Walking Westie Boy

The day has begun. Westie Boy, paws wet from his morning inspection of the garden, came to say hello to me and did a lap of my bed then ran across it. I wiped the footprint from the iPad and encouraged him back to the kitchen.
Wet from morning dew, by the way. The sun is lighting up the room again. Now I am outside two very good cups of coffee and a soft boiled egg, I shall take the boy for a walk.
Just in case you have forgotten what he looks like, here he is again:

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Small Brave Ginger

Come seven o’clock in the morning, Not Cat is a bundle of fizzing energy. Hands outside quilts are leapt on and attacked; toys are brought to the bed and played with rigorously; vocal exercises are practised from piano to full-throated fortissimo; the blind is pushed up and the outside scrutinised.

Vocal Exercises

Collar and bell on, he is allowed to his personal playground. The garden is full of new smells left by foxes and smaller things with longer tails we like to pretend don’t exist. And Sonny may be in residence. It doesn’t matter how many times Sonny tells Not Cat to get lost, my boy simply can’t get over his hero worship and desire to be pals.

King Sonny

He’s more successful with his human friendships. The other day, he met Viola, and took to her immediately. We were in the garden. Viola has corkscrew curls, and Not Cat was fascinated. He sat up on the table and gave them a gentle, exploratory pat, then touched Viola’s nose with his. Sweet. Continue reading