On Tuesdays we go to the local bakery and collect the bread, buns and pies they don’t sell. We go in with three laundry baskets; one for us, one for the chooks and one for our friends and then we go off to our friends’ place and deliver it to them.
Last week when we were there they had their dog Harley at the vet. Harley’s a 3 year old labradoodle, a big ball of energy who looks like a sheep. He’d started getting blood noses and waking up at night so they thought they’d better get him checked out.
Last night when we arrived Liz opened the door, Harley at her side, and I asked her what the vet had said.
“He’s dying,” she said.
Cancer in his head, a galloping one which means he doesn’t have a lot of time left. He’s only three. Naturally the whole family is devastated. It really isn’t fair.
Evan15 and I were there for quite a while, then when we came home we opened the door to little Bertie and Molly waiting there for us, tails wagging, while Daphne was sitting in the middle of the lounge room rug, giving us a companionable miaow as we walked past her to the kitchen. As we were unpacking the laundry baskets of bread Maris walked in from the hallway and stood by the laundry, waiting for Evan15 to feed her.
Just a normal evening at my place, but it brought home how lucky we are with our little ‘people’.