Dearest Diary,
I am quite uncertain what I can do for a most devoted hound who is in such sorrowful spirits. Would that such an animal could converse like you and I, I might have some inclination as to what ails her so. Unfortunately, I do not. I have only the ability to hold her and pet her and fetch a medic on the morrow. I am certainly aware I had talked of doing so today, but she has been a bit up and down so as to convince me it was unneccesary quite yet. I am as yet uncertain who shall accompany her tomorrow, though. It may have to be my mother if I am unable to detach from a particular occupation.
Of a more positive nature is the visit I shared with the American Mr. Seacrest this evening. The occasion was not only the conclusion of the hunting season but also to bid farewell to Mr. Cowell. He will be dearly missed. Although I am certain his reputation does not always find him favourable to many, I have a keen appreciation for his candor and wit. One might also detect a remnant of charm about him. I do indeed. I admit to being quite taken also by the many arias and chamber musics presented in his honour. I should most like the occasion to be repeated. Alas it shall be yet 7 more months.
Instead, I shall lie down that tomorrow might make haste...
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