Scorchio..................

So.

The hottest day of the year so far.


This was the view from my chair earlier, as temperatures soared to those not dissimilar to that which might be experienced on the surface of the sun.......



Apparently.

In deference to the dehydrating heat, PP concocted a potent punch, the contents of which she declined to divulge, even after being submitted to Small Dog torture, ie, having SD sitting on your chest, tail wagging furiously, licking your face, neck and ears.

Most people would crack immediately, but PP is made of sterner stuff, and after a few mouthfuls of high factor sun cream, Small Dog beat a hasty retreat.

And so we enjoyed a cooling breeze........cooling punch, and the 3rd BBQ of the weekend still to look forward to.

Bliss.

Throughout the blistering heat of the afternoon, we listened to Golden Oldies on the radio, and I was transported back to the summer of '76, lying on a parched lawn, revising for my Scottish Highers (equivalent of A levels) listening to a crackly radio playing Layla (Derek and the Dominoes) Deep Purple et al........yes I was a bit of rock chick in those days.

Here is Small Dog on Guinea Pig watch.




She is an ardent rodentologist, but not in a good way.

Yorkshire terriers were originally used in the 19th century to catch rats in the clothing mills and they were subsequently bred for many years as ratters.

Therefore the ratting instinct is strong with them.

I wouldn't trust small dog with a guinea pig as far as could throw her.

Which is quite far.

Especially if I employ a cannon.

I love Small Dog.

But I also love Guinea Pigs. And therein lies the dichotomy.

Her rodentology credentials have recently been called into question as we appear to have mises.

Mouses.

Mice.

This is not surprising given our close proximity to ancient woodland at the top of our garden, wherein all manner of native wildlife grow and thrive.

However, when I suggested to Small Dog that she might care to go on 'Mouse Watch.......

I cannot repeat the response as I am sure that Blogger would object to the use of so many expletives.

Suffice to say, mousing is beneath her.

Apparently (and I paraphrase here) she is descended from the lineage of champions, and whereas a rat the size of Splinter (from Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles) would be worthy of her engagement, a puny mouse, who in any case she has befriended, and calls Mickey, is not worth the chase, let alone the catching.

To prove her point, last night we BBQ'd a few cocktail sausages and after eating her fill, she trotted off with one, which she 'buried' down the side of the sofa.

When we subsequently retrieved Small Dog, and interrogated her, she confessed that she had indeed left the sausage for her chum. This cut no ice with us and both she and sausage were summarily evicted.



Such is life.

So here is Small Dog's mood in a picture........



Bowed but unbroken...........