gullible

readers, today was something in the realms of blog-fodder. it all started fairly calmly (apart from a visit to the city of fear by the peeps) but went very much downhill later on. the peeps decided to take young dave and i for a walk to our local park. it is very pleasant and gives young dave the chance to run around in huge circles with a beer can in his mouth while i gaze at the allotments next door and dream of the days when herself and i have our own allotment and can sit and smoke our pipes there. or maybe i will smoke my pipe while she does the weeding...

as we approached the park we spotted a seagull. i am old enough to know that seagulls should be given a wide berth, but young dave, no doubt remembering the tang of dead seagull, found the creature most interesting. he was persuaded to pass it by and we went into the park. there were several of our canine friends there already, including a little jack russell called poppy who is a friend of young dave.

fun and games ensued, until poppy's owner pulled out a bit of rope and started to play with me at tug of war. i am very good at tug of war and was winning with very little trouble when poppy waded in and sank her teeth into my neck. it seems that she is rather possessive about her bit of rope. i let go and tried to look the other way, given she is half my size. but she carried on at my neck so in the end i had to let her know that there is only so much a chap can take. anyway, poppy's owner and herself waded in and pulled her off me. but not before poppy had sunk her teeth into herself's hand, luckily not breaking the skin, but still hurting a bit by all accounts.

the seagull was still there as we were about to leave so herself scooped it up in her coat and started round to the neighbour who rescues creatures. the seagull looked at her for a while as they walked round to the neighbours' house. then it sunk its beak hard into her hand. not very grateful really. luckily the opposite hand to the one bitten by poppy.

the neighbour gave the address of a lady over the back who rescues birds and a cat carrier to put the seagull in. herself headed round there, but on arrival found the lady over the back who rescues birds had not been around for a while. she was given the name of someone else who might know what to do by the person next door to the lady's house. as herself walked home she came across himself with me and young dave. young dave had left his mark in the form of a little pile of loveliness in the park and himself had run out of poobags, so herself gave him a poobag and her coat to carry in return for us dogs and the seagull. himself went back to the park to do the honours. herself neglected to mention that the seagull had been wrapped in the coat.

we arrived home and herself, having no hands free to get at her keys, banged on the door. my boy, having checked through the spyhole that it was not armed police, opened the door.

"what's that?" he squeaked, pointing at the seagull.

"its a seagull," said herself, pitching young dave and me into the living room and going through to the garden with the seagull, "can you get me my laptop, a phone and a bowl of water with salt in, please?"

it is a testament to my boy's ability to cope in a crisis that he duly fetched all these items without any more questions. herself set to googling the number of the seagull rescue place with one hand while soaking the pecked hand in the bowl. after a brief conversation with the seagull rescue man she had ascertained that the seagull could well be suffering from botulism, brought on by the rather unsavoury diet that seagulls like. one symptom is very green poo. as herself was speaking to the man her thoughts turned to himself in her coat.

to cut a long story short, the seagull had to be delivered to a veterinary hospital in a nearby town, where it would be given fish and checked over. as the peeps drove there herself reminded himself of a conversation they had with sally, the renal counsellor, only that afternoon. herself had been talking about the time when my lady friend phoebe had bitten two of her limbs when a third was out of action due to surgery. she had been saying that it must be statistically very unlikely that a person would have three limbs out of action at the same time from three different incidents.

"it must be statistically very unlikely to be bitten on two hands by two animals from different species within the space of half and hour," mused herself.

"not for you it isn't," said himself, "that is the last time i pop round to the park with you for a quick walk."

"well, we couldn't leave the poor seagull lying there, could we?"

dear readers, i leave that question hanging in the air...