Gather round you beauties and angle your shell like ears towards me. I have another tale to tell. 

*Pause whilst the fig rolls are opened and Spindlehound settles herself into her tweed recliner*

You have probably not noticed that I have been somewhat lacking in my diary entries for a short while. Have I been hobnobbing with the great and good? Have I been indulging in acts of derring do? No is the answer to these questions. I have been responding to the pitiful wailing from Mater, also known as the Tiny Terror. I have had to don my nurses hat and pinafore once again to help fight the flames of the relentless wretchedness that Arthritis can spread in its wake. In the past few weeks I have had to endure sights and sounds that should never be seen or heard. The language has been deplorable at times, and is illegal in some southern states of the Isle of Wight.  Things took a turn for the better when her pain medication was increased considerably and I could get a moments peace, as she tottered outside, humming gently to the blackbirds in the garden. We can laugh about this now it has eased. I know she is better as she has just hurled a rolled up sock in my direction as she gave me the ‘side eye’ of doom. 

I shall recap some of the highlights of the past few months.

February 20th 

Oh what fresh tortuous hell is this? I wailed a mournful lament, loud enough to be heard in the outer reaches of space. What a terrible thing to happen to a hound! I am normally a very happy go lucky sort of gal, but a Spindlehound has her limits, and this time it had been surpassed by a good furlong. What could have caused this disharmony and darkening of my spirits?

It is something that is entirely of my own doing, which makes it worse as I can’t blame anyone. Not even Nelson, who is away from spindle Towers today, on his macrame for the left pawed course.

The tangled fronds of wool were coiled around me, forlorn and limp. It would seem that whilst snoozing, I entered the state of RPM (rapid paw movement) and had inadvertently unravelled my most treasured muff. I do not normally wear it in my night time nest, but this evening had been especially chilly and I hate having cold paws whilst I hold my kindle.

Many have commented that my knitted muff is something of a triumph. It is capacious enough for my front paws to comfortably snuggle inside, alongside my lucky conker, a pipette (unused) and my emergency custard creams. I have tried to get all four paws in the muff in one go, which works a treat if I manage to wriggle into the ‘disgarded bagpipe’ yoga pose, but it does cause some discomfiture if I forget and leap up without removing my trotters from it first. I have suffered mild concussion in the past, behaving with such exuberant folly when my breakfast was announced. You might be surprised at some of the items that have been covertly housed in my muff in the past. 

I once caught Nelson gingerly prodding at it with one of my knitting needles, trying to throw some light (quite literally) on to the fabled contents. On this occasion he was caught in the act and was suitably chastised with a cautionary tale involving an overly curious crustacean and a roll of gaffer tape. 

February 24th

Following on from the yarn related subject of my marvellous muff, I am delighted to tell you that an admirer of mine has made me some leg warmers. They are brightly coloured, striped and I must say they really does bring out the shapeliness of my limbs. 

The Tiny Terror is also a huge fan of leg warmers. As I strutted around in them, leaping and tumbling in an uncanny channelling of Nadia Comăneci, she started to jabber away about some televisual offering called Fame that she had eagerly watched as a child. In it, she explained, was an assembled throng of talented moppets that danced, sang  and hurled themselves over car bonnets in all manner of day glo lycra outfits. Their lower limbs were similarly enclosed in knitted sausage casings, much like mine. She confessed to me that she herself used to leap off her bed, in erratic star jumps whilst warbling the theme song to her long suffering sister. This explains alot.

March 9th

Nelson and I have reached a ponderous romantic understanding. The understanding is that we are indeed stepping out together officially, but we are doing so in a gentle and at times glacial pace. 

This is absolutely fine with me, and I know he is comfortable as he no longer frets about his buttock toupee, and is content to chassé his sparse behind in front of me with relaxed abandonment. This is equivalent to when humans couplings become comfortable enough with each other that they can wilfully expel great gusts of wind in front of each other, without censure or reproach. I myself have no such hang up about this. Ask anyone at Spindle Towers and they will confirm this.

March 24th

Today is a very special day. Hector is celebrating a very special birthday! No, the Queen doesn’t need to be informed (yet). They had a spiffy night out in the Black Boy last night with family and friends. You may have noticed me using ‘they’ and not ‘us’. I was asked, but knowing the disgraceful state that they would get in to I would much rather stay at home and watch some Scandinavian dramas on the television box. I was right. they oozed out of the taxi and burst forth into the house, each with a soppy grin and an uncontrollable urge for snacks. There followed a crisp and cheese frenzy. They are now all having a quiet morning (including my great pal grandad Tom, who was as ever, the ring leader last night)

Back to Today

I shall now leave you in peace and tranquility as it is time for my evening perambulations (squirrel patrol). Until next time, may the sunshine of Spring warm your upturned cheeks.

Pip pip!

My spiffy legwarmers                          Tiny Terror, Betty hound and myself