Warning: this post contains many exclamation marks.
It’s hard to be serious about blogging, ladies and gentlemen, when the sun is shining brightly. So yes, I am still procrastinating. This is not my promised “dear-to-my heart” post, but rather my “fear-to-my-heart” post. When my adrenaline levels peak, I have my werewolves in London moment. I start writing very bad rhyming poetry. It’s insane. Thankfully the urge soon passes. Anyway, here’s the first line –
On a bright and sunny day, Fynnie dog went out to play.
Suffice to say, I thought I should paint up a board in preparation for my next mosaic project. This involved accessing my garage, and silly me, I left the dog gate ajar.
And into the dog forsaken lair he came
where mice and sometimes possums roam.
Okay, I’ve got that out of my system now. Anyway, anyway. I got a bit distracted with the painting job and forgot about the bloody dog. I thought he was just having a good snuffle around. But he was awfully quiet. At first I took that as a good sign. You know. No possum.
I called and called. Fynnie! Fynnie sweetie! Fynnie sweetie, you mongrel dog! I retrieved roast chicken from inside and opened the container to the breeze. Still no Fynnie. Until finally. Found him! Gulping something down!! Eewww!!!
And from the corner of his mouth, a ratty tail pointed south.
Gross! Much screaming. Drop it, Fynnie! Fynnie, leave it, you mongrel dog! Then.
John, John, John! I sprinted to my neighbour’s house
with my plastic bag in hand.
Have I told you how much I love my neigbbour, John? He knows about my rat phobia. We have an understanding. The rat, or what was left of it, appeared to have been dead for quite some time. Thank dog. Due to the possibility of the rat having succumbed from rat poisoning prior to its last meal, I carted Fynnie off to the vet as a precaution.
Doctor, doctor, give me the news. What was that in Fynnie’s spew?
Anyway, you can guess. Better out than in.