The Reluctant Traveller

The correspondent had a wonderful idea yesterday – to pin a picture of the lovely Helena up so that any time Bussie has to go the vet (which let’s hope won’t be for a long, long time) he will go like a shot.

I now need to find the equivalent for Mollie who changes from a loveable bouncy terrier into a growling, snarling bundle of teeth and claws when faced with the vet.

I’m taking her to see Ruth, a wonderful vet nurse, every other week to try and get her used to the surgery and Mollie thinks this is wonderful. She adores Ruth who has wide honey eyes, long fair hair and a gorgeous open personality. (She also has a pocket full of treats.)

You can’t not love Ruth. She’s in her early twenties, married with a tiny baby and has a rescue greyhound and two Irish terriers, one of which is bonkers, despite her careful training. I haven’t met the husband but I know he works shifts.

Anyway, all I need do is find a male vet that Mollie can fall in love with, and my problems will be solved.

I’m off now to spend the weekend with a girlfriend in Devon. I didn’t sleep much last night, my mind on red alert from 2.30 – will Bussie eat today? Will he be all right? Will Mollie get a decent enough walk? And so on. I can see I’ll be ringing for hourly updates.

But it will be lovely to see Av again. We’re going walking and will sort the world out, eat in a pub and spend the night with my mum. I’m leaving Himself in charge of The Invalid and Mollie on the basis that a) I shouldn’t deprive him of both women in his life at once and b) he’ll have to walk Moll twice a day in my absence.

How much liquid refreshment is poured down his neck in the process is another matter.