Arriving home in London

As I swing open the iron gate to my sister's house in London, I can hear the thud of something being repeatedly hurled against the inside of the front door. As it opens, a small blur of brown fur races down the path and barrels into my legs, trying to jump up to say hello. Poor Posetta Baddog. As her legs are just inches high, she can only reach up to my knees at full stretch.

Thing is, I know better than to pick her up and, sure enough within seconds, she has reverted to welcome pose no.2: lying on her back like a little wriggling, squishy hedgehog, whilst emitting fountains of wee like a oil geyser in full flood. Apparently this is a typical dachshund move when over-excited, so I take it in the spirit in which it is meant, and gingerly pick past her to hug my sister.

Ten minutes later, I open my two cases to retrieve my sister's presents, which is cue for dachsie welcome ritual no,3. She jumps straight in looking for items of interest. She isn't hunting for specific dog presents; anything could catch her eye.

Today she decides that a brown paper bag from Monterey Aquarium containing a present for Belgian Waffling is the most exciting thing she has ever seen and promptly retires to her bed where she destroys it forthwith. Fortunately she fails to notice the present within. So naughty and, I am afraid, so indulged.


As I write this, she is lying next to me, tummy & paws in the air, making the most fearful grunting, snoring noises. It's good to be home.


(Please excuse dark pic: all the lights are off & if I get up she will wake up.)