Once upon a time in a land far away, (November 2017, West Sussex) one man and his three legged dog went out for an early morning stroll. On route down an alleyway they came across a fence which had blown down in the autumn gales and was now blocking the path. The man and his three legged dog knocked on the door of the fence owner to offer assistance and the owner of the property, and fence, turned out to be a recently bereaved lovely older lady who was a tad distraught. Hence, the man returned and fixed the fence.
Eight months later, the lovely older lady was distraught once more as an unpleasant odour had manifested and neighbours, visitors and even casual passers by had started to complain. Not sure what to do, and worrying she may have a serious problem lurking somewhere in her properties drains she waited patiently each morning at her front gate for someone she knew she could ask for help … that kindly man with his three legged dog.
This morning, after a bit of a lazy Sunday morning lay-in, me and Papa trotted sprightly(ish) down the alleyway, followed by a dishevelled and still too early morning Mama sporting a toothpaste dribble stained t-shirt and accompanied by a little Cypriot chap, aka Mr Moussaka, when the lovely older lady rushed over to greet us and tentatively asked advice regarding the repugnant stench that hung in the air. ‘Was it drains?’ ‘Was it collapsed sewers?’ ‘What on earth could it be?’ She asked in despair.
Me, The Mousse, Papa and even bed head Mama knew exactly what it was, the smell of that scythe wielding chap … Death. Papa reassured the lovely older lady and said the problem was not drains but something a little more sinister. He took a quick look whilst me and The Mousse sat patiently with Mama, all trying hard not to breathe in, and promised to return to ‘sort it out’.
Disposable gloves and overalls, a shovel plus various other paraphernalia, Papa returned and removed the ‘item’ and all was once again well in world. The ‘smell’ had gone and the lovely older lady is happy once more.
However, we now have a heinously rancid dead fox currently rotting in our dustbin. God bless the large chap’s fly blown soul.
Oh, and today that Mr Moussaka also did a good deed when he went a visiting again to the old folk who overlook our little house. He was a very good boy and didn’t mind when everyone called him ‘Ruby’ and said what a pretty girl he was, and when an argument erupted over who was going to stoke her first little Ruby Rudy just patiently shared the love. As Mama and The Mousse were leaving an older gentleman said ‘what a lovely little dog, where on Earth did you get her?’ Mama said from a charity and 103 year old Mabel, who everyone assumed was dozing in the corner, loudly stated ‘it’s amazing what you can find in a charity shop’.
And tonight we have returned from our adventures in the forest tracking those pesky pheasants. Sunday’s are exhausting.
Editor’s comment: Sunday morning lay-ins are not acceptable and when Mama finally woke up from a disturbed sleep involving dreams of being nipped by a large crab it was in fact me nibbling her ankle. Because … breakfast.
Sub-editor’s comment: Do I really look like a girl?
CEO’s comment: RIP Mr Fox
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