I lay awake for much of the night listening for the sounds of crying puppies but heard nothing; they seemed to have had a good night. I suppose having got the pair of them as a “double act” each has a known quantity with them in a strange new world. They both seemed pleased to see me as I let them out of their crate, and then both tiddled all over the place. It was a shame that “er indoors TM” had hidden the newspapers and the puppy pads we’d got for this very reason. As I blotted the tiddle with toilet roll so Bailey (the lighter smaller little girl) snatched it from my hand and started shredding it.
I managed to shave with puppies running round my ankles… then realised it was quiet. The pair of them were eating one of the living room rugs.
I got a whiff of something unpleasant as I was pouring out my coffee. One of them had done a rather impressive turd. It must have been Morgan (the larger darker one) as the turd was as long as his sister.
Both were swarming at me as I sat down with my brekkie, so I lifted them onto the sofa where thankfully they both immediately fell asleep. They are quite the little whirlwinds.
I had a little look at Facebook as I do most mornings. The photos I’d posted of the puppies had got a lot of “likes”, as had the photos of new granddaughter that “er indoors TM” had posted last night. I didn’t think visitors were allowed on the post-natal ward but would seem that “Daddy’s Little Angel TM” had told the nurses that her mother was coming in to see the baby, and that was the end of it.
I would like to have been allowed in, but I’m sure my time will come.
And I registered the negative COVID test that I somehow managed to get this morning in between the puppy mayhem. Having been positive all the time I could have gone away on holiday last week, now that I’d got two consecutive negative tests I could go back to work. That was nice.
I put the sleeping babies back in their crate and set off to work... as I got to my car I remembered that I had planned to use my new pump thingy to check the tyre pressures last week, and had forgotten all about it. I drove up the motorway at a steady fifty miles per hour once I'd got on to it. As is so often the case, junction nine London-bound had a stream of traffic nose-to-tail in the slow lane determined not to let anyone on to the motorway. I try to pull over as I approach motorway junctions to let people on; it seems I am in the minority.
And just like yesterday the coast-bound carriageway was closed to traffic for no sensible reason whatsoever, and the "Operation Brock" bit featured a dozen (certainly no more than twelve) slow-moving lorries spread out over the fifteen miles of the "Operation Brock" bit. No lorries were stacked at all. I could see no reason whatsoever for the coast-bound carriageway to be closed. There may well have been traffic mayhem in Dover, but that was over twenty miles away. The current reasons being given for "Operation Brock" being in place really seem to have been devised by someone who clearly has no idea what is actually happening across the county. Why close a motorway to use as a lorry park if you aren't going to park lorries on it?
As I drove the pundits on the radio seemed to be obsessed with the ongoing elections in France. I don't know why; from the turn-outs at elections it is clear that the average radio listener in the UK has very little interest in UK elections, let alone French ones.
I got to work and spent much of the day messaging with “Daddy’s Little Angel TM”, showing photos of granddaughter to those who liked babies, talking about puppies to those who liked dogs, and generally catching up on what I'd missed over the last two weeks whilst I'd been off. And there was posh biscuits at tea break too. Not a bad way to spend the day really. Five years ago I really hated going to work, and was constantly on my guard wondering what a bullying management would do next. It really is quite wonderful not feeling physically sick at the thought of going to work.
The journey home was far better than I thought it would be. The traffic kept moving down the A20 (albeit slowly at times) and I was only twenty minutes later home than usual.
I came home to an empty house; “er indoors TM” had taken all four dogs out. Pogo and Treacle on their leads, Morgan and Bailey in a carry-bag. I am reliably informed that this wasn’t her best idea.
We then had something of a “dog evening”. There’s still a lot of sorting of the pecking order going on with Treacle desperately trying to assert herself. Morgan seems to be every bit as greedy as Pogo. Bailey has learned to use the dog ladder to the sofa. And both babies are still in the very early days of potty training.
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