Meanwhile a dizzy turn on the merries banishes any desire for a sneaky bag of chips

A ROUTINE visit to the vet during the week turned up something a little unexpected. Billy was due his vaccine which he doesn’t so much as flinch at, but while admiring him for the gorgeous boy that he is (curls to die for), the vet remarked that he was carrying a little extra
weight.

I knew he was after getting a little stocky shall we say, but thought it was mainly all that lovely fur that was making him look a little bulky, but the very nice vet said it was more than that – and the scales don’t lie! He was neutered during the year and that won’t have helped, she pointed out reassuringly. It’s a bit like the menopause, she said, the pounds creep on and stick. Tell me about it girl!

Anyway, as if I didn’t already have enough to do, I now have to monitor Billy’s weight and ban everyone from giving him any treats or extra food – every calorie counts as apparently it all comes down to diet, and not exercise of which he gets plenty. He’s been given special dog food to give him a fighting chance. He absolutely loves it which is great, but the new and reduced portion sizes not so much. The vet said we’re welcome to pop in at any time to hop on their scales and we’ve been given until October to lose 2kgs which seems doable. No pressure. (loads of pressure). The dog mom guilt is real!

I suppose I could do worse than join Billy on his new regime as my summer has been very, what will we call it … liberating. I liberated myself from the scales and the cottage cheese in favour of white wine and Brie. The fact that my mum bought my smallie this brilliant ice cream machine hasn’t helped – even it’s bringing lots of joy. So a bit like Billy, I’m also looking a little stocky! We’re in it together.

In other news, festival fever has hit my village of Timoleague where the annual harvest festival is well under way. The biggest attraction are ‘the merries’ which if you’re of a certain age, bring as much excitement as Christmas Eve. If you’re over a certain age they tend to bring on feelings of dread and fear  – mainly over how much you’ll spend and how much damage you’ll do to your back on them. I really don’t mind them (that much) even if I’m not a fan of anything that’s too fast, or high which is basically everything there except the tea cups – which I can’t fit into anymore. Shame! I miss those days. My husband went the first night and did something to his neck on the waltzers (or so he says) – funny how it’s not impacting his golf though?

A new attraction this year is this mad yoke called ‘Vertical Limit.’ I’ll leave it to Google to describe it to you: ‘a central rotating tower with a long pivoting arm attached horizontally across the top. Clusters of open-air seats sit at both ends of the main arm, spinning freely or in controlled vertical loops as the primary arm sweeps through the sky.’ And here’s the impressive bit: it’s 40 meters (131 feet) into the air, reaching speeds up to 100 km/h (62 mph) and pulling up to 5G forces. The mind boggles. I feel ill just looking at it, but I’m in the minority. I cannot get over how many people find actual joy in this. Mad! That’s youth for you.

The only silver lining is that I feel so queasy after even the lesser rides, that I’ve no desire for the usual sneaky bag of chips on the way home. Maybe I should bring Billy down with me some night? Speaking of which, he has his second dog show of the season later this week during the festival, and we’ve the fancy dress coming up and a few other things so it’s all go. Regretfully I don’t think I’ll be able to indulge any day tripping this week!

Emma’s husband fell victim to injury on the waltzers this week.

We don’t have all that many traditions in our family but the Christmas morning swim and the festival fancy dress are two that are non-negotiable. It doesn’t matter what’s going on, there’s no getting out of either. I’ve tried, trust me. My dad was a huge supporter of the fancy dress and  every August without fail we were willingly and unwillingly plonked on a trailer, lots of the time not even being quite sure what we were going out as (I’m not sure my dad knew either!). Now, we’ve the next generation involved and it’s their turn to suffer – I mean take part. Also, it’s a time in a busy world to pause and think of our dad whose anniversary is this week and who’d love to be in the thick of it with some mad idea, the noisier the better (a back-firing tractor was his speciality), that he’d pull together at the 11th hour – speaking of which, we haven’t any ideas. Nada. All suggestions, mad or otherwise, most welcome.

There was a touch of Autumn in the air just briefly last week and the temperature in my house dropped to a tolerable 23 degrees – for all of a day. The mercury has ramped right up again this week for what we’re all calling ‘the last hurrah.’ Every last bit of SPF is being squeezed out of bottles in households, as we wonder should we buy more, or is this it now? Is it? Anyone’s guess I’d say but we’re not complaining and that’s for sure.

Finally, I think I’ve figured out where Billy has being going wrong. He’s not only eating his own dinner – but  also Timmy his bestie’s (the dog next door) as well. I spotted him through the hedge the other day, tucking in, oblivious to me spying on him. I had to get very cross with him!

Now, that night he had his own revenge, giving me some major side eye as I was poking around in the fridge looking for snacks.  ‘Well, well, well what have we got here?’his expression seemed to say. Ah sure, no point making a meal out of things I suppose. September is time enough for both of us to shake off the summer’s bad habits. BBQ season is back on.