Thursday, November 20, 2008
the sense of humour failure caused by the seagull wing was nothing compared to what happened the following day. herself decided that young dave should be kept away from the beach for a while in case he found the other bits of the gull. so we went to the river. this is a lovely walk, with grass where young dave and i can indulge in a bit of silly running. silly running is a sport known particularly to hounds and involves running in circles at high speed, sometimes with the tail tucked under in a silly fashion. if done inside this is known as the wall of death, as sometimes centrifugal force leads to the walls coming into the equation.
anyway, there we were doing a spot of silly running when young dave pulled up sharpish and sniffed the air. before you could say "dave are you sure you know what you are doing?" he was rolling about on his back for all he was worth. at first herself did not notice anything amiss. but then something about the technique alerted her to the fact he was not simply enjoying the clover. she leaped over to young dave just as he grabbed what he had been rolling in between his teeth and made to run off. herself was faster and grabbed his collar. he wagged his head from side to side in an effort to free himself. the object in his mouth wagged around too. it was very flat, very slimy, very smelly and had a pink foot at each corner. herself held her breath and tightened her hold on young dave until he reluctantly released his grip. the object fell to the ground, revealing itself as a very dead mole.
young dave was placed on the lead and we headed back to the car. it was not until we were inside the car that even i became aware that this was a fragrance that took male perfume to a new height. or more accurately a new depth. herself obviously felt the same way as we had to endure the journey to collect my boy from his taxi with all the windows wide open. as my boy got into the car he buried his face in his shirt and shrieked,
"what the hell is that smell?"
herself explained. we journeyed home in a freezing, smelly wind tunnel. as soon as we got back, young dave was unceremoniously dragged into the garden and bathed. as you can see from the picture, he usually likes bubbles. but the pathetic wails that emanated from the garden seemed to indicate that he does not like them as much as he thought. after herself had given young dave a swift towelling we sat down to endure the usual galloping round the house, barking and rolling around that accompanies a bath.
and now young dave looks like a very fluffy bear. and it has to be said, smells like one too...