bye bye daisy (days of wine and roses)

well it has finally come to pass. daisy the dog has joined the choir invisibule. the house seems strange without her. there's no-one to bark at the postman (or random cars on the road). 

she was 14 (which is a good age for a dog) and had been slowing down into old age for a while. it was only after horsemouth's dad had died that they noticed how quiet she had become.

horsemouth thanks the vet for his efforts. she clearly responded to the steroids (a last walk down to the abbey and back) but in the end they were not strong enough to contend with the forces of death. 

she died quietly under the kitchen table during the afternoon while the business of the house went on around her. horsemouth and his mum put her into her bed and carried her out to the garage. they selected a spot to bury her in (up on the banking where she would run and play) and horsemouth has begun digging the grave. he expects to get it done and bury her later on today. 

rain this afternoon (so had better get on with it). grey day and not warm. 

a number of horsemouth's friends have liked her photo (he should probably have warned them she was dead).

madder music, stronger wine continues to go well. well not so for victorian decadent poet ernest dowson who continues to drink himself to death. the fortunate (or unfortunate) thing is that he finds writing poetry easy - you know his lines days of wine and roses, gone with the wind. here he is. an influence on t.s.eliot (and that's probably how people now know him). 

last night horsemouth and his mum watched a police detective thing (you know the sort of thing. honest woman detective contends with sexism and gets things done) that will take up the next few evenings.