We got back today after a few days away enjoying the lovely Spring weather (hah!) to find my brother had sent us a photograph he'd found in his old collections which he thought we might like.
I have to tell him that Mr Murph got to this picture first with this post from June 2006:
Turncoat Tibetan - Mr Mr Murph the Labrador Cross
”What about Rabbits then?”, I ask.
It was a wet Monday morning and Mr P and Mrs Rine had gone their separate ways to work with the common expression of somebody who has lost Johnny Walker and found Chris Evans.
We are updating our all-time-hate lists as I lounge nonchalantly on the sofa and Oz curls comfortably in the chair. Mr P’s web-cam, which he thinks shows us inert on our ﬂoor baskets when he checks from work, is actually a still loop which I managed to insert in his refresh cycle. Ha!
”I would promote rabbits to No.2, quite frankly” declares Oz with that conceited public school air he puts on when he is feeling particularly pleased with himself. ”They have those awful Dwaine Dibley teeth, big feet and live in holes in the ground”.
”OK”, I concede. ”But what of your squirrel then?”.
”A close third” he opines. ”Tree Rats, or Sciurus caroliniensis. Very smelly with a propensity to shin up trees and throw nuts at us”.
”But we’re agreed on cats though?”.
”Ugh!” he shudders. ”Cats are the devil incarnate. Feline ﬁends, Moggy Murderers, Catty ....”.
”Catastrophes?” I volunteer as his alliterative abilities admit admonishment.
”I hate them!” , he growls. ”They are deﬁnitely number 1!”.
”OK Patrick Mcgoohan”, I drawl in my nonchalant labrador way. ”What, may I ask, is this then?!”
I produce this photograph, reproduced from an email from Mr P’s brother, with whom Oz used to live.
It would not be more shocking had it depicted George Bush with his arm round Bin Laden’s shoulder
raising a tin of Budweiser in mutual companionship.
”That’s not a cat!” he huffs and blusters. ”That’s Daisy!”.
I raise an ironic eyebrow and go back to sleep.