Change for the sake of change

I've spent a few days in the warm South, which, I have to say, obliged with some bright blue skies and general loveliness, welcome after what has been a very grey and muddy start to the year. Not that we're missing all that exciting snow, O no. But it's certainly been looking a little dreary up our end of things for quite a while. It was a good brief trip: I did some work, had a nice pizza with friend Carol in the sort of Italian neighbourhood restaurant which is emphatically not an aspect of NE Scotland, but is still to be had in parts of London, admired the camellias, cyclamen and so forth which adorn sunny Ealing, and came back to observe, such is the force of refreshing one's eye, the extreme unpleasantness of the dog's bed. She lives in a cage, by her own preference, she clearly loves it and feels safe there. We introduced a flat plastic mattress, but on top of that there has been a sort of compost of bedding - a nice mohair blanket which was rashly introduced to the washing machine and thus shrunk to half its original size, two charity shop crochet rugs, and an airline pseudo cashmere fleece from one of our long-haul-habitué friends. These have been scratched into nests night after night and have become quite disgusting. With great firmness and decision, we visited the Turra pet shop, and bought a sort of dog duvet, in a fleece cover with poppers. When we got home, the silt of squamous bedding was evicted (Miss Dog looking on the while, with deep misgiving), and borne off by Tony to cosset the compost heap. The Professor inserted the new bed. Miss Dog entered her steel hotel, sniffed dubiously, shot out again, looking martyred, and pointedly stretched herself out on the floor. The Professor retrieved the airline pseudo cashmere fleece, and laid it over the unacceptable new bed. Miss Dog re-entered the steel hotel, with an air of  'I'm not convinced'. Three minutes later, she was asleep. The newness of the bed seems to have been forgotten. Not for  the first time, we have reflected that compared to her obstinate and cunning predecessor, these young dogs you get nowadays ... no stamina. Not a brain in their heads. Miss Best Friend would have taken DAYS to come round, and exacted a toll of treats and considerations.