potato jacket

There is no sound that has one jumping out of bed as quickly as horking. If you have dogs or cats you know what I mean… that whomp huck whomp huck sound that precedes the contents of a stomach being hurled all over the floor/rug/bed.

I was almost asleep last night when ‘HURL’, the sound of projectile vomiting assaulted my ears. ‘What the heck!’ (heck wasn’t actually the word I used), and I leapt in an athletic move that would be envied by Olympic gymnasts. Dogs were all sleeping peacefully. “Huh?”, and then I remembered. I had just put water into the tub - the air is so dry my nose hurt - and the faucet in the tub has a habit of holding onto water for a while and then horking it all out at once. Relieved not to be having a huge mess to clean up, I clumbered back into bed.

I lead such an exciting life…

Yesterday I extracted myself from the sofa and tackled the snow on the back deck. This time the snow wasn’t deep, but was so heavy I had to work bit by bit to get it cleared. I think the temperature was above 0 as I had no hat and my coat was wide open. Somehow, tendrils of a distant spring are wafting in the air, or at least in my imagination.

Bella has a distinctive wheeze so I’m going to give her a bit of a clip today - her coat is so thick and wooly that I think she’s hot.

Bella hid in her crate when she saw me dragging out the grooming table… no luck in hiding from me though. I snapped a leash on her collar and she reluctantly followed me to the kitchen. Carm lifted her onto the table and then after a brush, my clippers whirred, trimmed and sculpted her into a new dog. I hope she is more comfortable now that she isn’t so hot.

Next on the agenda is baking some potatoes. I want to try to fashion a likeness of the baked potato soup that Carm slurped every night on the ship. I had a few spoons of it and it had a true baked potato flavour, very unlike the potato soups I’ve made myself. So, like some kind of mad scientist with hair sticking up all over, I will give it a try.

a few hours later… the house smells like lovely baked potato! Bodes well for the soup :-)

Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.

~Victor Hugo