Two years ago on 18th February at 2.30pm, I married the man of my dreams in a very moving and romantic ceremony in Central London, followed by a very very amusing evening of Latin American kitsch. Every year on our anniversary DH wakes up and wishes that he could do it all again. I couldn’t ask for a bigger compliment than that- it was the best day of our lives.
Sadly yesterday proved as emotional, though a lot more stressful. Our dog was attacked by a German Shepherd as we played rugby on the beach ( I had just made an awesome one-handed catch, not bad for a pregnant lady.) DH went into full-on action-hero mode, punching The Attacker, whilst I kicked it and screamed in the manner of a hysterical pregnant woman. Eventually our poor pooch was released from The Attacker’s jaws and we whisked her away to safety, and the nearest vets. What a sight we must have looked walking into the surgery, with DH limping (twisted back), me waddling (pulled tummy muscles) and the dog bleeding. Four hours and some surgery later and the WH was back in our arms. She’s curled up next to me as I type, her hind leg shaved and stitched, with a cone head collar securely attached to her little head. She keeps forgetting she’s injured and leaping up and then limping onwards once she puts weight on her leg, so she’s still the same nutty dog, if a little slower and (dare I say it?) calmer. I doubt that will last long, but we’ll enjoy it whilst it lasts. In lieu of going out to celebrate our anniversary, we’re staying in and counting each and every blessing. I might even manage a little Champagne.
