Oh (No) Balls

I learned that going to a supermarket passes as a school trip these days. It's called "From Farm To Fork". I imagine they take them to a farm to show them the animals, eggs, milk, wheat, corn, etc and then they take them to the supermarket to see the food being sold. They probably leave out the visit to the abottoir where the animals get slaughtered and the visit to the factories where they process the food so much they have a cheek to actually call it food. Which is a shame, if you ask me, 'cause that's where the real education lies.

Last week I came home from my course to learn that Ziggy had visited my sister in work. I was a little perplexed as to how he managed this considering he'd been four miles away from Z's workplace. At first I thought he'd walked it. And I guess I might have been guilty of thinking that he, somehow, magically knew where Z worked and had purposely gone to visit her. I know he's clever but I think that was a stretch too far. No, he'd taken a dander down the busy road and some kind person picked him up and took him to the dog warden. I have the Twits next door to thank for putting in that noise complaint about him and prompting me to get him micro-chipped and licenced. The dog warden put two and two together and let my sister know that Ziggy was there. Apparently he could have been re-homed 10 times over. Not if they knew the rascality that lay behind that fluffy face. My poor mum was frantic with worry but he'd never strayed before so it was unexpected.

He's cost himself his balls though. Getting him neutred should, hopefully, put the scunging out of him. We've lost enough beloved pets on that busy road. We have an extensive pet cemetry. And a tree house. And a back lane that leads to woods. I am starting to get one of my fanciful notions. Nellybert's would make a perfect set for a horror movie, or a haunted house tour. The real thrill of the night, of course, would be getting a peek up into the attic to catch a glimpse of the dreaded Squashy Face Tomato Man.