Why don't you get back into bed?

The waterlevel's fallen nicely although the river's still higher than normal. The dogs are very thankful.
Several feet of difference.

And the tide rushes in

Well, not a tide as such, but the overnight rain made our morning walk a tad damp underfoot. Harry was brave and decided to lead the way, forgetting that there was a stream there. He had his first swim.

Driftwood on the shore

Every time we visit my mother it always surprises us to rediscover that East Sussex motorists are miseries. When we walk the dogs along the side of the road up here we politely thank motorists for giving us room and generally receive an acknowledgement, from total strangers as well as acquaintances. Not down there. The best you can hope for is a glare. Surly gits.

One afternoon we took the dogs to the seaside for a change. The tide was in which was a shame as it meant there was no sand, only shingle, but on the plus side it meant the dogs couldn’t run too fast or too far. Harry changed his mind about eating a large fishhead he found on the tideline which was good. I found a lovely hole with a stone around it and a stack of slipper limpets. There must have been about 15 or so forming a spiral so I took them back to Ma’s to show her, thinking they were just empty shells stuck together by concretions. It was only later when I picked up the stack that it seemed a bit loose, but tightened up again when I wiggled it. Ooops! They were still alive-alive-oh. My brother’s advice was to do what he did with such trophies as a child; put them into a bucket then abandon them under someone's bed for weeks. I didn't.

All I have to do is dream

Thinking ahead, Ned asked me if I thought hosting a Burns' Night Supper would be a good idea and, if so, who should we invite. When my first three choices of guests was vetoed I lost interest. After all if Sean Bean, Harrison Ford and George Clooney aren't attending, what's the point?

Travelled down the road and back again

Thank you, everyone, for your kind thoughts and words; it means a lot to have such good friends. It's been a very strange few days, preparing only three bowls of food instead of four; accidentally putting Beattie's food down in Clover's place (because that's where the first bowl has been put for years) and having Beat staring in horror; waiting for the fourth dog to catch up on walks; and not being imperiously woofed at and a tail rotating like a windmill when play is demanded. When Clover sat beside you on the sofa and you put your arm round her she'd tuck her head under your chin and put her arm across your front and onto your shoulder, returning the cuddle. She was the best. The others knew that something was wrong with her when she was so unwell - they'd sniff gently at her then back away. I'm not sure that Beattie's entirely happy being queen rather than regent but the pack dynamics don't seem to be too disrupted.

Mermy, I found the picture you took - unfortunately I don't seem to be able to unred-eyeify it though.

All cried out*

We lost the battle. Clover was helped on to the next stage this afternoon, when it had become clear that there was no hope of recovery and to stay would only mean further loss of dignity and the discomfort turning to pain. To see our valiant soul trying to walk with her legs giving way beneath her, and being unable to keep even water down long enough to avoid dehydration was too much to bear. She'd never let us down; now it was our turn to do the same for her.

Goodnight, sweet girl. We loved you dearly and miss you dreadfully; 14 years is a lifetime, yet not long enough. We'll never forget you, poppet. Sleep well. See you in the morning.

*A lie. It's only just begun.