It’s 3.33 according to the little clock on my laptop, and Maggie has got me up three times tonight.
Bless her, she’s been violently sick, done a massive poo and a big wee, her stomach is churning madly, but despite cooking the usual remedy of a scrambled egg, she has turned her nose up and gone back to bed.
It’s not exactly cold outside, but night attire is not really the done thing in the early hours of an October morning, and although I donned joggers, jumper and body warmer, I have become chilled.
Unlike Hubby when he can’t sleep, I don’t want a drink, and the heating has kicked in for about ten minutes to bring the house back up to our comfort temperature of 18º. It’s so quiet and efficient, I think we have chosen wisely.
Hubby is restless and still full of this cold, so I hope he’s been able to get back to sleep OK.
Usually it would be him getting up in the night, but I know how rough he feels and the best place for him is in bed at this hour.
As we only have the one way into the property, Maggie has to be escorted through the back gate which makes a bit of a clunk when closed, which of course is enhanced by the silence so I hope I’m not disturbing the neighbours. The couple on one side have a dog and the other are dog friendly but pet-less. I’m grateful that Maggie is persistent in asking to go out when she’s not well, but three times in a couple of hours is a little worrying.
She had her breakfast and medication as normal this morning, but she has been in the car most of the day, although we did get her to have a drink and fed her titbits of whatever we ate. Maybe that was the problem and the water was a little stale.
Poor love. Probably our fault. Sorry Baby.
Photo: at MOH, April 2015