The Fickleness of Fencing

We're living in a new 800sqft house which was very precisely chosen to reduce my "commute" to and from the office thereby providing me with more time during the lunch hour for walking and/or playing with the dogs. It's been six weeks now and we still don't have a fence which those of you who have dogs will know (especially in a small home) really sucks. Having to go out in the dead of Winter for three-dogs-worth of potty breaks throughout the day and night has become really old despite our efficiency at this task. Most importantly the lack of fencing has drastically reduced the number of times my boys can run zoomies around our humble lot, peeing on every frick'n blade of grass which they truly believe wards off all beasts of any kind and ensures their precious domain will not be tampered with.
The key here is that the fence is being built during the worst time of year on a lot that is two parts mud, one part rock and one part unmarked wires you can be certain you'll hit at least once. And then there's our trusty fence builder, a one-armed Scotsman who will no doubt remain a legend in my eyes for the rest of my life, but who also works unconventionally due to his super powered single arm and eighty-something years of age. It's not his fault this project has taken this long, he's the most motivated of all, but it has drawn on and on and we're ready to see it finished and the boys running around with wreckless abandon enjoying their wonderful grassy knoll. So I say to the Universe tonight on the eve of more fencing to come, please shine down your warm sun tomorrow and soften the earth on our special piece of Island life that we might have a lovely fence completed at the close of this week for our precious creatures to delight in.