Instead of carpeting the upstairs of the house, I had grass fragments removed from the dogs’ ears.
I can’t say I enjoyed the grass removals as much as I might have enjoyed having carpet to walk on. I had picked out a lovely stripy pattern that wouldn’t show the dirt, and was really looking forward to not slashing my feet with splinters every time I stepped out of bed on to bare floorboards.
But then Cydney and Poppy managed to coordinate the shoving of razor-sharp pieces of vegetation down their lugholes, hospitalising themselves just a week apart.
Cydney was first, dashing around the green outside the house and diving headlong through the frazzled undergrowth, burnt to a crisp by the heatwave, then coming out with her tail between her legs. She shook her head and held it on one side. I knew that had to mean at least £200. A quick once-over produced a near-hysterical squeal when I got to feeling behind her right ear.
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