It is said that I may have dug up something unspeakable in the garden and eaten it. This has to do with Mum finding me coming back indoors with a wet dirty chin and looking a bit hang dog. Ears are down - in "Yoda" mode. It is further said that I do a good line in "dying swan" ("just like Megan used to do") to get sympathy when I am feeling awful and my belly aches. Ah well, I'm off my food to a point - cat food and sweeties are still attractive, but the bowls of standard dog food remain untouched or, at least, uncleared. Tonight I managed half a bowl.
Dad's no help. He disappeared again for most of Sunday, off with his 2CV boys ripping chunks off their project car, Mademoiselle d'Armentieres. We got a brilliant walk first, admittedly, all round the blackcurrant fields (as were) but even so I feel a bit of a 2CV widow. Made up for it tonight when he curls up with Top Gear and "Long Way Down", 2 hours of relaxing on the sofa with Dad, 3 dogs and 2 cats. Mum? She'd snuck off with a book - not a great one for Jeremy Clarkson, my Mum!
Real-Dad, Hector finally got to the vet about his hedgehog scar, and is now on 6 weeks of antibiotics. First-Dad is dispairing, running out of cunning ways to hide pills. Our Dad has it easy,as we're all suckers for cat food at breakfast time. A teaspoon after he's fed the cats, hides Meggie's Vetoryl, and we don't mind that ours contain no "secret additives". First Dad though has tried old favourites like cheese triangles (Hector can suck the cheese off then spits out the pill -- pftui!), normal cheese, crumbling the tablet into ice cream , and even icecream with crumbled ginger-nuts. Hector's gonna be free of infection but 30 kilo's
Deefer
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