Meg

Well, here is Meg. She is my RSPCA foster pooch, an 18 month lurcher. She is terribly pretty, her eyes are the most striking hazel colour and I love her milk chocolate hued nose. She was handed in to the RSPCA yesterday, by a family who just didn't want her any more. They named her Meg. If she were mine then I would probably call her Thora or Nell. But she is not mine (I must be strong). She is only here till she finds a permanent home. So we will stick with Meg.

She is terribly nervy, but thankfully shows no interest in the cats. I do wonder what I have let myself in for, as Hetty, Kipper & I were quite a happy little band. Now we have this other needy creature to care for. I can't help but think she has been abused at some point in her life. When I reach out to stroke her she cowers, like she is about to be hit. Hetty is quite thrilled to have some livelier company. Kipper (my 12 year old, deaf and crippled Dalmatian) is about as animated as a hearth-rug. I think Meg and Hetty will get on well. I long to see them run together.

Anyway, as you can see, she has already familiarised herself with the chaise. Lurchers do seem to have an even greater love of loafing than me. They are total sloths. Trying to keep them off the sofas, beds or the chaise is as fruitless a task as trying to get Jude Law to keep his pants on. I wonder how Meg will enjoy her first beach walk tomorrow morning. And her first Minchella's cornet!