It's True - Good Help is Hard To Find

I must apologize for my prolonged absence, which is in fact no fault of mine but of the sub-standard level of "help" available to me. These days, whenever I way lay the Woman and announce that I have something to say, she replies "not now, Sheaffer, I have to mow the grass, weed the garden, run off to some lawn fete, visit with friends, do some "real" writing, harrow the sandy ring etc. etc. ad infinitum. One of these days (maybe after grass season) I will squeeze through the fence and simply disappear. I wonder how long it will take her to notice I'm gone. No doubt until she needs someone to blame for every little misunderstanding ( how was I to know her unattractive riding helmet wasn't a food bowl when I accidentally dribbled some puddle water in it?).

Molly's ankle seems much improved and they went off to the forest the other day and no doubt made tremendous nuisances of themselves. Molly came back very smug and bragged about the legions of admirers she met, her wallow in the pond and the rare vegetation she inhaled. So far her slimming powder has made no difference whatsoever but she inhales that as well. It's all grist to her mill.

Chester continues to "renovate" the place on an ongoing basis. He remains remarkably cheerful about any damage he inflicts on himself in the process. Yesterday he grabbed the handle of a cleaning implement, misjudged the weight, and whacked himself smartly on the side of the head. It bothered him not one whit. He went on to immediately become entangled in a long strip of fly paper, wash both front feet in the water trough and purloin a cannister of fly spray, which very nearly exploded in his face when he squeezed it. His favourite word is "cool!". I find the younger generation quite alarming.

The days are growing noticeably shorter and as a result my new winter coat is growing noticeably longer. One can't be too careful. The worst is yet to come.