Tuesday, November 10, 2015
It's been warm enough for shirt sleeves on our pre-breakfast walk. This morning a definite change. Clouds in the sky and a chill hint of winter in the air. Bob is up and about early. He's frustrated that his master is rummaging in the back of the car looking for a jacket. Sophie takes a little longer to surface. She's been sleeping on her right side and emerges with a fashionably lopsided look.
Bourbon makes an unexpected appearance in the aisles of the little supermarket. A Mint Julep , the advertising informs us, is the ancestor of the Mojito and an emblematic drink of the United States. What the local farmers will make of 'Bourbon Week' remains to be seen.
In the glazed lobby of the shopping centre we come across this little fellow.
Distraught at being left alone while his mistress shops he slumps ever lower. Polished stone floors do nothing for canine equilibrium. To show his unhappiness he howls. Not a Wolf like howl but a quiet blowing out of air. A noise not unlike Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. This is at once both sad and highly amusing in the way that only dogs can be.
There are two sorts of people. Those who stop and chat to the dog and those who rush by oblivious. An unscientific observation would point to a 40-60 split.