I hadn't intended on ending so abruptly yesterday with my writing but there was an almighty crash in the hall and I was worried it might be SAM (I'm getting to be an alarmist where he's concerned I think). It turned out to be one of the corgis darting through his legs as he tried to carry a tray of tea things back to the kitchen. He's fine but the kettle and cups suffered more than a little nicking.
Oh. Yeah. There are corgis - an entire gang of dogs with big personalities on tiny legs that have taken on the exact personality of their owner, one minute looking for a scratch behind the ear and another snarling and attempting flesh wounds. I'm very much a dog person but I don't think corgi's actually count as dogs, at least not these particular corgis.
So what was I telling you about before the hounds from hell so rudely interrupted? Oh right. I had myself what one would have hoped would have been a well deserved rest safe in the arms of my fella, but alas no. I've always been one to work out my anxieties in my sleep so there were constant nightmares about what could have been.
The thing is that obviously deep down I blame(d?) SAM for what happened because in my tortured dreams I was being pursued captured, threatened by a man wearing a mask. The man kept on telling me that he had SAM and that neither of us would ever be safe again because he would never let SAM get away, but when he pulled off the mask he WAS SAM.
I'm trying not to think too hard about the implications there but I think I must have talked in my sleep because SAM keeps apologizing for everything. I wish he wouldn't.
Living with Mrs. Mallard is a challenge in no small part because she consistently threatens bodily violence against SAM for looking at, or attempting to brush up against, her booty. She uses the word booty. It's disconcerting. In the beginning he would mildly freak out and explain in a panicked way that he was most certainly NOT making any move toward her backyard but I nipped that in the butt…so to speak.
When I was a girl I was a candy striper stuck in a ward that was filled mostly with geriatric patients. I was fodder for their humor in the beginning but after I as there awhile I began to catch on. They almost always know more than you think they do.
This morning I caught her cornering SAM in the kitchen accusing him of planning to pinch her bottom when she reached in the refrigerator for the milk. Before he could say a single word I swooped in and loudly told her, "Now see here Mrs. Mallard, we are terribly grateful for your allowing us to take up refuge in your beautiful home, but if you continue to flirt with my husband like a hussy we will be forced to take our leave. I would sooner take my chances at being murdered in the street than have you stealing away my man." All very dramatic like.
She giggled and patted my arm telling me, "But he blushes so prettily. Reminds me of a young man I once met behind some rose bushes…"
I'll spare you the remainder of the story but I don't think we'll be having any more booty issues with Mother Duck.