Olga Retrieval

I'm sitting in the dark living room now, watching the sky lighten to gray through the fog blanketing the yard. And Olga is snoozing beside me. Yes, we are a complete family once again.

We went to pick her up yesterday morning, and as usual the transit system wasn't cooperating -- a tube closure left us stranded at Bond Street and we had to take a bus from there to Notting Hill. I wasn't winning popularity points with Dave because I was trying to run the entire errand without using a cab, in order to save the money. But on the bus I threw in the towel and we agreed to take a cab home with the dog.

By the time we reached the passive-agressive dog boarder's place, it was 9:20 a.m., about twenty minutes past the time we'd said we would pick Olga up. "Oh!" said the woman who runs the kennel. "I was just about to send her out on a walk because you're so late."

Have I mentioned how intensely I dislike this woman? When we dropped off Olga she made us buy a dog collar because she said she needed somewhere to put the kennel ID tag, and they couldn't (or wouldn't) tag Olga's harness. Every time we go to that kennel she criticizes us and makes us buy something extra. When we lived in Notting Hill and first contracted with her to walk Olga, our vet warned us that she was "certifiable." I've never forgotten that.

But the important thing is, she and her employees do seem to treat the dogs well. Olga greeted us joyously and ate and drank like a horse when we got home. Then she slept the sleep of the dead all night, as did I.

We stayed home all day yesterday, getting organized. I finished the Jonathan Tropper book, changed the sheets, ate lightly and walked the dog. Back to routine!

(Top photo: A parking lot in Willesden Green, Dec. 13.)