As previously posted, with the Warthog trying to remove her rear left leg just below the hock in a blatant attempt at becoming the centre of our households attention (probably felt left out with the arrival of the chickens!) walking the trails has been cancelled for the last week or so. As I've lamented before, a rotund hobbit like chappy walking alone in the woods seems to make some folk a tad uncomfortable, but dragging a dog along the same walker becomes instantly a trust worthy character to be engaged in conversation with out a second thought. I really find this difficult to understand, after all I'm still the same good ol' axe wielding mad man whether or not young Willow is tearing along at my side!
So walking has taken second fiddle to even more DIY and gardening (you can imagine the state of that holy shrine, the Garage, at the moment). Which in turn means that I have no tall tales to replenish you with or any of my sub standard attempts at photography to give you hope that you're at least capable of taken better pictures than at least one person.
But one thing that the rear leg incident, as it has now become known, has made me realise is how much the little tyke has wormed her way into the very fabric of our lives. She only arrived in the beginning of the year, a scrawny and very malnourished scruff bag with pleading eyes and, a later to be found, tenacity that is totally out of proportion for such a small dog.
So as a way of hopefully showing how she's come on, with the tenacity still there but now coupled with a clear sense of belonging here and with muscles like iron in her wiry frame here are some photos from the last few months of the most un-photogenic hound you'll ever come across.
Soon we'll both be hitting them trials as hard as ever and hopefully bringing you more tall tales, bad pictures and hopefully all the emotions that go with being 'out there'.
Till then take care my friends,