June 27, 2007
For the past few days our normally placid existence has been disrupted by workmen installing air-conditioning systems in the bedroom and the living room. Their task has been made much more difficult by the fact that Merlin, our Flat-Coat Retriever, has taken it upon himself to oversee and facilitate the installation. This he accomplishes by immediately stealing anything that has been laid aside for any reason – and transporting it forthwith to his lair, beneath the banquette in the dining room. Once there, each new treasure is thoroughly masticated until it ceases to resemble its original form and becomes instead something possibly dreamed up by Salvador Dali after too much late-night paella.
This artistic endeavor is not appreciated by the workmen who have informed me that the next section of copper tube that they discover so mangled will be forcefully inserted into the south end of Merlin’s alimentary canal.
I have tried to explain that he is a retriever, and that he is only following behavior dictated by a hundred years of specialized breeding. The workmen remain unconvinced and tell me that the same holds true for any tools which they find secreted beneath the banquette.
The installation was necessitated by the fact that my body cannot adjust easily to changes in the ambient temperature, now that my kidneys are not working properly. Since a system to condition the whole house would be prohibitively expensive, we decided to just create two areas of air-conditioned comfort – one in the living room, and the other in our bedroom. Obviously Merlin feels that a third should be established in his private domain.
The tempers of the installers have not been improved by the discovery that large-bore holes must be drilled through the ancient timbers that constitute the framework of the house. These massive balks, part of the original 1494 construction, have become almost agatised over the centuries and resist any form of penetration by such puny, modern, electric drill-bits. The shrill scream of the overheated bit is, therefore, accompanied by a constant sotto voce counterpoint of colourful Swabian curses as the oaken beam devours yet another carbide-tipped drill-bit.
With a bit of luck the installation will be completed by the week-end – and peace will once again rule in the Türkengasse.
Merlin has just ambled in from the bedroom dragging what looks like a yard-long spirit-level. He is doing that peculiar shuffle-dance that signifies someone is in close pursuit.
At least one of us is having a good time.
