Last legs

I spent the better part of a week thinking Charlie the Moodle was on his last legs.

He was listless, sleeping all the time, refusing to go for walks …

I was tossing up whether to take him to the vet, then I started thinking about how he’s an odd bod. For example, he has refused to eat out of a bowl for the past few years.

He’ll only eat off the floor.

Yay, so hygenic.

I cast my mind back, searching for clues to why he was so glum.

Had he been injured at the groomer? They accidentally cut Bilbo on the chest with the clippers, so I got a discount – half price, taking one for the team Bilbius Maximus!

No, there didn’t seem to be any tender spots.

But he’d been shivering after his haircut, so I’d put a jumper on him for a few days to keep him warm …

Ohhhhhh, could that be the cause of his decline?

I took off the jumper and he started leaping and dancing around the living room, eagerly chasing his ball.

Problem solved, without an expensive vet bill.

Hurrah!

And no more dog clothes for Charlie.

Meanwhile, I’m tottering around like an 80-year-old pensioner because I’m so stiff from spending the weekend cleaning the house.

I think that’s the last time I’ll attempt something like that. I will be calling in the experts next time.

I’m also filled with cranky old lady rage over the new tenants, who keep wheeling their groceries home in Coles trolleys and leaving them at the back door. There are currently two cluttering the path.

They discard rental Lime bikes and vape boxes on the path too. Grrrrrr.

I couldn’t help myself last night and slipped a note under their door asking them to please take the trolleys back.

But I am not hopeful they will do the right thing. I see a soggy schlep to the supermarket in my future.

Song of the day: Queen “Break free”