Not very happy at the moment. Full of cold and impatient for it to be gone, gone, gone. I don't have time for colds. I have a dog to walk, a house to run (ha ha!) a book to finish and a finished book to redesign. There are no holidays looming up in the next few months, so I should get a good run at the writing, if only everything else would fit into place around it.. The dog is chewing his feet to the point that I've let him chew one of my slippers instead. It's that bad.
Vets bills are astronomical. We've had tests, and bought potions - all of which are a trial to administer, because Tim can sense a medication at a hundred paces and he can move a lot faster than I can. I suppose, being in the NHS, we are shielded from the awful truth about the cost of medications, but once you own an animal, the threat of illness takes on a terrible, ominous reality. How can a set of pills to cure dermatitis cost £160? Oh, the insurance will pay, the vet says blithely. Well yes, I do have insurance, but that doesn't mean he should recommend anything and everything. No insurance firm is going to go on paying those sort of sums every month for ten or eleven years. I'm tempted to stop all treatment, keep the feet clean and see if nature takes care of it. Or, as an old man on my riverside walks said, He'll maybe grow out of it.
I'm told 3 men were seen digging up rabbit warrens yesterday to rescue a terrier that had got stuck on the riverside. The evidence of opened tunnels is still there. I'm surprised at how shallow they are. I thought they would have gone much deeper. I'm assuming the dog was eventually rescued.
Spot the Father Christmases in Zermatt!