...over Millie's recovery at the vet's. Today they were so pleased with how she's healing they wouldn't even take money for a check-up and a 7 1/2 hour stay, on the basis that they love having her there.
At present she is temporarily enjoying the thrill of not having a bucket (aka 'buster collar') on her head, as it means she can lick her front legs and bite her arse. I have to keep an eye on her because I know she's seconds and centimetres away from having a go at her damage. What she hopes to achieve I do not know. Presumably Mother Nature has an approach there.
(seconds later) She went there, so the bucket went back on.
Meanwhile what about me, it isn't fair. By mid-day I felt very ill, on the way home I believed I could smell vomit, though there was none (otherwise) apparent.
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puppets of his imagination
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3 comments:
It's better to imagine the smell of vomit than fried onions.
Does imagining the smell of fried onions mean you have a brain tumour?
well according to Dr Frank Reeves in a Matter of Life and
Death or it might just indicate the arrival of Marius Goring as the heavenly conductor.
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