Friday 15 February 2008


Burst of excitement tonight when Dad gets home and releases us, and (as usual) we do the "welcome home" bit but then race off down the garden to see what's about.

We see a r*t dash for cover into an open-stacked pile of blocks, on top of which is an old concrete step. We are onto this in a trice, all three of us circling, sniffing, nosing, scrabbling and running round - ears up, noses down, tail wagging.

It's all happening in the old chicken run under the James Grieves apple tree. At one point Meg (old veteran of 30 r*t kills when the chooks were with us) is outside the run trying to get at the beastie through the wooden pale fence and the r*t makes a dash for freedom along the side of ther greenhouse, but H and me are onto him and get a few bites in, making him squeal a bit, but we don't have the killer instincts or skill of the Megster and we lose him among the fallen leaves, so he escapes back to the block pile.

Sussing out by then that the pile is an impenetrable fortress, he then stays put despite 45 minutes more of us patrolling, digging, scrabbling, whimpering and occasionally yapping, at which point Dad also got bored and wandered off. So did Haggis (lightweight!).

We never did get him out. We'll get him some day though, little blighter


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