<$BlogRSDURL$>

Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"

Saturday, July 24, 2004

THE NOSE HAVE IT 

Dido had to go to the vet today to have her bandage changed.  She broke two metacarpals chasing a strange cat and has suffered a variety of casts and dressings and the indignity of a plastic  hood after she demonstrated her expert ability to remove said dressings.
 
The bandage was changed.  "Such a sweet little thing" cooed the vet.  "We have a huge dog in today - a wolfhound.  He`s enormous, but quite delightful.  A real gentleman."
 
Home went Dido and I, and in due course she asked to get out.  When she came back in, the bandage didn`t. I cursed greatly and trailed her back to the vet.
 
As I opened the door the smell hit me.  It was as tangible as a wall.  A big brown wall.  "Something big had diarrhoea?" I guessed.
 
The vet was fuming.
 
"We cleaned it up, but nothing gets rid of the smell.  None of us coud face lunch.  Bloody useless wolfhound.  I really hate big dogs......."
 
 
 
 
Posted by: Elizabeth / 9:12 AM
Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?