Bring him in", she said, and so Little Lord Fauntleroy sauntered in through the lycra crew and settled himself down on his blanket beside me like a canine aristocrat. Hah, he seemed to be saying, why do you make life so difficult for yourself? You know I'll win in the end. Just keep me with you at all times and you'll be much happier. I popped over to confess my crime to the caretaker when I left, and in his absence his wife said she didn't think it was a problem, that her husband would probably sort it out quite easily. When I arrived home I glanced at the car and there was a tiny mark, not even a dent. I think the wall was waiting to fall. His young lordship took a long drink of water, sighed happily, and lowered his long limbs into his bed for a bit of shut-eye. He opened one eye, and his look told me he just wanted a bit of peace now, and would I please leave him alone for a while? Sorry Hugo. I didn't mean to disturb you.

All That Jazz

I met the vicar at the village plant sale yesterday, but because it was held in Framlingham I assumed he was the local incumbant. As I shook his hand across the table where I was selling everything from primroses to giant echium, I asked him where his church was. You know, just making conversation. He was a giant of a man, not the sort you'd forget easily. "Why, your village," he said, and roared with laughter Brian Blessed style. Well I'd never seen him around before, but them I'm not a regular, or even a one-off. Caroline told him where I lived, and he apologised for not coming to see me. Gawd! No worries mate. He invited me to attend a service any time I liked, but I told him I liked knowing that he was there, praying for the likes of me, but I had no wish to join him. He bought three hellebores, and I gave him a fourth one as a gift. I thought it was the least I could do under the circs. It was a good morning, and I'll warrant we made a decent sum. To cap it all I won a hamper of fruit which might take me a while to get through but I'm leaving nothing, not even a pip.

When I got back, having left Hugo alone in the kitchen for a few hours, he'd been everywhere. The counters were covered in muddy footprints, the result of him knocking over a glass of water and walking it all over the surfaces. It says a lot for the state of his feet. The windows were covered in nose rubbings and, most poignantly, there were pawprints on the glass at the stretched height of a desperate whippet. Cleaning those regularly is clearly going to be my job. I did what the experts say and didn't make too much of a fuss of him at first. It seems I may have been overdoing that, letting him follow me everywhere, allowing him to bully me with his powerful nose into stroking him again and again and again. Persistent he is. It has to stop. I'm not giving up the sofa-snuggling though. He is a whippet after all.

I ushered last night at a gig given by Jacqui Dankworth in aid of the Bury St Edmunds Diocese. Tragically, almost comically, only 180 tickets were sold out of a possible 850. This was due to appalling publicity by the organisers who had only hired the Snape concert hall but not any of their other services. Shame. It was excellent nevertheless, though not my kind of music and I nearly fell asleep a few times. Beforehand I'd given Hugo a free run, and am ashamed to say that he peed up against the leg of Sarah Lucas's giant shire horse. Oh well, it probably just looked like a tree to him. He charged around as usual, targetting an old, half-blind labrador who tolerated him and whose owner said in awed tones "My god but he can run!" Yup. I thought he'd be exhausted, and he probably did sleep in the car. But it was a cold night, and he sneezed a few times on the way home. He did that other thing too, hyperventilating at a terrifying speed, and crying in between gasps. I spoke to one of the ushers, Frances, who I've bonded with over our dogs, and she gave me the number of a trainer she knows who might be able to help. I'll try anything. I just want the little chap to be happy.

My reward for manning the plant stall with Caroline came this morning when Patrick brought me the dearest little pot of flowers. He came in a flurry of snow. Yes, snow.

Lost and Found

I was going in to Waitrose with my trolley this evening when Maggie Hambling came towards me with hers full of shopping. I did a double take and caught her first look twice, hers saying "So you recognise me huh" and mine saying "You shouldn't be doing your own shopping, you're Maggie Hambling." I know, small things. Everyone's been talking about Victoria Wood, and how sad they feel about her death. Her humour was obviously universal, and we all have so many happy memories of her and her work, the comic and the tragic both. She really was extraordinary, multi-talented. What a waste. I had been thinking about Acorn Antiques before I heard the news, and wondering why I missed it at the time. A man on the television said he had bought the boxed set, and I've decided to do the same. It's never too late.

I've had a very fraught day. Sitting with a client, trying to sort through a huge pile of paperwork and talking to various government and other agencies on the phone on his behalf at the same time, I was assaulted by the non-stop sound of Hugo crying in the car outside. After a long while of trying and failing to concentrate, I excused myself, explaining why to my nice client, and went outside to move the car further away. The person whose offices in a different company now overlooked the noise complained to the manager who told me to bring him in, and he was perfectly angelic and calm. I even brought him in with me to see another client, who was very pleased to see him. Is this the answer? I think it will have to be or I won't last very long in the job. Everyone seems to think that he must get used to my way of life, but if he's genuinely anxious or frightened I don't think it's the right thing to do.

Sammy and I took both dogs to the beach again where Hugo must have covered miles, back and forth at top speed like a real boy racer. The two of us ended up minus hounds in the beach cafe with hot chocolate and lemon and poppyseed cake. I'm telling you, I'd earned it. But I was sad to discover my missing glove near where I must have lost it last week, a bit wet and bedraggled but also badly chewed by some dog or other. Little b*****d. Not like the walking boot I lost many years ago. It was a decent boot, one of a pair actually, a brown leather Chris Bonington one, and I gave it up for lost. I had no idea where it could be but surmised that it must have fallen out of the car after some walk or other. A whole winter went by as I mourned my loss, and then spring came, and one morning I parked as usual in a derelict car park at the AA in Basingstoke where I worked, and spotted something under some weeds. It was my boot! I took it home, overjoyed to be reunited with it, and although it was much the worse for wear, a bit squashed, I brought it back to health with love and lots of polish and plenty of stuffing. I still wear the boots now. I can never tell which one it was.

Stop Thief

Oh, he's got his feet under the table now alright, or his paws on the work surface rather. Sniff sniff, he goes, walking around the kitchen trying to see what might be edible, what he could snatch. Bad luck for me, then, that it was the piece of salmon for my lunch. Hugo, I said sternly. What have you done? Where's my lunch? He did his usual smarmy stuff, grinning apologetically, but I've rumbled him now. He's a snatch thief, a creep, and he can't be trusted. He was on hus best behaviour for the first couple of weeks and took me in completely, so that I would take him in completely I suppose. So that was alright then.

I spent a couple of hours at the hairdressers this afternoon, and he was not happy. So when we got home we went straight into the garden for a runaround. The lawn needed mowing, but he raced around the lawnmower barking again so I put him in the kitchen. When I let him out he showed me how cross he was by first pooing in the middle of the lawn, and then peeing up against the pond seat. He's never done either thing in the garden before so he must have been really put out. So instead of awaiting an apology from him I did this. I knew it was coming, and I thought today was the right time. Needless to say he was in 7th heaven.

You looking at me?

I'm ignoring you

And the sitting room sofa too

Little Treasure

Such a busy day today. I'm someone who doesn't really stop to see if things will work out, but just decide that I'll fit everything in somehow. And so I do usually, and did today.  First of all I had to dig up as many little plants as possible to go in the village plant sale on Saturday. There were hellebores, and echinops, Japanese anenomies, lysmachia, pulmonaria, vinca - varegated and normal, macleaya, eryngium, euphorbia Fireglow etc etc. I got them out of the ground, potted them up and watered them, praying that they'd be alive in the morning. It took ages in the hot sunshine and icy winds, the clouds deciding which one dominated, but it was satisfying, the neat row of pots looking very professional. I had just gulped down a quick lunch when Nick arrived to do some planting for me. This was serious planting, four fruit trees, a eounymus alatus, a cotinus, a physocarpus and a viburnum. He's terrific at this sort of thing, expert and careful, and he did a great job in very short time. No sooner had he gone than Hugo and I had to hurtle off to Snape for evacuation practice. It's always good fun, for me at least, as we had a good laugh going through the motions of helping the elderly and infirm out of their seats and outside to the mustering point should tyhe very worst happen during a concert. Hugo probably wasn't so happy as he had to wait in the car, but as soon as I got out I took him to the big field behind the concert hall and let him run. There's something splendid about him in full flight. A fellow usher was walking her dog, and Hugo flew up to him sniffed and ran around in circles and then tore off again, his body fluid and graceful. We both laughed at his speed and his antics. But once in the car he cried and panted again, and nothing would soothe him. I still don't understand why he suddenly gets so upset.

But there was magic to come. Back home I let him out of the car, and found the stuffed bone that has been in his crate untouched for weeks. It weighs a ton, but I offered it to him, and he took it delicately in his mouth from my hand, then trotted, no danced lightly but secretly, like a newly-trained spy, around behind the oil tank and burried it in the soil. My baby, digging a hole, dropping the heavy bone in and then carefully covering it up again with his nose! I pretended not to see, or notice his muddy muzzle when he returned to me as if nothing had happened, but he had a secret now and he was very pleased with himself. Oh Hugo. What a clever, clever boy. What a joy.

Inglorious Mud

The concert at the Jubilee Hall last night was great, an amateur orchestra performing Beethoven's 7th, inter alia, and what a buzz it must have been for them. You could see it in their faces, the excitement, the thrill. God, did they make a big sound. A professional pianist played Mozart's concerto no. 20 which must also have been a highlight for them, but fair do's, they were good. I was amazed at how many people in the audience I knew as I ushered at the main door and tried to tell them where their seats were though they probably knew better than me as I had never been there before. I got to Aldeburgh early so Hugo could have a stretch along the beach and I could eat my fish and chips in the car - they are really the best, fish fresh out of the North Sea that day, chips fried in beef dripping. Yum. No good for pasty-faced vegetarians.

When I got back to the car and greeted Hugo he started crying and panting, and kept it up all the way home. At times I seriously thought he could have a heart attack, so rapid was his hyperventilation. I couldn't calm him with my voice, and stopped once to let him out but it didn't help. Once back home he relaxed and was quickly OK. I don't know why he gets so upset, but it's awful to witness. Next morning, as sort of reparation, I took him for a long walk nearly down to Bruisyard and it had to be brisk because the north wind was a sharp knife into our exposed bits, despite the sun. The rest of the day we spent in the garden, one of us planting five blue scabiosa, an iris, two clumps opf lysmachia and two red things which I had placed behind the roses but didn't like and have moved to the bank behind the pond - can't remember their name. In between times I dug up horrible plantains that had got a hold where the hazel used to be, and cleared a space around the platycoden which had been covered with weeds. There's still so much to do, what with the rain preventing Nick from getting here, but I'm staying chilled. It'll all get done. But a huge delivery of fruit trees and bushes is awaiting planting, so I hope he can come this week.

Hugo was great, but I felt he needed a treat so I drove to the Woodland Trust about a mile away where I could let him off the lead. Big mistake. The place was sodden, boggy, saturated, and we sank into the mud with every step we took. After a couple of miles it's safe to say we both looked like mudlarks, though I at least had wellies on and he didn't. Back home I tried to contain him on the doormat while I pondered what to do. He couldn't go upstairs to the bathroom in that state, and I probably couldn't lift him into the butler's sink in the cloakroom. Not for the first time I regretted not having made a wet room. In the end I took him outside and washed him as well as I could in a basin of warm water, but it wasn't enough. So I dried him off, waited until he was in a fit state to go upstairs, and then it was into the bath. He emerged after a brisk rubbing with one of my best guest towels all fluffy and even more black. He's zonked out in his bed now, poor little fellow. It's quite done him in, all this fun. Me? I bought a bottle of Villa Maria Sauvignon Blanc on Friday and it's slipping down very nicely. It's been traumatic! I've bathed a dog! He's spark out but I have to eat before I can join him, and the wine is doing it's job very nicely. Cheers!

Dog Days

A filthy, horrible day, relentless rain, muddy lanes, and yet there was a delicious freshness to the air when we took our morning walk. It was an office day, so poor old Hugo had to sleep in the car for over 3 hours before release came. He seemed relaxed when I went out to him at 1.30, getting used to it I suppose. But what a treat was in store for him. We met Sammy with Stella the cross labrador Staffy on Sizewell beach, and immediately let the pair of them off their leads. Mein gott! Hugo fairly flew, and though Stella was fast she couldn't keep up. But he circled back constantly, and the two of them charged around, diving at each other, tussling and then leaping off together again. It was beautiful to watch, they had such fun. But it wasn't just them. At one stage there were about 8 dogs and Hugo didn't know where to begin. He had to meet them all, run at them and then run away if it all got too much. Nothing untoward happened, and Sammy calmly interpreted what looked like near vicious fights to me but were just playing. Hugo couldn't resist being mischievous, and when an encounter had been successfully negotiated and the dogs passed on a few hundred yards in the other direction he raced back to them at high speed, not once, not even twice but sometimes three times, teasing them into action and then speeding safely back to me. None of them could match him for pace. It really was a hoot, a buzz. Back at Sammy's, where her husband Chris had tea waiting for us, the dogs continued to race around the house and threaten to topple the tea table. I don't know about them but I was plum tuckered out. When we got home we lit the fire and settled down with the crossword. It was so bleak out there was nothing else for it. Hugo composed his elegant shape into his bed in front of the wood burner and slept. I might have nodded off too. It was that kind of day.

Thrills and Chills

F-22 Raptors and RAF Typhoons filled the Suffolk sky with noise at the beginning of the week as the fighter jets from the UK and the USA took part in mock dog fights. The Raptors are training at Lakenheath as they get into practice for some war zone or another. At first it was a thrill to witness their power, but after a while the sound barrier being broken overhead becomes irritating, then infuriating. The noise was very, very loud. I imagine being in Aleppo, say, where the din must be constant, and fear an ever-present reality. Two days was more than enough for me. Mach and macho. War games. No comment.

Today I worked in the garden while the sun beat down and forced me to don my battered old straw hat. The dog panted, moved from sunny spot to sunny spot, and occasionally drank from the pond though I'd put out a bowl of lovely fresh, cold water. He followed me around as usual, flopping down where I worked and dragging himself into the summerhouse for a change. Every now and again he came and stood in front of me and just looked in a curious, interested way. He seemed to be saying: "So this is what you do all day. I asked the woman at the whippet rescue centre but she said she didn't know who you were. She suggested I waited until I met you before deciding whether or not to go with you. She said people give all sorts of reasons for why they need a dog, but who really knows? But I'm glad I chose you. Apart from those damn noisy fighter jets it's nice and peaceful here. Shall we play chase again?" He's a sun worshipper for sure. Wherever the sunshine is in the house you'll find him lying in it. But he doesn't seem to understand the need for shade.

In the dog house

Glistening boy

Spring flowers

Beautiful boy

With him keeping an eye on me all day I cleared most of a bed of weeds, mowed the lawn and mostly trimmed the edges, and put a mixture of well-rotted sheep manure and garden compost on the shrubs. I'm seriously thinking about getting a ride-on mower, if I can find one that will fit through the gate. It still takes ages, and I'm only doing it once a week at the moment. Hugo went crazy when the mower appeared, and leapt and pranced around it barking his head off. It seemed to be so out of character. I put him in the kitchen while I worked, and let him out again when I'd finished. And he leapt and pranced again just for the heck of it, flying around and stopping dead at my feet when I called him. He made me laugh out loud with his antics.

By mid afternoon the silence was disturbed again, but more sombrely this time. The church bell was slowly tolled, 100 times I think though I didn't count. It's a grim sound, this tolling the passing of a life, but it's splendid too, an ancient rite being performed to markwith respect a chapter being closed. I've heard it before of course, but it is always chilling though somehow thrilling too. Which is where I came in.

What Matters

It's funny how birthdays focus the mind. Last night I gazed at Hugo asleep in his bed beside the sofa where he'd enjoyed being stroked until sleep took over. Thirty nine years ago I did the same, unable to take my eyes off the little bundle all swaddled and resting in the crook of my arm, eyes firmly open and taking everything in. She wasn't interested in being put in her little bed to sleep like the other babies in the small ward, but wanted to be upright, starting the important process of taking in Life. Two years later the same process was repeated, but it had lost none of its gloss. "I can't believe it!" I kept repeating to her equally overwhelmed father. "I just can't believe it." She'd popped out in two hours flat, one minute a small bulge in my tummy, the next the most perfect baby. Baby number one took four hours tops. Lucky? Yes, I was lucky, and so I have remained right down to the glossy black creature upon whom I now look so fondly. The two babies who took my breath away all those years ago have matured into a media mogul at home in the Polo Lounge of the Beverley Hills Hotel, and an uber-successful writer who turned down a quarter of a million dollars for a slightly more prestigious offer for the American rights to her next book. Proud? Yup. From Hugo all I want are companionship and love. Everything else, and it is everything, is just bunce.

Gone Girl

I know my blog has become a bit doggy of late, but Hugo has brought great changes to my life, most of them wonderfully positive. The walks, the games, the fun, the love - how did I ever manage before? The slightly negative changes are having to plan ahead when I need to go out, and then worry that he'll be OK in the car when I have to leave him there. Today I began a gradual process of leaving him at home while I ran into Framlingham to do a few chores. I didn't pretend I wasn't going out, but got ready and told him to stay, that I wouldn't be long. I was gone the best part of an hour, and when I returned he was in the garden room looking through the window. He must have heard the car, because when I felt his bed it was warm.

The worst thing is having to leave him with strangers while I go on holiday. Will he think he's been abandoned again, and lost the person he loves? It's an agonising thought. Various people have offered to have him while I'm away, but I think it would be too big a commitment for them, too limiting for a whole week. So I've been vetting kennels,and I'm sure it'll be fine.

The good thing is I've sussed out his favourite game a bit more. I tell him to "Go, Hugo, go on!" and he trots off and waits,and I call him and he throws himself rapturously at me, skidding across the floor and disturbing the rug. When he's calmed down I tell him to do it again, and off he goes and waits, and I call him again. OK, it's basic, but he loves it. And if he loves it I love it. End of.

Thief!

Oh Hugo, what have you done? I thought the sandwich incident was a one-off, but no, the perpetrator is a recidivist, a career criminal. I left a crust of bread, the end of the loaf, on the work surface to use as a topping for a fish dinner, and when I came into the kitchen it was in his basket, with teeth marks around the edge, and a demented dog grovelling at my knee. What is this? I asked him in disbelief. Why is MY piece of bread in your bed? He rubbed his face against my leg, he grinned up at me, he wrapped his body around me and he tried to look shame-faced despite his glee. That's very naughty, I told him, and his face said, I know, I know, but I just couldn't help myself. He'd have blamed the cat if we'd had one. I thought he'd got the message, but later when I left a plate in the kitchen with my lunch leftovers on it that too was cleared. I'll really have to be careful from now on. Goodness knows where the turkey carcass will go next Christmas.

So rude!

The two of us walked around the front garden admiring the spring growth, and I noticed that the postman had left the gate open. No problem, I thought, Hugo will stay with me. But out he trotted as calmly as you like and turned along the lane. Hugo, I called him at once, and he looked back at me tenderly and carried on. Hugo, I bellowed now, seriously afraid that a car would come, and he immediately turned around and came back. What's all the fuss? he seemed to ask. I'm a sensible chap. Don't worry!

Sentry on duty

Nigel helping in the garden

It's all a learning process for both of us, but a delightful one. Judith and I cracked the game he loves to play. She called him to one end of the kitchen, and when he ran to her she praised him lavishly while he wagged and wriggled. Then I called him to me, and ditto. And so it went on, and he loved it. I asked her to move in beyond the weekend but she has to go. Who will play Hugo's game with me then? We went to the opera last night, and the dog curled up peacefully in his basket, at least that's how he was when I found him. The music and singing, the whole production, were very beautiful, and I'd go and see it again tomorrow if I could - Iphigenie in Tauride. When we got home we thought the least we could do was play the Hugo game again, and so we did, and he went to bed happy. And so did I.

Working It Out

Sleeping Angel

Last night I went to see the premiere English stage production of an opera by Donizetti - I know! It was called Pia de Tolomei, and it was glorious, as good as Lucia, better even. The singing was excellent, the story ridiculous and impossible to follow, and the music divine. What a treat that was. I have no idea why it is not part of the regular repertoir of opera houses. I don't think Hugo enjoyed it all that much though. He had to have an early supper, and then got rammed into his cage in the back of the car which he hates. But what's the alternative? I can't leave him home alone for all that time, at least not yet: he might wreck the house. I'd like to let him be free in the car, but again I don't know if he'd try to fight his way out. I've thought of putting his bed on the back seat so he gets the message, but I'll have to experiment with that a bit. Tomorrow is another opera, so the routine will be the same. I kind of dread it. Anyway, back home he got a lot of fuss, and though it was late we even played his silly game of me running around the kitchen while he chases me, skipping and jumping around, tail wagging madly. I wish I understood it, but he loves it.

Oh Boy

Hugo spent most of the morning in his basket beside my desk while I underwent a training session on consumer rights. He barely moved and was as silent as a ghost, but it won't work when clients are there because he'll follow me into the consulting rooms. Such a shame, but it will be back to the car, at least for the time being. We headed off down to Sizewell beach again straight afterwards and had a great time running wild in the wind. When I called he trotted back to my side and stood there, such a good boy, so well trained, thankfully not by me. Sammy and Stella were supposed to join us but Sammy has a dreadful cold and a hacking cough so it was just us. We sat for a while gazing into the sea, seal spotting, just enjoying being there.

Home again, and I put Hugo in the kitchen while I went to mow the lawn. It was one of those days when, the minute I went to put the mower away, a heavy hail storm started, and I went indoors feeling very smug and pleased with myself. Time for the other half of my sandwich, I thought. But what was this? Empty sandwich packet on the floor and the dog going crazy with joy and happiness. Was it because he was pleased to see me, or that he'd got one over on me for keeping him out of the garden by gobbling my lunch? There was no sign of it anywhere, just a very chuffed dog. He knew he'd done wrong. I showed him the empty box and asked him where my sandwich was, and he danced around me very peculiarly, pushing his head low into my leg, pawing the ground, and then trying to rise up without actually putting his paws on me. He writhed and wriggled in an agony of bliss and guilt, trying to placate me with his charm and self-abasement. I held his head, and said Oh you are such a naughty boy, and he wriggled and writhed all the more and, did I imagine it? - flashed me a gorgeous grin. Oh little boy, cuteness and love will get you everywhere. I think all this walking and running is making him more hungry. I'll have to up his portions, but I'll be keeping my own food well away from the scallywag in future.

Little Lord Fauntleroy

What a few days we've had. The house full of people since Friday, and Hugo lapped up the adoration of all our visitors and turned into the smug prince overnight. He wouldn't climb into the car but had to be lifted. He refused to keep to his third of the back seat but spread himself over the legs of his two handmaidens, head resting on one lap, bottom on another. He moved from one of us to the other when we were seated in the house or summerhouse, forcing us with his strong beak to raise a hand to stroke him. Persistent, he was, and strong. There was no ignoring him. He had everyone eating out of the palm of his paw. No wonder his coat glistened as if it had been oiled.

Little Lord Fauntleroy

He's had a few altercations with other dogs which were probably over-eagerness to be friendly and play but seemed aggressive and rude. In Aldeburgh on Saturday as we sat in the sun eating ice creams he took offence at three large passing dogs and first growled then flew at them barking wildly. Frightened the life out of me. The next day, out walking with Olivia, he had another set-to with a neighbour's dog which resulted in Olivia falling on her head and getting mild concussion. When we met the same dog returning home he leapt across a ditch and approached Hugo with his shoulders down and teeth bared. I think I screamed, but Hugo wisely decided to play passive this time and we got away unscathed. Later that day, sitting in a pub garden with Hugo's lead tied around a table, he leapt at a passing dog and the leather broke, leaving him free of restraint. Oh, there have been palpitations.

Olivia and Hugo just before she crashed to earth

But the best bit was walking on the beach at Cove Hythe and letting him off the lead. He raced around on the sand, always coming back to trot docilely by my side when called. It was baking hot, the sea shimmered in a blue haze and the waves lapped the shore. At one point we thought the tide was coming in, potentially trapping us against the crumbling cliffs, but it was a false alarm and we were safe. It was truly blissful walking in that place in those conditions, utterly lovely.

Me, happy with my dawg

After Hugo sat in the car this morning while I worked at the bureau, I took him to Sizewell beach down the road and let him run free again. He loved it, dashing hither and thither, suddenly accelerating off and then spinning around to return to my side. I don't know which of us enjoyed it most. But the best laugh came back home after I had planted my four roses. Hugo pottered around with me, sitting on the grass watching or just sniffing at my feet. After a while I decided to have a seat in the summerhouse with the crossword, and he watched me from the back door. As I sat down on the sofa he charged down the garden full pelt, threw himself in the door, skidded wildly on the rug and ended up half on the sofa so great was his speed. His face was a picture. He's asleep now, ready to go upstairs to bed. It's been a hectic five days but we're back to normal again. Night night, best of companions.

Chilled

I thought it was called the summerhouse, silly me. It's the whippet house. Hugo is just like Monty Don's dog Nigel, but less hardy. He follows me around in the garden, checks I'm OK, then disappears back into the warmth to lie on the rug and watch me. That chilly wind is not good for a thin-coated little fellow like him. Couch potatoes, they are affectionately called. I have to hand it to him though. If I start to play he's with me in a trice, racing up and down, charging at me and missing by millimetres. I don't understand any of his games but he loves them. My game is to get him to sit, and then walk farther and farther away, cautioning Wait! Wait! his face getting more and more tragic, and then calling him to me. Oh he loves that game. He wants to please. He never needs a treat when he achieves these goals, just a hug and a pat, and lots of praise. I could go on and on but I must stop. Suffice it to say he is un chien tres exceptionnel. Tres, tres exceptionnel. Je l'aime en morceaux.

Three more David Austin roses arrived yesterday, two Desdemona which are creamy white shrub roses and Claire Austin, a creamy white climber. Both kinds are heavily scented. I've cleared the area where they are going, and am hoping for some help with the diggin' since I seem to have lost the ability. I'm moving the dark pink Gertrude Jekyll to the end of that bed for the most striking effect. Once the climber gets going it should be glorious. I'm gradually returning the bark which has covered the newly-extended flower beds throughout the winter over to the path by the boundary hedge. Then I can get on with planting those bare areas with more perennials. I think that by the end of this summer it should be looking really good. Or will I be saying that every year?

A very heavy frost this morning but lovely and clear. I think a little chap might wear his coat on our walk. He can borrow one of my hats if he wants. I'd hate him to catch a chill.