For a couple of reasons it is impossible to believe that three years ago today Robyn came to live with us, even though this is the truth.
The first reason it’s impossible to believe the truth is because Robyn has *always* lived with us. I realise this is nonsense but we (collective, not Royal) genuinely can’t remember a time when Robyn wasn’t in our lives. She’s always been with us, always been an active part of our family, and to suggest otherwise would be idiocy (though it would also be true).
The second reason it’s impossible to believe the photographic evidence is because Robyn has never been this small:
Yes, I’ll contradictingly believe that she was this cute and cuddly. But this small? Never! (and I speak as someone whose chest she commando-crawled up at 6am, to lick my face).
I was speaking to a lady in the village this morning about dogs in general. They’re such an expense, she said. I suppose they are, I replied. They’re like children in that respect. She paused in the conversation before nodding at me with full understanding.
I could have added that they give such love and devotion. This too would be true. And I sit here at 11.39 with Robyn curled up over there, fast asleep, filling the large chair and leaving not even space for the smallest of our cats to join her.
It’s been three years in the blink of an eye and yet she’s been with us for much longer than three years. Time plays tricks, time plays tricks.
Dogs are worse than children: mine is nearly five years-old but I still have to pick up her shit.
I stopped doing that with the kids, months ago!
Dydd Gwyl Dewi Hapus, BTW.