Just before Christmas day, I became aware of a very definite pong in the air.
Naturally, having checked the soles of my shoes, I looked accusingly at Lola, my fairly recently re-homed dog. (Maltese X Chihuahua.)
She had not been house trained when she arrived, and maybe I was wrong to believe that she was making great strides with her regular comfort breaks.
She gave me her best, ‘No, not me Guv!’ look, but could I really believe her?
Where could the source of that pong be? It seemed to have the ability to drift languidly from room to room. The last straw was when it appeared in the bedroom.
I emptied the linen basket, thinking that a slowly moldering flannel was lurking at the bottom, but nothing there.
Now. My dear OH can get from the bedroom to the loo, with a little support from me, using one of those triangular wheeled walkers.
You know; the ones with a waterproof bag in which he could keep small objects?
You’re ahead of me aren’t you?
The walker toppled over as my husband, ‘Sat On’ and two giant, slightly fossilized poos rolled out from the pocket, and onto the floor - leering at me.
It was all slightly biblical – remember Ruth’s stirring declaration to her Mother in Law: ‘Wither thou go-est, there go I also.’
Well, wither Mike’s walker went, there went the pong also.
It was Alimentary my dear Watson.
Naturally, having checked the soles of my shoes, I looked accusingly at Lola, my fairly recently re-homed dog. (Maltese X Chihuahua.)
She had not been house trained when she arrived, and maybe I was wrong to believe that she was making great strides with her regular comfort breaks.
She gave me her best, ‘No, not me Guv!’ look, but could I really believe her?
Where could the source of that pong be? It seemed to have the ability to drift languidly from room to room. The last straw was when it appeared in the bedroom.
I emptied the linen basket, thinking that a slowly moldering flannel was lurking at the bottom, but nothing there.
Now. My dear OH can get from the bedroom to the loo, with a little support from me, using one of those triangular wheeled walkers.
You know; the ones with a waterproof bag in which he could keep small objects?
You’re ahead of me aren’t you?
The walker toppled over as my husband, ‘Sat On’ and two giant, slightly fossilized poos rolled out from the pocket, and onto the floor - leering at me.
It was all slightly biblical – remember Ruth’s stirring declaration to her Mother in Law: ‘Wither thou go-est, there go I also.’
Well, wither Mike’s walker went, there went the pong also.
It was Alimentary my dear Watson.
Poor Lola must have breathed a sigh of relief when the truth (or should that be the poo) came out
