Well, another pet has died this week, and so — in keeping with tradition — I find myself here once again. I have no jokes to make about it this time, however; it was Biscuits, and I'm actually quite cut up about it.
It seemed like a good idea at the time to bury him in the garden. Admittedly, it seems like less of a good idea in retrospect. But it's too late to worry about it now. Ho hum.
My poor little fella. I will miss you.
Actually, it's a good job I can usually write without a family pet having to die first. Otherwise there would be a lot of unhappy children in my neighbourhood.
Sorry, did I say "a lot"?
I meant "a lot more".
And by "unhappy", I, of course, meant "whiny".
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