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26/10/2011: The Dog is Dead! Long Live the Cat!

I was weekending with my good friend Dimitri when it happened. The poor old dog, Sodov, finally gave it best after a lifetime of harassment from the cat, Tripova, and turned up his toes.

Normally, that wouldn't be a big deal as the hound had enjoyed a very good innings, surviving for most of the 15 years that Dimitri had inhabited his current dwelling. Likewise Tripova was of a similar vintage, but seemed intent on living forever just to spite all around her.

The real problem was the other house guests for the weekend. The great grandson of Gerald Quinnell and Hermoine Farr, Frankie was there with his charming young wife, Arabella and their toddler daughter Laura-Louise. The infant had fallen wildly in love with Sodov, who had a delightful nature around the springoffs of the species. All she could say over and over was "When can I stroke the doggie again daddy£" and "What's the nice doggie called£", to which I would always answer "Yes, feel free" to the first question and "Sodov" to the second.

Anyway, as it happened, the only way to remove the corpse of the unfortunate beast was to hide it in a blanket and carry it out through the kitchen to the front door, which I did. As I slipped Sodov's mortal remains into the boot of the jalopy, I could still hear the plantive voice asking when she may be allowed to pet the animal just once more...

Poor old Dimitri ran out of excuses quite quickly and settled on the one that Sodov was very tired and was having a long lie down. True in its way I suppose. At the local veterinary surgery, we got a fairly chilly reception though. We left poor old Sodov in the waiting room for a while until someone came through to negotiate his disposal. One of the receptionists came through and shouted "What's this and who left it here£". Naturally we responded instantly, "Sodov, Varkov and I!". Well, I was shocked at the invective that subsequently poured out of her mouth. Needless to say, it became necessary for Dimitri to find another surgery for Tripova, and we left with our ears fairly burning.

I always thought that the job of veterinary receptionist attracted such nice people too. I guess it is the exception that proves the rule.

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