flannel lined catacombs

Miss Winnie waits patiently (always) sitting on the beach while I take her portrait

She (missy D) continues to do well, eating heartily, going for long, somewhat plodding walks, she's seems to be slowing down a little, sleeping more, she's much more lethargic than her usual "hey whatcha doin' self" ... and this weird circular step movement she's added to her routine - what's up with that ? I'm not yet sure. I feel confident that we're not at any critical point ... but I don't need any critical this or serious that to begin the sweet & poignant movie of our (Winnie's & mine) long life together playing in my mind with a full soundtrack of course. Oh the places she and I have been. The talks we've had. She is my best friend and my most excellent companion. I don't want to miss a thing. I want to smell her breath, feel the velvet soft skin on the inside of ear, scratch under her chin and around her neck. Remind her how beautiful she is. I want to tell her a billion times each day that I love her and with all of my heart. I want to do all of the things that make her happiest. I am preparing myself, perhaps (and hopefully) way early, but when that time does come I know a part of me will go along with her.

but when the self speaks to the self, who is speaking?
The entombed soul, the spirit driven in, in,
into the central catacomb; the self that took the veil
and left the world–a coward perhaps, yet somehow beautiful
as it flits with it's lantern restlessly up and down the dark corridors

Virginia Woolf

Miss D and I will hang out today in our down & flannel lined catacombs, cozy and snug, lots of pillows and where they serve English breakfast tea in fat mugs along with tiny dog biscuits.

This Elton John song is one of Winnie's favourites.