We might as well dance .

After two weeks of solid , uninterrupted sleep , a rough night . Trips outside every hour and a half . His water bowl filled up to the brim when we go to bed, again at two am and again at five . Drained down to the very bottom each time . It seems that after a four month long intermission the manic diabetic thirst has decided to return . No change in diet , no change in routine, maybe its ' the fonts ' absence ? More likely a complaint about the rapidly falling standard of cuisine . With Angus in charge of the kitchen he's now onto plain kibbles .

This morning the lady at the bakery leaves the cash till, wanders round to the street door and gives him some slivers of flaky pastry . Wilf perks up as the crunchy delight is gently fed to him . The rest of the queue have to stand and wait while this happens. The bakers wife scratches his chin and tells him that he's a ' p'tit chouchou ' . In return Wilf gives her his best old charmer look . He goes through life with the attitude that there might always be just a little bit more . He's often proved right .

That old Japanese proverb comes to mind : " We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance " .