My mum broke her leg the other week and as a result, she’s not best qualified to walk her cheeky little Jack Russell. Toby arrived at ours last night for a week of babysitting (of him – not Lily) and also, it transpires, a spot of slimming (he seems to have been consuming more than he has been burning … the age old Haygarth problem).
Anyway… he’s settled in brilliantly, summarized by an evening of utter laughs trying to savage Elvis while said King of Rock’n’Roll tried to fetch his Frisbee in the long grass of the meadow. To round it all off, Toby had his weight watchers tea (~one carrot skin) and then decided to retire to Lily’s room for what I anticipate will be a good 12 hours’ kip.
Welcome to the madhouse, Toby.