I get a little bit scared when I’ve nothing real to worry about. When everything is going well & I am happy & the worst thing that happens to me in a day is Punk throwing a tantrum over not being allowed to have a fourth yoghurt, I am reminded of stories in tabloid magazines that begin with the words; “We had the perfect life until…”.
Makes being perfectly happy & content a tad less enjoyable, this odd paranoia of mine.
But it’s okay. I’ve had a couple of things to worry about in the last few days… like';
Will the two adult miniature Dachshunds* that are coming to live with us like it here?
Will they like the children?
How long will it take to house train them?
Why won’t they go to sleep?
Why did I get two dogs?
Can I deal with two dogs, and two kids?
Are they running around too much after their spaying ops?
What is that lump?
No really, what is that lump?
What will the vet say?
Why don’t they like dog toys?
Can you teach a dog to like dog toys?
Where did the spatula go?
Why do they like chewing spatulas & not dog toys?
What is Mr going to say when he sees where they were sunning themselves on the spinach?
What terrible thing is going to happen now that I have two lovely sausages happily toddling about, two sweet kids, a honey of a honey & a cosy home?
(Is that the sky falling….?)
*A boy & a girl – Jordan & Dixie, 4 & 5 years old, former breeding stud boy & pretty as a picture show champion, respectively.