Today was a smashing day here in Co. Waterford and I had the most delicious swim out at Garrarus Beach early this morning.
While I was soaking up the sea and sun, I was half thinking about son Harry who has hopped over to England for the weekend. Part of the hopping involved him driving me into Waterford in the wee hours so that he could catch a bus to Dublin Airport. Little did I ever think that he’d be doing the driving like that but it’s been our Summer of ‘mother/son’ driving with Bruce Springsteen keeping us company.
Back at home, the little fluffy dog (a cross between at least a sheepdog, terrier, King Charles, Alsatian….) that Harry rescued a few years ago had clearly been doing a lot more than half thinking about his beloved owner. He had worked himself up into a complete tizzy and practically scratched his neck off. I suppose I should have anticipated some drama like this as the last time Harry went away the dog almost bit his paw off.
Back to the same vet who mercifully assured me that the neck damage is curable but that the bond between the dog and Harry was quite another matter! Basically if H flees the nest, the dog will have to go with him.
As dusk turned to darkness, I was beginning to wonder about H’s promised phone call. I was here at the computer and called out to hubby if he’d heard from him. He replied as casually as anything:
Oh yeah, he rang a good while ago and said he’s grand. He got cut off so wasn’t on for long.’
The little dog has been bopping around since the phone call and I’m still wondering if fathers have anything like the same bonds with their boys as little dogs and mothers do?