Male Bonding
Hubby came back for the weekend and so finally got to meet our new arrival. Bertie was well impressed (a man!) and after leaping about like a lunatic, bashing his tail on the door frame in the process (making it bleed and spraying the utility room with blood so it looked like an outtake from Hostel II) he finally got Hubby pinned down so he could give him a jolly good wash as a proper welcome.
Being duvet-lovers, Bertie and Hubby are obviously kindred spirits and while the sprogs and I were up with the lark this morning constructing an epic breakfast containing the entire contents of the fridge, Hubby stayed in bed to read his book happily accompanied by an ecstatic Bertie who did some top grade roaching (patented greyhound position: all four legs in the air, dangly bits on display, stupid grin showing scary teeth) on my side of the bed. Weirdly, I explained later in a small therapy session on the phone to J, it’s the first time since I’ve had him that I’ve experienced a bath without a Bertie-shaped bathmat, or been permitted to go to the toilet alone (monsters live in there so we need protection). I don’t know if I’m happy or miffed, to be honest. Bloody traitor likes Hubby more than me.
They sealed their new relationship by sploshing happily around the field together in the rain (Bertie gets cross with me because I have to mince around the edge of the puddles) and coming back all mud-splattered and filthy in the way only boys can (girlies such as I becoming hysterical way beyond that point). We’ve also discovered Bertie’s new quirk. Hubby was outside trying out his new ‘bushcutter’ – a kind of evil strimmer thing with a solid metal blade (he loves a gadget) and Bertie hopped into the open car boot and refused to budge for the entire afternoon. I’m thinking of getting him one of those little tents as for some reason he’s got a ‘thing’ about being covered (see photo). Greyhounds. I told you they were weird.
