Excuse the magical thinking, but the cool change yesterday and this morning felt like we had been almost forgiven, somehow. The weekend was blisteringly hot. Bushfires are out of control in the north-east of the state and we folks in the city know it by the smoky haze in the air, the sun that shines bright orange, and the nightmares in the newspaper each morning. I can't help but think that we ephemeral humans really pissed off the planet and now we're subject to its rage. This sort of extreme weather is not part of the natural cycle, no matter how much Prime Miniscule Johnny denies it. Melbourne, the four-seasons-in-one-day city, is now stuck with erratic meteorological variability on a scale that has never been seen before.

I'll back down from the apocalyptic thinking now and head into my own cosy little life. Despite the oppressive heat, I went pup-shopping with Brudda and sister-in-law yesterday and came away with a winner. She's a sweet little spotty black-and-white thing called Clover. Here she is curled up against their other dog, Rusty.

There was a little piece in The Age's Sunday magazine by Sonya Hartnett, describing her relationship with her dog. Apparently I'm not the only one who's batty about their pup. "Every dog should be thought of as ace," she writes. "An animal lives a bright, honourable, rugged life. It lives the best life it can, and then meets death bravely. To know a fine and clever animal well - to touch its coat, to follow its thoughts, to see the world, even for a moment, through its eyes - is a privilege." It made me think of my grandfather and his dog Topper who had to be put down when the family emigrated because the military-trained dog couldn't be re-housed. Papa swore off ever owning another dog because the sorrow of losing them was too great. We've had many dogs in our family and when they die, it's unspeakably awful. But Harnett is right. The best thing to do, when you can, is go to the pound and find another.

I am looking forward to the Boxing Day family gathering that will now have as many dogs as family members - five. Bring on the bedlam! On Christmas Day itself, wholeheartedly reviled by this ex-retail and atheist grinch, I will have to pretend I don't hate it as much as I do because the Curmudgeon's large and child-laden family are schlepping down from up North for the festering season. My own family is small and always has been and I find large family gatherings very overwhelming. I might be doing a lot of hiding in my room with the dog while the Curmudgeon holds court.

Finally, I was commissioned to make another monster by the recipients of the first and I've been very slack because the baby for whom it was to be made is now weeks old. Whoops. Anyway, I closed the house up early on Saturday and it stayed quite cool inside, giving me no excuse but to knuckle down and make a monster. The recipients of the first one christened him Bob, short for Thingummybob... naturally this one is Jig, or Thingummyjig. And once again I'm reluctant to part with it. I think I'll let it hang around for a few days before sending it off... photo to come.