Hair of the dog?

Last Sunday we brought Ozzy, our new (third) dog home from the Pet Rescue Center. He's the cutest thing you ever saw - a Jack Russell Terrier / Springer Spaniel cross - and he's settled in so well no-one can believe he's only been here a few days.

Our two other dogs are quite elderly - 10 and 12 years - so we've kind of lost the habit of having a lively youngster around the place (Ozzy is only about 2 years old.)

So it took me a few seconds earlier today when I came downstairs and found a proud little Ozzy wagging from his tail to his nose, proffering his lovely, hairy teddy bear, to realize what it was.

It was my wig.

As we chased around and around the house playing a lively game of "catch me if you can," I was laughing so hard I could hardly keep upright. Anyway I rescued the wig, gave it a quick rinse and dry, and it's as good as new, apart from the odd tooth mark.

Although I'm only three-quarters of the way through chemo my own hair is beginning to grow back. So I've promised Ozzy he can have the wig when my crowning glory is restored.

In fact I think by then I might feel like grabbing the wig in my jaws and running around and around with it, too...