Five days in to the New Year, and already a failed resolution.
“Up by 8.00 am, dressed by 9.00 am” didn’t work this morning.
Not because of my customary slothfulness, but because of Tally, our Hungarian Vizsla.
Unlike his stoic companion Dobby, Tally is a sensitive soul who lives on his nerves. He’s playful, energetic, stubborn, affectionate, demanding, greedy and he worries. Recently he’s begun to worry a great deal. Whether that is due to the tumultuous summer here where we had a never-ending influx of guests coming and going for four months, or whether age is catching up with him (he’s 10), we don’t know. But something has upset his equilibrium and he’s become restless, moany and anxious. The vet hasn’t found any physical symptoms – Tally looks a picture of health – so ascribes his behaviour to lack of oxygen reaching his brain, and has prescribed Karsivan to see if that helps.
After one week he does seem to be less stressed, but at night that he’s still acting rather strangely. He doesn’t want to sleep in the same room as Dobby, although they are best mates during the day. Three nights ago Tally was in such a state that he ended up on our bed where he slept happily through the night while we tried to find somewhere to put our legs. Since then he’s been happy to sleep in the office, while Dobby occupies the sofa in the living room. Last night, however, Tally woke me at 3.36 am whining to go out, having already peed all over the floor. While I mopped up he bounced out happily into the night, bounced happily back into his bed and went straight off to sleep.
I didn’t. With words, ideas and plans for the garden rushing around in my head like a fairground carousel, it was hours before I could get back to sleep. And when I woke, it was 10.05 am. I’m pleading extenuating circumstances.
Oh, a second fail, too. I swallowed my toast without the long chewing.