Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"
I am fighting a battle with the Council, this time over refuse collection. They just don`t like to come all the way down here.
I had a complaint that tree branches had caught a wing mirror. So I trailed out and cut all the branches that could catch, and my Good Neighbour cut some more.
Next time the complaint was that overhangs just might touch the little orange light on top of the vehicle. So I have been out with a fruit picker and loppers, pulling down overhead branches and cutting them as best I can. (I am no longer very good up ladders). Allegra and I head out early in the morning, and I struggle with the trees, while she keeps watch. Any hapless early dog walkers are soon told that she is in charge and is defending me. She feels very important.
Meanwhile, of course, I have no refuse collection, and am burning large amounts of household rubbish. (Which is illegal and smells awful.)
T omorrow I will tackle the Council again, playing the Little Old Lady with Asthma recovering from a Serious Illness card, and threatening a lot of bad publicity.....
The joys of country life.