Yesterday was a bad day, one of the worst. OK, it wasn't as terrifying as the time Kitty, aged 13 months and only hours after we'd seen her father off on a business trip to NY, suddenly couldn't breathe and I had to rush her into hospital in the early hours of the morning with her small chest heaving, desperate she'd die before I got her there. Or when Olivia aged seven contracted chicken pox, mumps and measles then a kidney infection in quick succession and was so ill, just skin and bones, that I thought I would lose her too. Throughout the morning as I hunted for Hugo I kept saying, "It's not the girls, they're safe, it's only a dog," but I knew it wasn't true. He was gone for three hours, and all these thoughts and others raced through my mind leaving my head throbbing and my nerves stretched like cello strings. Where could he be? He ran off after two small hares when I left him off the lead for two minutes while I took a photograph. I must have covered 50 or more miles, driving backwards and forwards down all the lanes, scanning the fields with my binos. He'd never been gone this long, and I believed one of three things must have happened: he was lying in a ditch with a broken leg and couldn't move; he'd been run over by a car; or he'd been stolen. Every thought made my stoamch lurch. To make matters worse most of the fields are still unharvested, and I would never see him if he had collapsed. And there was a fierce wind blowing that nearly knocked me off my feet a few times. How would he fight his way home against that, tired and maybe hurt? I went across the lane towards Sarah's drive at noon when he'd been gone for more than three hours, and suddenly there he was beside me wagging his tail. Oh god, was there ever a sweeter moment?
He was not unscathed. The vet had to administer two injections and give me pills and drops because his eyes quickly swelled up and looked raw and painful. Soon he couldn't open them at all. They are still bad this morning, gungy and tight and it took a while to bathe them open. All the time he lay quietly though I could see it was hurting. Some sort of allergic reaction. The main thing is that he's back, he's safe, and his eyes will get better quickly thanks to antibiotics. Me? I'm still shattered, absolutely wiped out. All night I kept dreaming I was changing a tiny baby's nappy and as I turned to get something the baby rolled onto the floor. At least that never really happened.
Somehow this picture cheers me up. It's not the face of pure evil but of someone puffed up with so much hubris, arrogance, ignorance and ego that he's potentially as dangerous as the worst criminal in history. But he looks so comical here. The Donald.
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