lost sausage

Monday October 13th 2014

The journey back to Birmingham is inauspicious. It rains steadily for most of the way.  When we stop at Dinky’s I buy a sausage for Isis and hot chocolate and a squishy bun for me. I enjoy the squishy bun but manage to tip the hot chocolate into the handy carpeted well by the gear stick.

Just before we set off again I give Isis her sausage. She is delighted. But her merry chomping soon turns into paroxysms of rage. She is beside herself, snarling and snapping, twisting her safety strap into knots as she attacks a back foot. (It has to be explained here that attacking a back foot seems to be her main outlet for serious frustration.)

I guess that she believes some dog has stolen a bit of her sausage. We park in a lay-by. I can see no sign of any sausage but she is still furious. Removing her from her bed, I take off her sheet, open it out and examine it. There, tucked away in a crease is a fragment of sausage. It is about a third of the size of the nail on my little finger. I retrieve it, refold the sheet, reinstall Isis and give her the sausage fragment. She eats it. All is well.

But not for long. On the outskirts of Shrewsbury the engine is racing and it is difficult to hold the car back at the junction. I discover that the accelerator is not returning to its normal position after being depressed.

I drive the rest of the way home with an eye on the revs counter and a foot under the accelerator, hoping like hell we get to Kings Heath intact.

But Isis is oblivious to the perils of the road. She got her sausage fragment back. Justice was done. She is fast asleep.





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