Steeling ourselves

We are bracing ourselves: tomorrow morning, Miss Dog goes to the vet to be spayed, which will be a great weight off our minds. Apart from feeling that we would rather that the complications of life did not include puppies, finding homes for them, etcetera, there is a serious additional problem, which is that if Miss Dog’s hormones are prompting her to Look for Lerve, she runs away, and roams to distances not normally within her cosy little sphere. One potential result, of course, is that she could easily  be squashed on the fastmoving A road of which she wots nothing, but another is that we can’t leave her with other people to mind her, because Sod’s Law dictates that 24 hours after we took our eyes off her she would go into heat, and AWOL, causing maximum anxiety and stress. Once spayed, we’re pretty certain that she will lie on the lawn chewing old fizzy water bottles, without a care in the world. In the short term this will be horrible, in the long term, it is obviously sensible. The lawn, by the way, is also in a state of transition. Because it was 80% moss and apparently beyond recovery, Barry the Great killed it, and on the odd sunny day, as it has withered and died, Miss Kit has looked more like a lion than ever stalking across its dry, tawny surface, which she blends into to an almost disconcerting extent. Barry is planning to rotovate it and reseed. Calum from the garden centre came up this evening and after intricate calculations, decided we needed more than 80 kilos of grass seed, which led me to reflect that you never really think how big things are till something goes a bit wrong.  Like taking pictures off the wall, or books off the shelves.