Miss Best Friend hasn’t been having her best week ever, despite the appearance of Dr Biswell and Mr Wil. There have been what are in labrador circles referred to as Hilarious Vomiting Episodes; not the sort which result from self-catering ( a term of doom in doggy contexts) but clearly, the sort which result from having trouble with the basic Griblets Du Jour. We took the old coot to the vet yesterday, who thought that her new arthritis medicine (it was changed recently) was proving a bit hard on her stomach. Unfortunately, it’s at the same time, self-evidently terribly good for her joints. Miss Best Friend is an old dog, a stubborn dog, and a cunning dog, and she has a deep and profound aversion to being medicated of a kind more normally associated with cats. She’s not the sort of dog who’s fobbable-offable with a chunk of cheese with a pill in it. Cheese disappears, a thoughtful expression flits across the old countenance, then with a little sound of ‘ptui’, the pill pings off a kitchen cupboard. At the moment, the regimen amounts to: 1. Thyroid pill (small, acceptable concealed in a bit of dog paté from the vet’s). 2) Three squirts a day of Doggy Milk of Magnesia to calm the stomach. A horrid emulsion. You can squirt it to the back of the throat, but all the same, droplets of this substance can now be detected all over the kitchen. 3) Three — I think — antacids, at any rate, also aimed at calming the tum. 4) One and a half of the Palatable Pills which have caused all the trouble in the first place. Having previously been most acceptable, they are now tainted with the suspicion of being medication, and unfortunately, they are rather big. Thus we have eight hilarous medical episodes per diem. It’s quite tiring really, though not all of it will go on inefinitely. I won’t be sorry to lose the Milk of Magnesia. I’d never known dogs could spit.