Should, I'm guessing be something along the lines of flowers and breakfast in bed but not in our house.
It's been cold the last couple of days; lovely, with bright sunny days and snow flurries, but biting Artic winds cold. You can't completely escape it in the cottage, especially in the bedrooms, so it was a welcome surprise, when Megs' paw landed on the bed, to wake up this morning all lovely and toasty. The dogs, however, were cold. Toasty bliss lasted all of a nano-second as Finn sucker punched me in the chest, jumping over the boyf to burrow down under the covers beside me. He is a mole masquerading as a small, scruffy mutt. Megs, instead of her usual dobe-appropriate spot at the end of the bed, curled up, all of a shiver, on my pillow, stuck her face under the duvet and hugged my arm with her paws. And there we stayed till the alarm went off, snug as bugs in a rug. I haven't yet lost the smile from my face.
Now if someone could explain to my beautiful dobe that chicken coop poop or, for the purposes of the photographic evidence, the woodshavings in which they sit, is not a good look.... at one point I think her whole head was in the bucket!
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