She’s home but haemorrhaging horribly . . .

Renault It wasn’t until I saw her, lame and leaking, in the corner of the workshop that I realised my trusty steed was a SHE.  Somehow, she just looked it.  And, like so many of the fairer gender, she had been taken for granted . . . 

Dogs jump in the back, teenagers loll over the back seat, climbing boots (mine, essential dog walking equipment) sit resting behind the passenger seat.  Baggage is slung in but she continued to support us every day without a splutter or choke of discontent.  She carried me to my destination in London on the 16th, despite having an asthmatic crisis and was happy to push herself to exhaustion and dehydration on the homeward leg because she was – no, IS – faithful and loyal.

We spent a whole week apart, only being reunited last Saturday morning.  Although fixed on Friday, she was kept in isolation overnight to ensure she had no leaks.  It was brilliantly sunny when we collected her, all dusty paintwork and decoration by seagull and it was good to be together again – charriot and rider in harmony once more.

She kept it together until we arrived home.  Once on the drive, it was too much and she began haemorrhaging.  How could this be?  She had new parts, the radweld had been washed from her vessels and water pumped freely around her system.  Afreezecolor We were warned she’d had a couple of shots of antifreeze and this can sometimes cause problems with the old waterpump . . . I thought you’d given that up for the Summer?  Did we put you under too much pressure?  Weren’t we listening to you?

Darren has cared for her in her drying out.  He’s a huge man, 6’6" at least, hands like dinner plates and yet so gentle.  He’s honest in his diagnosis of problems and obviously eats well . . . very well.  A ‘gentle giant’ who would care for her elderly frame and inner needs.  Rather like a vet delivering good news to eagerly listening owners, Darren told us she would be good for another couple of years at least!  And yet she was incontinent within hours of release . . .

When informed of the regression, Darren was shocked and saddened.  She’s going back into his tender care tomorrow; isolation is the only way to achieve the desired outcome it seems.  She’s being taken away at 9.00am in the morning.  For now, I’m just letting her rest awhile.  No point in causing her to let off steam.

Meanwhile, somehow I have to travel to Solihull for 10.00am on Thursday morning!  Any suggestions?  Oh, no, forgot to mention, the broomstick’s in for a re-twigging, too!   Would you believe it?

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