Today, I mostly did housework. So virtuous, darlings, and yet so dull. I’ve got a busy few weeks coming up, so reckon that a good clean now will last a bit, apart from hoovering up dog hairs and the daily stuff that has to be done.
That reminds me, Ben was a Good Boy this morning. I took him to the vet’s – he’d had his annual vaccination a few weeks ago, but there’s a new one for a different strain of leptospirosis and, with all the water round here (and rats, can’t help that with fields all around) and that needed a booster. I took him in and someone had two black dogs, labrador crosses, who barked and jumped about when they saw Ben. And he was beautifully behaved, wagged his tail but didn’t pull forward and sat when I asked him to. He responds much better to ‘down’ than to ‘sit’, by the way, which means I say ‘Ben down’ quite a lot. Oh dear. So I was very pleased with him. He’s settled down so much in the past few months, he’s much easier to have about when people come round as he doesn’t get overexcited any more. And he’s quite incurious about the tortoise enclosure in the porch, too. Oh, and though I had to lift his front feet up into the car, he then jumped in, rather than having to be lifted – I can only carry him half at a time, he’s so heavy.
When I went to let the chickens in this evening, I was two short. So I went out again a bit later in case they were waiting, and they weren’t – but then I saw one sitting in the long grass. I picked her up, to her indignation, because she was sitting on eight eggs. Oh dear. I can’t have chicks this year, I’ve already got too many hens. I’ve put them in water, they all seem fresh, but I’m not sure how long they’ve been there, so I’d rather use them in baking than to cook lightly for an eggy meal. But there are so many, how much cake do we need?