A pleasant day has been spent at the Lochearnhead Games.
The MacNaughties don’t like books. If the humans are head down, concentrating on words, it means demanding dogs are being ignored.
At Edinburgh airport the chief drinks coffee and I sip peppermint tea when a man in a luminous lime-green T shirt plonks himself down next to us.
This week we take my mother-in-law’s ashes across to west Perthshire. Fanny died last August, so the precious cargo has been keeping watch over our house for a year.
Travelling on a train and a mass of ginger fur peeps round the seat in front. For a horrible moment I think it is the littlest MacNaughties.
Four legs feature this week – and it is not just the MacNaughties. Filming at an animal refuge I find myself being introduced to a range of abandoned creatures.
The MacNaughties have a new toy. It is a small, ugly, toughened-plastic figure that you unscrew and fill it with dog treats. You then sit back and watch them being driven mad…
Monday brings a different e-mail. It is from the Chairman of the ‘Miniature Mediterranean Donkey Association’. I have never heard of these creatures. Let alone realized that they have a club all to themselves. Investigation is called for.
The chief starts the week with hankie and thermometer. The poor man has man-flu, so sympathy and hot drinks are the order of the day, as is paracetamol. I squeeze oranges and this fruit-avoider reluctantly drinks the juice.
It is not often that we are pleased to see the rain. Just before the drought arrived I planted half a dozen hydrangeas.