My Dear Americans—Oh! No! That's over, lorst and gorne along with its surrounding Weekend Radio of fond memory! Now, deserted, I can only start rather pathetically...
My Dear To-Whomsoever-It-Concerns-es,
to add to my end-of-an-era woes, Georgia has left me and gone back to America.
So now it’s just Buddy and me..... alone.
After a while we have managed to settle into a lonely routine: we wake up just before seven to the sad slurp of my Teasmade making tea. I take Buddy downstairs for his first pee and subsequent treat of the day, then we go back upstairs and I drink the tea in or on the bed whilst Buddy affectionally licks and tramples me. Then down again for his breakfast kibble followed with three poor little dried sprats, pathetically gazing up at us with sad pleading little eyes as they are put to the tooth, followed by a couple of crunchy dog biscuits and, to the accompaniment of the dog-doo song:
"Do do that dog doo
"That you do so well.
"You do lots of dog doo,
"Dog doo that clearly horrifies me"
To recover after this I go for a brisk walk, usually to Gillingham, and to keep my spirits up I smile sweetly and give a hearty "Good morning!" to anyone I pass, which has the added enjoyment (that since we are in the quiet English countryside where misery is the watchword), of at least embarrassing them and disquieting them, and indeed of often scaring the willies out of them.
Then, after I eventually manage to have my breakfast, my day is spent ...alone singing quietly and sadly, mainly medleys of melancholy mediæval and Renascence stuff, or having long conversations with the dog. Luckily he is a good listener, even enjoying my jokes though, worryingly, in the last few days he seems to have started talking back to me... in words!!...
Well enough of that silliness! Oh dear! Because... because I just realised...
because I just realised that the forgoing must’ve sounded far more dramatic and heart-wrenching than it actually is, so I should immediately point out that Georgia returns next Tuesday from her vacation/business trip and thus thoroughly disabuse you of any sympathy you may be feeling for my now erstwhile and merely apparent abandonment "Oh the poor devastated, deserted Richard!" you may be sobbing—or more likely you are chortling "She's well away from that. The twit deserves it, he's such a weirdo".
So we can now more cheerfully continue, or more likely less cheerfully just plod on...
The reason for our separate holiday arrangement i.e. her having one in the US and me not having one at all, is that, since the notorious Buddy tail incident, when we both went on vacation and had Buddy dogsat (or dogsitted, or whatever the term is), an act of sittance that resulted in his tail getting a horrible infection and him nearly losing that wonderful freak flag, followed by the poor guy having to spend quite a long time with a little pink 'piggy tail' not to mention the cone of shame on his other end. Since that, G has not trusted ANYONE with him. In fact I'm amazed that she trusted me! Even with the long and detailed list of do's and don'ts she gave me.
The other inconceivably difficult tasks she set me during her absence were to keep the plants in the garden more-or-less alive-ish and to do a bit of what she misleadingly called 'light housework' mainly vacuuming up the several dogsworths of hair and fur that Buddy liberally scatters every week as a libation to the gods of the carpets and some dusting. Oh and light housework is, I can assure you from personal experience, a definite and extreme oxymoron and I ache all over to prove it.
And while I'm at it I should also dispel those last few wisps of sympathy or pity you may still have for me by admitting that [sigh] I have my US vacation next month.
Do you think I dare risk giving her a long and detailed list of do's and don'ts?
and, of course,
Cheerio for now
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