A lurgy strikes at the start of the week. It starts with a two-day headache and a feeling that things are not quite tip-top. A normally robust soul, I ignore the discomfort and try to muddle through.
Importantly. with an overseas trip in the offing, I cannot be floored. Whatever this wretched thing is, it must be fought. I take to my bed with pills and potions, to try to enact some sort of miracle cure.
Ears ache, forehead burns and I cannot get comfortable. In short, misery ensues. But what is hell for a human looks like heaven for the four-legged of us in the house. Ears are pricked as the MacNaughties sense some sort of stay-at-home weakness. Is she perhaps staying at home?
For once on a busy morning there is no hustle and bustle. There is no last-minute what-to-wear dilemma, no call of ‘where’s my?,’ or mad rush from door to car, bag in one hand and dripping toast in the other. No, today there is just a debilitating resignation. Because today, no-one is going anywhere.
The little brown dog hops up next to me. He snuggles in and a mass of hair spreads on the duvet. The larger black one, meanwhile, stretches languidly on the carpet and I put down my hand to pat his head. Contentment settles and a tail rhythmically thumps the ground whilst gentle snores fill the room. It is comforting to have company, for the chief has legged it to a healthier place.
In sickness and in health. It’s what we promised each other. The problem is that neither of us is very good at dealing with the former. We go through the motions, of course: a nice cup of sweetened tea, an amateur temperature test with the back of a cold hand; the offer of paracetamol and a few words of sympathetic concern… Then we slink back downstairs and hope not be too much bothered by it all. It is not uncaring. It is just how we are. And if the chips were really down, it would be very different…
Sleep is the healer as my two whiskery Florence Nightingales continue their vigil. A warm body lies in the small of my back, and it is soothing. From time to time one or other of the healing hounds disappears for a drink of water, before charging back to sickroom duty. However, some things are non-negotiable and by mid-afternoon they happily abandon me for a walk with the MacGregor.
On their return both dogs bound upstairs to check on things whilst the chief puts on the kettle. I am now fully awake and am propped up on pillows and busy consulting the computer. Mercifully, this looks like being a brief bug. Which is just as well, as there are plans to be made and long-distance places to visit.
It will not go down well with the MacNaughties. And what ingratitude after such devoted service. We both dither. Should we really go?!
