It’s the season for ticks

 

Leading a Blonde Astray

I took my dog for a walk this morn­ing. I snuck out the back way, through the bush and along the fire track. I was rather hop­ing to avoid Slater. Slater is the neigh­bour­hood vagabond. We live in a pic­turesque lit­tle enclave where most prop­er­ties ram­ble into each other with­out the con­cern of fences. This is not sen­si­ble sub­ur­bia, neatly fenced and gated where the neigh­bour­hood dogs are restricted to their allot­ted area. In spite of the gen­eral lack of con­fines, how­ever, most local dogs stay on their own turf and have no inter­est in roam­ing fur­ther than the post­box at the end of a rather long dri­ve­way. Slater has changed all that.