Chocoholic

Hugo is allergic to the countryside! We're moving to a city ASAP. He has been attacked by the harvest mite, and it seems to have started with his feet which he then licked, making his mouth sore too. A steroid shot from the vet, and a thing I had to spray all over him when we got home, should put paid to his troubles. Until the next time. It's very depressing, as I've been keeping him out of the fields since Friday, and we both love these walks just a step away from the house. But the air is full of harvest dust at the moment, and it doesn't agree with him. Thank goodness for the Woodland Trust land where we can go and have a run, though it is a short drive away. But harvest mites haven't caused the only emergency, oh no. Yesterday we went to Woodbridge with Ruth and had a walk and a picnic along the river. It was a glorious day, and we were out for hours, though I hadn't forgotten to bring Hugo's dinner. After we dropped Ruth back at her car I popped into Waitrose for a minute, and when I came back his lordship was just polishing off his second chocolate-covered biscuit which I thought had been placed way out of his reach. That long snout again. Now I was seriously worried - terrified more like it. I raced home and looked up "my dog ate chocolate" on Google, to be told that it is absolutely toxic and can be fatal thanks to a component called theobromine. I found a chart that compared a dog's weight to how much chocolate would kill him, and with huge relief realised that he was nowhere near danger levels. Still, he could be very sick etc etc. I kept him by me until midnight when I had to admit that he was looking very healthy, sore feet notwithstanding, and just wanted to sleep. All night I dreamed of horrible outcomes to my carelessness, but in the morning there he was as usual, curled up on the sofa. Gawd, what next?

Todat we went over to Wilby for Caroline's last appearance at our bridge lunches before she moves away to live with her daughter in Nottingham. She's nominated a replacement who we already know and like, but it won't be the same. We've had such jolly times, the four of us, and I shall miss her. Back home, stuffed to the gunwales with Judy's pudding and cake, and not a little of David's finest Sauvignon, I decided to continue working in the garden. But Hugo had other ideas, and for two hours he gently hinted that I should stop working, coming and standing right beside me over and over again, just looking. He's so unobtrusive, but you get his meaning. Each time I told him to go to his bed, that I'd be in later, and off he trotted for 10 minutes only to return and repeat the performance. At last I surrendered, and he herded me over to the sofa, pointedly stared at the fat Italian dictionary beside me, and when I removed it he curled up half on top of me and fell asleep. Which is where he is now. Funny little chap. He knows what he wants though he is delicate in the getting of it.

He's irresistible.