It strikes Toad (that's me) that he should limit his blog ambitions. Perhaps one entry a month is within his infinitely tiny capabilities. He sees he hasn't wrote a line since May 6th. Idle Toad.
So, an update. This is a good time to essay this, as Reb is this very day, leaving Medina de Campo with her chums on route for Toro. On a Camino, in fact. This leaves Toad alone, save for the company of the company of the animals, who are all as fit as fleas. How fit their fleas are, is harder to say.
Harry, the new dog is doing just fine. Noble, loyal, kindly. Every ten year old boy should be issued with a clone of him on that birthday. Bit sexist that - make it every ten year old child. There.
The main news item - indeed the only one - during the blog lacuna was, of course, Hugh Heffner's fiancee deciding not to marry the naughty old publisher. Toad thinks she was wise, as he feels the age difference might well have proved too great.
Big excitement after writing the above. While walking the dogs I saw what looked like a dark green belt stretched across the trail, so I poked it with my stick. Of course it turned out to be a snake, which took off sharpish, chased by frantic dogs, who were unsuccessful. Still, a snake sighting is satisfying.