I did not get a proper walk this morning, the back doors were opened for me and I was persuaded to walk the plank that connected us to the shore. I suspect this was to determine if it was safe for my bearded one to follow.
Last night we arrived at Marple with no good moorings available and the closest my bearded one managed to get my long kennel to the towpath was about a foot and a half more than I could reasonably stretch or safely jump. Hence he assembled our gang plank that we carry for this purpose. I safely negotiated, he followed but we returned to the warmth of my long kennel almost immediately as it started to rain heavily. I am not sure what cats and dogs have got to do with it.
It stayed this way with only brief moments of respite. We spent the morning looking for a favorable weather forecast and saying good bye to Barbie and Mike over cups of coffee in my long kennel.
We found a forecast that said there would be a fine spell at one o’clock and so we chose it and although it was still raining a bit at one o’clock, after fond farewells, we slipped our mooring with optimism en route to Bollington.
Clearly someone’s clocks were out by three hours as this is how long our journey took and it did not let up for a moment. My stalwart bearded one, dressed as a bin liner, was at the helm. He bravely and safely brought us to Bollington. I stayed inside – my long haired one fed him with hot soup and encouraging words.
Just as we arrived, the sun came out and everything was lovely for the rest of the afternoon and evening. He got a rub down. I got a proper walk when they re-visited The Washing Well, again armed with bundles of washing. My long haired one seemed very pleased.