I picked-up Maisie from the kennels this evening.
She’d been in there since last Wednesday when my family travelled out to meet me in Amsterdam.
The kennel is a couple of miles from where I live, off a busy road, with rusting doors, chipped paint and a neatly trimmed lawn.
Next to Maisie was an old black dog – some sort of Labrador cross and next to him a little fluffy-coated terrier with dark eyes.
I tried to think how Maisie had got-on the past few nights with all the fireworks – she isn’t usually that sensitive to noise, so my hope is that she managed to sleep through; as to whether she was roused by her cell-mates, I don’t know.
She seems to have come home unscathed; not altered very much; yes, she has a smell of the kennel, but she doesn’t appear to hold any grudges.
Dogs are great; they are so forgiving, so loving.
I wrote recently about brotherly love; this is different from dog-master love; as to which one is deeper, which penetrates the skin more, I am not sure – yes, brother to brother is a two-way process than can be subject to the fluctuations of time and place; dog to master – well; that is pretty much fixed.
Yes. Dog love.