Gnarley and Me

Brian and I went to the cinema the other night; Brian will see almost anything if it is Orange 241 Wednesday. The film was no more than Ok ish because:

1. The trailers had pre-viewed all the best bits.
2. Jennifer Aniston as post-natally depressed Mommy did nothing for Brian.
3. Owen Wilson's nose was even more disconcerting than usual.

The protagonist was a lovable but wantonly destructive Labrador whose antics served to re-inforce Brian's relief in having thus far avoided one of his two worst familial nightmares ie dogs and sons, the latter now being safely off the agenda for reasons too personal to mention. Of course, Sir William has not seen the film and had he known of its subject matter, would have been even more indignant about the curtailment of his after (daylight) hours roaming time. Yesterday, however, there was an uncanny re-enactment of one scene in the movie. As I was admiring a necklace just given to me by my very kind GF from Canada (once again sharing the sofa) and twirling it gently in the midday sun, a set of grappling hooks wrested it from my grasp and for the next half hour or so it remained jealously closeted in Sir W's bosom. Fortunately, as he is not a dog, Sir W is under no primitive imperative to put anything and everything into his mouth- quite the reverse - so the necklace (not his colour) was in due course abandoned and reclaimed by its rightful owner without resort to laxatives or latex gloves.

I have just discovered a foolproof method of getting rid of door-step pests: soi-disant reformed criminals, hospice fundraisers and yes, Labrador sponsors. Simply open the door wearing that day's CAB outfit (shocking pink T shirt and black tabard) from the waist up and wide-leg blue and green plaid pyjama trousers and baby pink mules from the waist down. A sharp kitchen knife and an air of barely contained exasperation are useful accessories. Just one look and they'll be backing down the drive claiming to have come to the wrong house - guaranteed!