While Heather chases rainbows, Freddie does his job.

This post is an unplanned but appropriate — ironic? — follow-up to Tuesday's. On our various walks yesterday, I found myself focusing in one way or another on that one feature of the environment that Freddie can't quite appreciate in the same way: colour.

It started with this woman in purple and her matching pink cane.

Before I ditched my insulin pump and went back to old-school shots, that little pager-like device was always decked out in some kind of decorative "skin": paisleys, peacock feathers, roses etc. I figured if I was going to wear the damn thing 24/7, it may as well be an accessory.

So I had no trouble digging the colourful cane.

Ah, yes ... time to start decking the halls (though this shot was taken outside). I'm a scrooge for the most part, except when it comes to lights and music. Real music — not Justin Bieber wailing Ave Maria over the Shoppers Drugmart sound system. Humbug. (Now, where did I put my bifocals?)

This garage door is most uncharacteristic of the neighbourhood.

While Freddie did his thing, I tried to figure out how best to capture the vibrant "House of Brendan."

Here's the main house to which Brendan's is attached. Five bucks says that rainbow flag is his. 

Early this afternoon, Freddie and I went out for fresh flowers — a first attempt (sort of) at one of those real estate showing gimmicks. Paul and I haven't been bothering with such extremes, but the person coming today was the young daughter of potential buyers (who aren't in Vancouver), and I felt inspired to cheer up the room that would theoretically be hers. It felt less like a gimmick than a gesture of goodwill toward this 20-year-old kid who was taking on a task usually handled by an older set. 

Freddie is admiring neither the colour nor the smell of these flowers. He's stuffing his shnoz into the bucket for a drink (which the vendor said he was welcome to take). 

Here's what I got. As we were leaving home for our 30-minute exile, I caught sight of a young woman who might have been our viewer. She was wearing a hat that perfectly matched one of these flowers.

We'll see what transpires on the real estate front ...

Later on, as Paul was preparing dinner, Freddie and I went out for our early evening walk. I thought I might attempt some after-dark shots, maybe some Christmas lights. I wasn't planning to go far or to stay out long, however, so I left everything except camera, poop bags, and sugar at home.

The night shots need work. I knew that as I was taking them, but I was having fun.

Up and down the avenues of our neighbourhood Freddie and I strolled.

At first I thought this ultra-blue doorway was kind of weird, and then I remembered: WDD blue for November. Yep — I bet there's a kid with the 'betes living in this house. :-(

There wasn't much Christmas-light action going on, but this chandelier caught my attention ...

... as did the clouds over this house.

I'd just taken this shot below and was thinking we should head home when Freddie launched up at me with both front paws. I thought he was having a bout of crazies, but it didn't last as long as crazies should (1-2 minutes), and as we carried on he was glued to my side, eyes and nose fixed on my treat pocket. 

Then some symptoms hit: mainly that weird sort of lightness, as if (to steal my friend Céline's wording) gravity had been turned down a notch ... a bit of panic ... a cranking up of my internal thermostat and a shorting out of my brain. Well, I guess my brain had already started shorting out earlier, when it decided that leaving my glucometer at home was a good idea.

Fortunately, we were most of the way back home. I did have sugar with me, but I decided — stupidly or not — to hold off until we got back, so that I could take Freddie through the prescribed order of operations: proper alert (sit + paw), Heather tests, Freddie and Heather get treats.

I gave him a few place-holder treats as we walked/staggered, and as soon as we were back on familiar turf, Freddie was a flurry of proper alerts, projectile launches, and head butts. I tested — 2.6, ugh — then plundered Paul's roast chicken for Freddie's treat party.

Here I am, sucking on a chicken piece (to give it that extra blast of "low scent"), while Freddie tries to snuffle it out of my mouth. Yeah, I get my daily dose of dog germs.

My own "treat" was seed crackers with honey and a couple of Dex 4s — the perfect amuse-bouche before a chicken dinner. Not.

Hey, do I have any American readers out there? If so, Happy Thanksgiving! (But I really do think the date of the Canadian one makes more sense. ;-))