Further to the post relating to my friend the fly, or friends, the good Caratacus posted this shaggy puppy yarn in the comments and it deserves to be up-front
“I am reminded of a story related by Mike Harding about a dog which joined his family when he were but a lad. It was only a puppy and the puir wee soul decided that the landing represented that place the rest of us refer to as the lavatory and would divest itself unsparingly whenever the need arose. Harding senior would shout and swear, pick up the puppy, rub its nose in the 'end product', as it were, and throw the poor pup down the stairs. This went on for a week or so until one day the pup hauled itself painfully up the stairs, crutch under one arm, patch across one eye and a definite list to starboard; he crapped mightily on the landing once more, rubbed his own nose in it and then threw himself down the stairs ... he thought it was a new trick he'd learnt.
Could it be that the bluebottle is training you?”
Regarding my winged buddy and my training, that would appear to be on hold as there have been no further sightings to date but sometime soon I’ll post regarding another pal who was visiting below the ground floor for a while and how I ‘encouraged’ her{?} to move on.
Quote; Lewis Grizzard.
“Life is like a dogsled team. If you ain’t the lead dog, the scenery never changes.”
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