The adventures of Trixie down the rabbit hole

New dog Trixie has some typical terrier traits. She doesn't like cats much (which makes her a bit of a stressful presence round these parts in the evenings, when cats and dogs usually come together to flop around the living room and snooze) and she likes to dig A BIG HOLE.

Yesterday she found an existing big hole while we were having our usual mid-walk rest up on Wet Bum Point near the golf course. Off she went to dig around in this deep rabbit hole, and I left her to it. When I got up to leave about five minutes later though, I realised she was stuck in the hole. She seemed pretty firmly wedged, in fact. I wondered for a second whether I should try to pull her out, but her back legs can be a bit peculiar sometimes, and I didn't want to hurt her. Besides, she was digging away in the sand and would get herself free eventually. So I sat back down and waited. Read a bit of Moby Dick on my phone.

It took about ten minutes for her to wriggle her way out. She shook all the sand off herself and then triumphantly dived straight back down the hole.

In all I spent about half an hour trying to get her out of the rabbit hole. I might go a different route today.

Hotel for Dogs

It's been a busy week here at Waggy Towers.

First, Rollo went home. His real name is Sammy, and he lives on a small farm. Sadly his owner has gone into a nursing home, and the family are trying to make plans for his future, but while they do, he's a bit all over the place. Poor Sammy. As I was giving him back, I told them that we'd be able to find him a home if they needed us, but they want to sort something out themselves. They gave us a nice donation. Good for them.

Then, literally ten minutes later (that's actual literally there, not the new kind that means figuratively) I got a call from one of my dog-walking pals to say that one of his neighbours had just been told that her dog has to go. They live in the local mobile home park, and the little dog has been getting loose and causing a nuisance in the park, so the family was told that the warden would be called if something wasn't done.

So Trixie is here with us now. She is a feisty little terrier lady who, despite having spent most of her time outside in a little yard by herself in her former home, is happy to sit up on sofas and laps in our house. She loves her walks, she chases the cats a bit (but not in an alarming way) and she leaps right up at your face when you come downstairs in the morning. That's the good news.

The bad news is that she's a senior girl, at least eight years old, which means nobody will insure her. She also has just the one eye, which might put some people off. And she has the beginnings of a heart murmur, which could become expensive in the future.

But everyone does just think she's the cutest thing ever. And she really is. I should also point out that in an estate filled with bichon frises, cavaliers, and little poms, I'm proud to trot about with a slightly raggy, home-made looking dog on the end of my lead. We look a bit like a witch with her familar, though I'm not sure which of us is which.