It has now come to my attention via late night trawlings through Google and Gum Tree. But hold on. Let's reverse a bit.
You know how Tess has been desperate for a pet for aeons? Like pining, heart-sick, really really really?
She tested allergic to cats via a GP blood test. This time we tried one of those 'skin prick' allergy tests, via a private GP consultation. I'm not even sure if they work (?) but the doctor pronounced Tess to be very allergic to house dust mites and 'negative' to dogs.
Shout it from the roof tops! Negatory to pups, good buddy! Now I have another part-time job, searching umpteen dog rescue shelters and glimpsing, then wincing at, the price of puppies online.
I do not have 'dog confidence'. My family never had dogs. They don't know what to do with dogs.
Once upon a time, I fell I love with a dog. We were house-sitting in Alicante and the house contained a lovely wee mixed-breed mutt. It was the colour of a speckled egg, or chocolate-flecked ice cream. It was pretty, docile and trusting. When I came home, I actually had a wee physical ache for it, for a couple of days at least.
But anyway, we're still in lockdown. As if you didn't know.
I think Nicola is absolutely doing the right thing by extending 'stay at home' lockdown. I think Boris has just launched a second wave of infection and fatality in England by sending people back to work. I don't have enough words to express my frustration at the scale of his f**k up with Covid 19.
So I'm back to my brain oscillating. Normal service goes like this:
Covid horror, beyond belief. Nice dog out the window.
New Covid statistics worse than expected.
Imagine her face if she saw that puppy.
The Tories, man.
Aww, cute Jack Russell. How much?
But cleaning up dog poo?
I'm bored. I've tried to write poetry but it's too hard.
Go on, search for some more puppies.
A friend for life, they say. Yeah. That dog needs us. Now, THAT dog's just waiting to love us.
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