We have trouble with Miss Best Friend again. She was sick last night, so we are hardening our hearts to Withhold Food For 24 Hours. For the last hour, viz., about 18 hours since she was last fed, she has been cycling in and out of my study door. I’ve let her because at one point her innards were definitely making noises. There was a vile early 70s pop hit called ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’ which comes whistling back to my mind every time there has been a significant episode of food related crime. I leave you to work out the connection. We are trying to work out whether her digestion is packing up or whether it’s a question of self inflicted wounds, and she’s not making it easy.

One Response to “Braced”

  1. Will Says:

    Clearly not the giblets. I hope nothing worse. My parents now have my two labradors (clearly traumatised from a broken home, now indulged by regular walks, meals, log fires and beds by the Aga not to mention the delights of munching rabbit droppings and rolling in deer s3%t). Hope all is well there. Said parents are enjoying a fruitful time having a new roof built, with all the joys of vans, cheery builders; as you can imagine my father is rather like a labrador rolling in the proverbial. I’ve still a foot in each county, deliberating, with some urgency, my next move; painting like fury and living on my wits. Love to both as ever.

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