Dog walking in pyjamas - I must be turning purple

Do you know that poem about wearing purple? I love that poem. Allotment Junkie has it pinned up in her kitchen. I think I need it too. This morning, I took the dog for a walk in my pyjamas.

To be fair, I was wearing boots up to my knees and one of the Husband’s big jackets, so there was very little actual evidence of pyjama, but probably enough to tell if anyone looked closely enough.

Fred by the river (and no, there are no pictures of the pyjamas)

First, let me explain something about the dog. Fred the 3-legged springer spaniel. The ‘3 legged’ kind of gives it away. He broke his leg when he was a pup and it didn’t heal so in the end it had to be amputated. You’d think a dog with 3 legs might take more care of himself, but no, not Fred. Not only does he continue to injure himself with alarming regularity, he doesn’t seem to notice, and would carry on regardless. We have a dog friend, Murphy, who will very earnestly and insistently make you aware of any war wound he is sporting at any particular time, but Fred seems to have some kind of mechanism that shuts off pain. I would say it was a mechanism in his brain, but I’m beginning to doubt that he has one. He’s been on restricted walking for the last couple of days after he cut his paw while we were out for a walk. This has not been good for the garden, the children’s buckets and footballs or the chickens as he has taken to running at them (they are in a big run, fenced with temporary fencing at the moment) and skidding to a halt into the fence, sending them scattering. He’s also been eyeing up the ducks on the river with even more interest than normal.

This morning, I was up and about early, trying to get things done. He was racing up and down the garden barking at me while I was hanging out the washing, not likely to endear me to the neighbours seeing as it was just after 7. His paw is on the mend, and it was clear to me that a walk was the only option. I was already kitted up in the boots and jacket on top of the PJs for washing hanging and bin putting out (it’s freezing but gloriously sunny this morning), and I just kind of picked up the lead and went.

I’m not sure if I should be worried about this. Does it matter that I went out in my PJs anyway? I mean, we’re not talking skimpy, but button up brushed cotton with spots. And is it a slippery slope to wearing purple, or a ladder of achievement, marking a life well lived, of setting a good example to the kids, and having  people to dinner? Some of the purple markers are already in evidence in my life anyway - I make the most of samples – I find a trip to the Winchester farmers’ market of a Sunday can keep the kids easily topped up on slices of sausage, chunks of cheese and all those crackers to try pickles and chutneys with, but that’s another story – and hoard pens.

Is anyone else purple? Or even slightly mauve?