Some days are golden; some days are s**t

Years ago I dreamt of owning a robotic vacuum cleaner that would just go about its work day to day, leaving me free to pursue other more leisurely endeavours. I did worry about it picking up the odd bit left lying around, like recalcitrant budgies, kids’ toys, scraps of food etc, but was sure the inventor-to-be of this miraculous machine would have all eventualities covered.

Well, my dream has become a reality – such a machine does actually exist now – and my husband, good man that he is, and knowing how much I’ve always wanted one, kindly bought one for me. It’s silver and black, and comes with its name conveniently written across its back: Stirling. How nice, I thought, the inventor loves him so much he wanted us to know what to call him – no anonymous robot for us.

Stirling has been working faithfully for a number of moons now. On appointed days, he rises early and begins his sweep of the house.

Some time after we acquired Stirling, a cavoodle named Ruby joined our household. She and Stirling have hit it off famously – until this morning.

I heard Stirling begin his work and turned over in bed, thinking how nice it would be to get up to a sparkling clean house.

Unbeknown to us, Ruby had had an accident.

We dozed on, blissfully and smugly unaware as Stirling went about his business.

Imagine my surprise then when I finally rose and a horrendous smell assailed my senses. I went to investigate and found Stirling whirring round and round, happy as the proverbial pig in s**t!

He’d spread it everywhere, all over the hard floors (thankfully not on the carpets) and looked as unconcerned as Ruby did sheepish.

After many hours, when we’d finished cleaning and disinfecting Stirling and the house, we decided to treat ourselves to a calming and relaxing walk and cycle down at South Kingscliff.

When we arrived at the beach, Ruby took off as usual, cavorting and frolicking between the sand and the waves.

Ah, happy days! What a joy it is to be alive and out in the warm autumn sunshine.

I gazed down the beach and there, in the distance but growing bigger with each monstrous stride, was a magnificent black thoroughbred galloping up the shoreline.

Knowing Ruby had never seen a horse and was likely to a) yap at it b) chase it, I nabbed her and held on tight while the thoroughbred, rider bent low over its neck, thundered past in a spray of sea sand and salt water.

How wonderful! I thought again. How privileged we are.

When the horse was safely past, I released Ruby, who immediately set off to investigate the huge divots the beast had left in the sand. I kept a wary eye on her in case the horse and rider should return.

But somehow my mind must have wandered – perhaps back to the delights Stirling and Ruby had left for us earlier – because all of a sudden the horse was back and Ruby was yap-yapping at its fetlocks.

The rider, good-naturedly, steered his steed into the water, and a wave swamped Ruby and gently rolled her back up the beach.

But that didn’t deter her.

She took off down the beach, following the horse, yipping and yapping to all and sundry about the Great Intruder on Our Beach.

Eventually, when she was a mere speck in the distance, she turned and realised she’d lost us.

Now, as you may have guessed, while Ruby is pretty, she’s also a bit short on brains. So she took off up into the dunes, hoping she would find us – we think.

Then suddenly she was back on the beach, then back in the dunes, then back on the beach, then back in the dunes … Arghhh! Stop, dog!

We finally caught her and, ruffled and certainly not calm, abandoned the walk. A cycle would be much better.

We unloaded the bikes and put Ruby into her crate on the carrier.

Then we set off, the wind flowing over our helmets and the sun (politically incorrectly) bronzing our skin.

Luckily we had only gone about four kilometres when Ron’s bike developed a puncture. Oh, blow! Literally. After much stopping and pumping of air into tyre, we finally got back to the car, grumpy, hot and tired. So much for a calm, relaxing day.

And what’s the plan now, you ask? Well, Stirling will be starting work later, once we know all landmines are out of the way. And Ron is fitting a dog-door for Ruby.