Calm down, I've not opened a decadent home for the sadomasochist. Although I'm sure it would be a welcome retreat for some. {I'm so not going there!} No, the house of pain (minus Vincent Price) is what our cosy bungalow here in Devon has become since Yule and the young-man-with-four-legs' fall off the bed.
Poor little soul is in much pain with his back and both Mr Debz and I feel totally useless as all we can do is dish out his painkiller and try to ensure he's comfy. He goes for X-Rays on Monday to see exactly what's going on, which will be interesting because not only will we be able to get a diagnose (hopefully) but after all these years of knowing his back end is fastened to his body by screws, pins and wires, we'll be able to actually see them.
Anyway, the home walls are resounding with yelps, Ouches, groans and swear words as the three of us go through the days in pain. No wonder the little-girl-with-four-legs is sighing and eye rolling, she's the only one bounding about at the moment. Good start to the new year, not!
Here's hoping your 2015 will be a good one, with happiness, health and wealth.
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