Phew, what a scorcher!

Weather's been marvellous. Never known an October like it. Sunshine all the way, apart from a few grey days with the odd torrential downpour, not to mention a mini tornado (hah! see recent 'Wind' posting). Clear blue skies with warm gentle breezes wafting from the south. And for the last week, so I'm told, we've even had record temperatures, up in the twenties. So I flung open the windows, put away the old holed sweater and dug out the sexy (not!) summery shorts again. Switched off the 'leccy blanket and been kipping with the odd smelly foot hanging out from the sweaty pit. Even considered switching back to gin and tonics as sundowners instead of my usual autumnal scotch and drys. But, hey, there are limits.

Unfortunately, the few grey days we've had recently co-incided with the very welcome visit of Georgie, Donnie and Helen. So they're probably thinking I'm making all this sunshine stuff up, just to annoy them. But I'm not. Honest. Shame you're still not here to enjoy it.

In fact, it's been so summery that I decided yesterday to risk life and limb by giving Jock and Sprocket a much needed shampoo. Always a tricky operation as they, like me, hate being washed. Trouble is, I always end up wetter than them; what with wee Jocky's penchant for knocking over full buckets of water in his haste to run for cover, and Sprocket's nasty habit of shaking gallons of sopping wet suds off his fur just when I wrongly think I have the unco-operative little bastard pinned to the ground and at my mercy. However, despite the odds, the washing operation was eventually successful and, following a brief attempt at drying the mutts (first you have to catch the little buggers), we toddled off for a late afternoon stroll in perfect drying conditions of warm bright sunshine.

Twenty four hours, two enjoyable dogwalks and one very aromatic night later, they were still spotlessly clean and smelling of roses. Well, not exactly roses; more a sort of carbolic, coal tar soapy smell. Very pleasant, none the less. But I had a funny feeling it was all too good to last. And, sure enough, on this afternoon's dogwalk in a far flung forest, I suddenly got a whiff of something other than pine trees. Fearing the worst, I checked the soles of my shoes. Nothing there. Clean as a whistle. So I thought we must be passing a nearby cowfield. But we weren't. No cows for miles. Then the penny dropped: deer poo, Sprockie's favourite. So I ran ahead, eventually caught up with the 'orrible little git and grabbed him by the collar. And yes, dammit, his collar was smothered in brown stuff. Smelly brown stuff. The smelliest brown stuff you could possibly imagine. And now it was not only on his collar, neck and shoulders, but also on my hands, shorts and leg. And I swear he was smiling.

Arrived back home, shampooed him again, left him outside to dry off in the evening sun, then sent him to bed early while Jock watched with a smug little grin on his face. Yup, the brown bastard's in the doghouse. Mind you, I've just noticed he's lying flat out on MY damned pit, not his. No doubt still slightly damp. With just a hint of deer poo tingeing my smelly old top blanket. Oh, terrific! And I'm sat here typing away with still-smelling fingers that have basically been shoved up a bleedin' deer's arse. Brilliant! Absolutely effin' brilliant!

Don't think I'll be shampooing them again in a hurry.

P.S. - On a dogwalk the following day, angelic wee Jocky disappeared for a few minutes then reappeared covered in moo poo. Fresh moo poo. Ever seen a green Westie? Not a pretty sight. I give up.