They say the way to Hell is paved with good intentions…so too is the way to a writer’s keyboard! This morning, I am determined to finish and publish the post I have earlier prepared.
The morning begins in its now customary, crisp, cold, February way with temperatures way below freezing. The perfect weather for a bracing walk in the woods with the dogs, I think. This, I am sure, will set me up for the day’s writing I have promised myself all week.
Things do indeed start well. We arrive early, before the main stream of dog walkers and after the really early birds. The temperatures allow one the luxury of wrapping up warm and walking fast and we only meet one elderly, lone runner as we hurry along the woodland paths. Flossie decides it will be fun to run with him. He is not much impressed and she soon gives up. I daresay he is now telling his wife that he didn’t meet a soul except for a mad golden retriever who fancied herself as the long distance runner.
There is something soul-refreshing about a solitary, winter walk in the early morn’. Indeed, I have high hopes for the day ahead as far as inspiration and personal application are concerned as we pile back into the car and drive home. I have the post, already partly prepared, to finish and publish, the half finished novel – needing a new perspective which I now feel able to give and an empty house without distractions…
There is a bonus to the extreme cold of the day. The streams and puddles are frozen and Flossie has not found any murky water to bathe in. We do not have the usual tumble of dogs and towels to contend with. Instead, I can let both dogs run into the house and take up their places beside me at my desk.
I have been writing for a short time when I notice that Keano is missing. I investigate. The living room carpet looks a little red in places. Keano has retired to his bed.
What is this? Blood?
Yes, Keano has managed to cut his paw and has trailed spots of blood all over the living room carpet.
Tracking down which paw is hurt can be difficult in a dog whose idea of standing still has yet to take root and whose agility is suddenly vastly improved when faced with a worried human trying to grab his ankles. Still, I identify the injured paw eventually. First aid box to hand, I clean it and bandage it, wrapping tape round the limb carefully to secure.
Leaving both dogs in the kitchen, I grab a wet cloth and dab and scrub at the living room carpet with a modicum of success.
Returning to the kitchen I am met by Flossie, looking guiltily up at me, half a bandage hanging from her mouth as she gently unravels the rest from Keano’s paw.
Time to separate the dogs!
I check the paw and re-bandage it, forgetting I have left the kitchen door ajar. Keano totters out when I am not looking. By the time I find him, he has licked the bandage off and has dripped blood through the dining room, through the hall and up the stairs. Flossie looks at me as though to say,
“I told you so,”
I bandage the paw and fit a trainer sock over it – Keano has dainty, cat-sized paws – and confine him to the kitchen where he is currently lying, feeling sorry for himself.
An appointment at the Vet has been made and I have cleaned the carpets and washed the floors.
It is now past lunchtime and I still have some way to go with the original post and the novel lurks in the recesses of my Mac, calling me in vain. It must wait.
Thankfully, memories of that early morning stroll linger on…and let’s not forget that tomorrow is another day!