Good Golly Miss Molly!

Winston was wandering around like a little lost soul, wondering why he wasn't being told off.  He then decided that he should challenge Fearghus for dominance.  And, as I wrote, the house was empty.

So the hunt was on for a successor.  It was always going to happen, it just got escalated.

Meet Miss Molly. She's a Bullmastiff, in the traditional brindle that hid them from poachers.  At almost 11 weeks, she joined our household and Winston is finding out that payback really is a bitch...

He might be muscling in on her bed BUT she just walks off with his toys, tells him off when he plays a bit too rough for her (she initiates the games), and boldly takes over his bed.  She chews on him the exact way he used to chew on Fearghus.  The flip side is that she believes everything he tells her - like it's fine to chew on rugs, furniture, the wolfhound's tail, to urinate inside if it's cold outside (it's winter, of course it's cold!), to chew on clothes, books, the fig tree.  To bring sticks inside and chew on them.  To bring dead globe artichoke heads inside and scatter leaves and choke all over the place.  I've told Molly that Winston tells porkies, but she doesn't believe me.

Molly has been taking apples that Fearghus has dropped and eats them.  Great, I now have two apple fiends in the household.

 Bonnie is back home, in her green pottery urn.  It is comforting to have her home again, and to have the wheel turn and Molly here.

The Queen is dead, long live the Queen.