Cuddles with Lady Maggie and a good book, what could be better, well maybe if we didn’t have the lovely aroma that goes with it.
Yes Maggie has a funny tummy (most probably due the fact she’s a bugger for eating anything she can get her mouth when out walking.) As let face it she has perfected the ‘leave it’ command in the house but is intent that it is not relevant when outside.
Then there’s the Pigcat dilemma, as he leaves his ‘presents’ around the garden to slowly decay (which apparently is a delicacy in westie world 🤢.) But for now we sit in perfect harmony, under a gaseous cloud of cabbage farts. I try to ignore the fact that my eyeballs feel like they are slowly melting away in my eyes sockets and pretend to read (the same sentence I’ve been trying to read for the past hour) while also trying not to wretch.
Accusingly Maggie stares at me as the next chorus of silent deaths departs from her bottom – because she does not farts, she is a lady – so I could only be me. Unfortunately I’m so distracted, secretly hoping it isn’t a wet one because 1) she’s lying on my knee and 2) she is desparate for a groom and has hair around her bottom that a yeti would be proud of but surely Mr 3WD&P loves me enough save me?
No – he and Willie have abandoned ship. Maggie may not be dropping wet ones but the gaseous ones are bad enough for the men folk to prefer sleeping on the couch tonight – guess it will be a peg on my nose for me later then…