Well, the zombie is around, somewhere. There’s a pile of Christmas cards thrown on the bed in the guest bedroom/office. They won’t get written and posted from there, will they? Mind you, they’ve been put there today…so maybe some miracle will happen tonight and they will get written. A bit like the miracle of baby Jesus.
I don’t want any baby Jesus here though. I have enough trouble with the Duracell bunny, when he comes around. Squawking and filling his nappy with things that should be done in the field.
The zombie can’t have a baby though, so we’re safe there…although she does look pregnant at night, sometimes. Don’t tell her I told you…she wouldn’t be best pleased.
I think it’s an age thing. The bright red face, the blobbyiness, the constant headaches. and the stupidity. I mean if you could see her now. She’s wandering around with that daft expression on her face, trying to remember what to do and where she should be. If the truth be known, she probably doesn’t even know who she is, right now!
I’ll get her organised in a moment. She’s taking me out for another walk. If she’d written her cards, we could have posted them, as we walked around. But no, she’ll probably leave it until the last-minute.
Christmas Eve evening it was one year, when it decided it had better deliver its cards.. It was thick with snow and for some unknown reason, we took the car. I sat on the back seat and tried not to think about the zombie driving and the fact that we were actually going down the streets, kind of side ways. We had her sprog with her; this was pre Duracell bunny days. The sprog had the job of jumping out of the car and posting the cards in the various victim’s houses.
That won’t be happening this year…I refuse to be a part of it.
Anyhow, I hope that you’re keeping well and warm. We haven’t got any snow yet. The zombie is mad for some [ she’s bonkers anyway!], to build a snowman. Sorry…that’s being sexist…a snowperson.
When we do get snow, she gets kitted out like we’re going up Ben Nevis, with the boot grips on and everything. Thank goodness we’re not. I couldn’t do with the Scots. She has a bit of a thing about a Scot…poor old dear she is. She’s never recovered from Springwatch and Scotland this year. [More of that in another post!]
She has even bought me some proper greyhound,thermal, waterproof booties. Yes, I know! It is funny…very funny. She hasn’t got a chance of getting them on me. I won’t be seen dead in them; even if I do cry out, when I get compacted ice in my paws and they’re red and sore. I’ve got my street cred to think of!
So, thanks very much for stopping by here and reading my words of greyhound wisdom. I’m off to get the zombie moving now. If you could call what she does – movement?
The zombie will return soon darlings.
A greyhound sloppy kiss for all of you. X