We're not singing in the rain anymore

 OK, enough is enough. We're fed up now.  Even Hebe is wondering when it will all stop.

It's not a glorious feeling and although we might still be singing, we're not happy about it and certainly no longer dancing in the puddles, even small black is carefully walking around the edge.

I think I'm wet enough now, Bean.
Do we have to go out again?

I'm a hound, I don't do wet.

He's only done it again

Further adventures in the life of Finnegan the Foolish Hooligan.
He's caught the top of his tail on something. It's oozy, gooey and gunky, nice. And now has been clipped to expose the damage for cleaning and treatment.

One raw, gooey patch - not for the faint hearted!

Now for the rest of his medical bulletin (oh, yes there's more); he's got an appointment with Eastgate's new toy next Tuesday - they're getting a digital x-ray machine.  Katie has booked his private room out because he'll need a spot of tranquillizer to lie still for long enough, we're looking at his heart and lungs and being such a huge beast one shot doesn't cover the whole picture - it could be three and possibly a scan too. Like Maia he's huffing and puffing, but unlike her he's only two and is also a little lethargic, plus his bloodline isn't too great on cardiac matters.  Fortunately Laura has just finished a cardiac course so he'll be in the best of hands, with his very own Mandy to soothe his furry brow and stop him destroying the door!
Oh, you stupid boy - who'd have a hound?

Dur, what? Don't bother me...

Hebe's feeling a little 'zonked'. 
There's a party at the other end of the village tomorrow evening and they're having display standard fireworks, the whizz-bangs will bounce down the valley and echo off the hill in front of us. So the anti-firework herbs came out of the cupboard yesterday, three doses in and she's rather sleepy.
Finger's crossed she stays that way until Sunday morning!

Our wonderful herbalist vet describes it 'Noise Phobia' (but can't spell Humphreys, oh well can't have everything) here's Hebe's 'script, mostly lavender plus four more.  We start two days pre-event with two doses, and depending upon her reaction two or three more the next day followed by a full day's knock out on the day of the fireworks.  It's warm so we'll have the windows open meaning that she'll hear more than we'd like but the distraction of being allowed to play with a tennis ball in the house usually does the trick. fingers crossed.
There's another one (party that is) in a couple of weeks time so we'll do it all again then.

Finnegan and the bales

Finally it stopped raining which meant that the Mill Green could be cut. As usual the outside strip of good, dock free, grass was cut, turned and baled first.  Finn wasn't sure about the tractor, a shiny new blue one, but it trundled past and went away, and then did it again.  He decided it was was OK and settled down in his usual flat out "couldn't care less" pose.  The baler was also greeted with equanimity leaving only a single bale from the cut strips in front of the house.  However a couple of days later when the machinery returned to cut, turn and eventually bale the main middle section Finnegan was not happy.   The tractor went down one way turned round and came back, turned again and trundled past again, and again. Couldn't it see that this was most out of order, Finnegan had to watch each pass, his huge head swinging one way and then the next, how he didn't get Wimbledon neck I don't know.  At last the cut was finished and he could relax, only the next day another tractor came and did it all again (turning the grass this time) and again had to be watched every step of the way.  Next up was the baler,  which Mum swore blind looked like a guinea pig regurgitating the big round bales, I'm not sure who found the baling operations more interesting the hound or his owner.  Anyway finally everything was cut and baled.

But then...

Thief in the day time.  And then a low down yellow bellied thief came and stole all Finnegan's bales!
 
As the loader trundled around gathering up the bales and putting them on a flat bed trailer Finn was most put out, it was stealing and it was stealing HIS bales.  He had to tell it to leave them alone and as he was inside and the thief was outside he decided that high volume was necessary otherwise it wouldn't hear him.  Every bale that was 'stolen' was a cause of great concern.  30 or so later he finally began to realise that they weren't coming back and that the 'thief' wasn't listening - or maybe they were simply beyond the area he considers his but for whatever reason he stopped barking, much to everyone's relief.