The Heat Is On

The weekend was supposed to be filled with sunshine. Maybe this is what “filled with sunshine” looks like in England or Wales. But the Costa del Sol is the Coast of the Sun, and this weekend did not live up to the name. We had perhaps a half hour of undisguised sunshine today. But it’s once again a mix of clouds and sun. And that might be alright somewhere else, but we feel the chill. Besides, the high today has only been around 17C (63F). (I know, I know: I’m playing the world’s smallest violin.)

Dudo doesn’t like the cold (yes, it’s all relative) and insists we turn on a space heater just for him. The minute he hears the click of the switch, he’s there with his face in the works. His position progresses as he and the space heater warm up.


(Click the images to turn up the heat.)

After coffee this morning, I saw a little poodle who apparently doesn’t much like the cold either. He was very chic. I wouldn’t mind having that outfit; I think my tail might look quite good in it.

Leave it to San Geraldo to find the best way to overcome these cold, wintery days. He’s preparing his annual batch of Jamaican Black Cake (click here for last year’s post and the recipe). Even if all the alcohol doesn’t warm us up, it will at least make us think we’re warm.

WHAT HAS, SO FAR, GONE INTO THE MIX.

“Tell me can you feel it…”

Dowager Duchess’s Dog

My Mother The Dowager Duchess was not an animal lover. Not by any stretch of the imagination. When she was a little girl, her mother got a cat to fend off any rat/mouse problem in their tenement apartment. My mother told me that one day, when she was around 9 years old, the cat jumped onto her lap and she sat and petted it for a while.

I said, “Wow. I can’t imagine you doing that.”

She said. “It was disgusting. I finally felt so sick that I pushed the thing off.”

My mother couldn’t understand how we allowed our California cats, Dobie and Maynard, to sit on the furniture. They weren’t allowed on tables or counters, but my mother found it just as bad that they were allowed on sofas and chairs.

Once, when my mother was visiting us in Santa Barbara, our long-haired, gentle, friendly cat, Dobie, walked by her chair. She reached down and stroked him absently before lifting her hand away in disgust.

I said, “How can you be like that? He feels like a fur coat! You love fur coats.”

“Well,” she said, “Fur coats don’t breathe!”

DD’s Dog
The Dowager Duchess did have her own “pet dog” for more than 25 years.

She had created him from yarn, felt, buttons, and cardboard. She gave him a red leather collar with a gold buckle. Even he had to sit on the floor.

So, while we were cleaning out the apartment, I allowed the old boy to sit wherever he wanted.

MY MOTHER LOVED THIS COAT SO MUCH SHE KEPT IT FOR 68 YEARS.
(BUT I NEVER ONCE SAW IT ON THE SOFA).

Dog Pee?

There’s a restaurant nearby that has great food and service. It’s less than a 10-minute walk and the atmosphere is great.

The men’s room is well-maintained (that matters to some people), but I find the inside of the toilet lid to be very peculiar — and a bit confusing.

WAS I SUPPOSED TO AIM FOR THE DOG’S MOUTH?
(THE COLOR OF THAT TONGUE MAKES ME THINK SO.)