Washing the dog

When ever I wash the dog (not often), I'm reminded of something that happened when I was visiting my now husband when we were students. He lived in Borth, near Aberystwyth, on the west coast of Wales. One summer the county council decided it was time to put a toilet with a electric hand dryer and shower near the beach for frozen holiday makers to use.
A friend astutely commented on how now the tourists staying in caravans would have somewhere to wash AND dry the dog. So every time we wash the dog, I smile as I'm reminded of the Welsh doggy Parlor on Borth Beach.

This doggy gave us a fright this week by taking a packet of baby aspirin out of my handbag and eating the entire contents. It was touch and go for a couple of days but thanks to the advise from animal poison control, lots of love, and a bit of luck, he made it through.