The Good Lady looked at me. It was a strange look. Full of curiosity and affection, yet it had a hint of sorrow.
Her eyes roved my face and then upward to the bounteous and lustrous mane of hair on my head as if she were a Gibbon and I, her flea-ridden mate.
She raised a hand as if to shield her eyes from the glory of my gory locks or perhaps to pick a juicy parasite or two from them.
I still love you, BoomDawgy.
She said almost regretfully.
Eh. What's that meant to mean. You still love me!?
I challenged her with a toss of my mane that she had been so carefully admiring only moments before.
Her hand reached out and caressed the side of my head.
I made that strange purring noise that cats make when you rub some Witch-Hazel on their itchy arse.
I just never really noticed it creeping up and then BAM, there it was.
The Good Lady murmured, tilting her head this way and that as if attempting to peep through the deep dark gloom of the deep.
There what was?
I felt a dragging sense of unease at the Good Lady's odd behaviour, was this her womanly flow? Was she sailing the briny purple sea?
Or was it an age thing?
Would she soon be a drooling simpleton that I had to push in a chair to see the ducks on a Sunday?
Perhaps I should slap her flanks later on and see if the old filly can still canter around the paddock?
Your hair, of course. It's completely grey now. I hadn't noticed it sneaking up.
She interrupted my fey musing.
My hair is WHAT!? No, it's not. Are you mad?
I sputtered, grateful for once that I didn't have a lockdown doughnut in my mouth for the spitty carnage that might have ensued.
It is! It's kinda cute. My silver-haired man. Aw.
She smiled as if I were a puppy that had chewed a hole in her favourite cardboard box.
I grunted, slightly mollified. I could take silver at a push. Not bloody grey though, I mean what would that say about me? Women don't flock to the greys unless it's in a cornfield in the deep south of America.
Hmmph. I do have the odd silver fleck, yes. I will give you that.
I humphed grudgingly.
She gave me a playful punch on the shoulder.
Don't worry. Your hair was never my favourite part of you anyway.
She laughed, a tinkling throwaway thing.
It wasn't what?! Then what the hell was... Oh wait...
I broke into a big grin.
My sleeping giant? That would be your favourite part, hmmm.
I sidled close and nudged her with my hip as if she were an old cart I was attempting to push out of a rut.
HA! No, silly. You're sense of humour!
She smacked me on the bahookie, laughed louder and trotted off into the garden.
Silver hair? Unsatisfactory penis?
This lockdown is wreaking havoc with my life?!