Dog ownership is wearing me out. Today we went for two walks. The first, to the field up behind my place, was a happy one. The second was a mistake. I was going to a farm a fair step away, to buy some eggs, and I thought, I'll walk and take the dog.

Bad idea.

First, the farm is on a main road. Second, the road is bounded by fields, wide open fields where rabbits frolic freely. So I found myself in charge of a big, strong dog, hysterical with excitement, leaping, twisting and lunging to get free, while huge lorries thundered past inches away. Eventually we made it to the farm intact. More excitement: the farm's hens are free range, as in walking around in the yard, on the roadside, everywhere. Second, the farm's extremely friendly Newfoundland dog looks pretty much like a bear -- size, shape, fur. "I LOVE YOU!!!" he bellowed at Bertie from the end of his chain. "Can we go home now?" quivered Bertie, doing his best to ignore the Newfie and eyeing the hens.

I bought eggs, and we made the nightmare journey back, Bertie gagging and jerking on the lead like a lunatic, me sweating and swearing.

Tomorrow we're going to the field and that's IT. I'm shattered.

Did I mention the floor is finished? Dougie and Bob came on Sunday as promised. I'd forgotten about daylight saving, of course, so as far as I was concerned, they arrived at 7.30am. Bloody hell. Bertie was appalled at the noise, so we went out for a long walk. When we got back, the fridge, washing machine and stove were all in the hallway and there was even more noise.

Eventually the blokes finished, packed up and left. After they'd driven off in their van, Bertie went to the front door and barked VERY LOUDLY. Huh, they won't be back any time soon!

The house is still a tip -- I'm too tired from dogwalking to cart stuff back down from upstairs. OK, I carried a dozen CDs down today. Should only take a few years to tidy up at that rate.

I had a reply from the greyhound trust regarding Bertie's ear tattoos. Apparently if the letters I told them are correct, he's 18 years old! So I think I've read it wrong. What I thought was A is possibly R, which would make him about five. They're like cars, one of the letters represents the year of birth.