The Measure of our Days

A friend bemoaned the passage of years to me last night.  I was surprised as this particular friend is not usually troubled by this sort of thing.  Mind you she is three years younger than I am, lucky thing.  The epiphany she had had came to her on a longish, solitary drive.  As is typical in this situation her thoughts turned to introspection, sands through the hour glass and so on.  She has recently become the proud owner of an upright Miele vacuum cleaner.  Instead of being cast into transports about this machine's unparalleled suction and swivel neck feature she was despondent.

The realisation that hit with a thwack like a stray marble up the hose pipe was that given that her old machine (Electrolux) had lasted 15 years this may indeed be her penultimate vacuum cleaner in this lifetime!!  For those of you frantically trying to do the maths 50 is not too far distant.  For her a bit more distant than for me but nonetheless these quality vacuum cleaners are likely to outlast us.  My husband thinks mine (Dyson) does not get enough use and will probably never wear out but I can certainly vouch for rigorous workout my friend gives her machine.  Her  home is dust and fluffball free at any given moment.

Cleaning is not my thing so I prefer to measure out my days in dogs. My last beloved pet lived for 15 years.  She was the most gorgeous puppy, a honey coloured Border Collie called Meg who  had the most beautiful nature.  She disliked being photographed and was frightened of thunder.  In her prime she had boundless energy but in her twilight years she preferred to laze on the verandah.  Toward the end of her life she was so arthritic she couldn't get on the verandah but ironically began to wander quite long distances. One day she wandered off and in her confused and exhausted state could not find her way home and we never saw her again.

 Beautiful Meg

Young Rosie

My current canine companion is approaching her 3rd birthday. She is a big-eared Beaglier who loves the sensation of running through tall grass and enjoys rolling in all manner of disgusting deposits.  Rosie is the only dog I have ever had who retrieves balls, sticks or whatever spit soaked object thrown for her. At this time of my life she is a sort of surrogate child but I try (not too hard) to not be pathetic about it. 

Assuming that she enjoys the same lifespan as her predecessor I can probably look forward to one dog after Rosie passes on to her Doggie Reward. I am incorporating a suitable mourning period into my calculations.  Mind you at the exponential rate that she sheds her white coat all through the house I will certainly be in the market for another decent vacuum cleaner as well despite what my husband thinks.