Yesterday’s corner time: 3 Minutes.
I really would like a puppy.
Mum and Dad say they have enough on their plates looking after me and Becca. Anyone or thing more and they’ll be outnumbered.
Apparently, they’d rather end it all now than let that happen. I’m not quite sure what they mean.
Anyway, I keep nagging for a dog but so far, they are refusing to budge.
In the meantime, I’m making do with Becca, my sister. She has many natural qualities also inherent in our canine chums.
For example, she’ll fetch sticks, she urinates everywhere and if I’m not mistaken, she has fleas.
However, the scratching may have been due to the allergic reaction caused by the new collar that I'd given her. Dad’s friend, who happens to be a Vet, has advised that she leaves it off for a few days.
He also prescribed some flea treatment, just in case, and recommended charcoal biscuits for her breath. He was pleased with her coat and said she had a nice wet nose.
I’ve enrolled Becca at dog training classes next week and hopefully, this will instil some much needed discipline.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Potty
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Rumours
Yesterday's corner time: 7 Minutes.
I've heard rumours and they are quite distressing.
The word on the playground is that I'm going to have to start going to big school in a few weeks.
Initially, I scoffed at such a ridiculous suggestion but now I'm starting to worry.
Becca has had a definite spring in her step recently and my intelligence has been partially substantiated by a conversation that I overheard between my parents.
Dad was telling Mum how she won't know what's hit her when she has to take me to school every day.
Every day?
School?
School, every day?
If this turns out to be true, it'll most likely have been me that's hit her and she'll know it.
Matthew.
I've heard rumours and they are quite distressing.
The word on the playground is that I'm going to have to start going to big school in a few weeks.
Initially, I scoffed at such a ridiculous suggestion but now I'm starting to worry.
Becca has had a definite spring in her step recently and my intelligence has been partially substantiated by a conversation that I overheard between my parents.
Dad was telling Mum how she won't know what's hit her when she has to take me to school every day.
Every day?
School?
School, every day?
If this turns out to be true, it'll most likely have been me that's hit her and she'll know it.
Matthew.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Wood and Peace
Yesterday’s corner time: 5 Minutes
Sometimes, I believe that I should be sent to strife-torn regions as a peace envoy.
I’d soon whip them into shape and after I’d worn out the whip, I’d employ some of my tried and tested diplomacy.
In my experience, these situations can escalate very quickly and can soon get out of hand.
For example, when Dad threatened to pinch a piece of my toast at breakfast yesterday, I threatened to smear jam all over his face. Dad glanced around and swiftly armed himself with the honey.
We were on the brink of a nasty and sticky conflict. Someone had to step back and take the mature approach.
But before I could say a word, I found myself reeling backwards. A thick, gooey globule was trickling down my left cheek. I’d taken a hit.
I had two options: retaliate or offer the olive branch. I didn’t have an olive branch. I had a couple of sticks from the garden. Would they do? I quickly retrieved them and launched them at Dad.
They connected with the back of his head causing him to sink to his knees in surrender.
It appears that olive branches aren’t essential and that any old lump of wood will do the trick.
Matthew.
Sometimes, I believe that I should be sent to strife-torn regions as a peace envoy.
I’d soon whip them into shape and after I’d worn out the whip, I’d employ some of my tried and tested diplomacy.
In my experience, these situations can escalate very quickly and can soon get out of hand.
For example, when Dad threatened to pinch a piece of my toast at breakfast yesterday, I threatened to smear jam all over his face. Dad glanced around and swiftly armed himself with the honey.
We were on the brink of a nasty and sticky conflict. Someone had to step back and take the mature approach.
But before I could say a word, I found myself reeling backwards. A thick, gooey globule was trickling down my left cheek. I’d taken a hit.
I had two options: retaliate or offer the olive branch. I didn’t have an olive branch. I had a couple of sticks from the garden. Would they do? I quickly retrieved them and launched them at Dad.
They connected with the back of his head causing him to sink to his knees in surrender.
It appears that olive branches aren’t essential and that any old lump of wood will do the trick.
Matthew.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Anaesthesia
Yesterday’s corner time: 8 Minutes.
Becca has her uses.
For example, if I am to have any future as a world-leading surgeon, then I need to find willing subjects upon whom I can refine my techniques and hone my skills.
Naturally, if I can’t locate any willing participants, then the next best thing are unwilling ones.
Luckily for me, Becca always falls into the latter category. So, although she wouldn’t be my first choice, she definitely ranks highly in the list of prerequisites.
Yesterday, after my trusty assistant Max had strapped Becca down, we needed to immediately decide upon the correct levels of anaesthetic to administer before Mum or Dad overheard her protestations.
Quickly considering Becca's age and weight, I calculated that a No.2 Mallet should render her unconscious without any lasting damage.
A scuffle then ensued between my suddenly less than trusty assistant and I over who should dispense the improvised sedative. I was kneeling on Max’s chest, about to deliver him a test dose when Mum intervened.
The pain killing properties of a No.2 Mallet were never confirmed but there may be a further opportunity to explore them next week when I start practising dentistry.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Kill or Cure
Becca has her uses.
For example, if I am to have any future as a world-leading surgeon, then I need to find willing subjects upon whom I can refine my techniques and hone my skills.
Naturally, if I can’t locate any willing participants, then the next best thing are unwilling ones.
Luckily for me, Becca always falls into the latter category. So, although she wouldn’t be my first choice, she definitely ranks highly in the list of prerequisites.
Yesterday, after my trusty assistant Max had strapped Becca down, we needed to immediately decide upon the correct levels of anaesthetic to administer before Mum or Dad overheard her protestations.
Quickly considering Becca's age and weight, I calculated that a No.2 Mallet should render her unconscious without any lasting damage.
A scuffle then ensued between my suddenly less than trusty assistant and I over who should dispense the improvised sedative. I was kneeling on Max’s chest, about to deliver him a test dose when Mum intervened.
The pain killing properties of a No.2 Mallet were never confirmed but there may be a further opportunity to explore them next week when I start practising dentistry.
Matthew.
Related Posts: Kill or Cure
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Potty
Yesterday’s corner time: 6 Minutes.
Becca is currently undergoing potty training. I’m not quite sure why she requires extra tuition as she’s completely mad already.
For example, whilst on holiday, Becca developed an unnatural fear of snails. The merest glimpse would result in hissing and screaming. And that was just the snails. Becca would become virtually catatonic.
I don't know why they instil such terror but I assume that it’s not their pace or their penchant for springing surprise ambushes.
Naturally, I was very sympathetic and decided that aversion therapy was her best bet. However, initial results were not promising.
One morning, I collected all the snails that I could find and lined them up on the patio. As Becca emerged through the back door, I gave the order for them to charge.
Becca froze on the spot. Her stare fixed firmly on the line of advancing molluscs. She could see that she would soon be surrounded.
Three hours later, two of the more athletic specimens were beginning to bear down on their objective. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a shady spot to the left of Becca.
My experiment had failed. Becca’s phobia is now worse than ever. But, on the upside, I now have the garden to myself.
Matthew.
Becca is currently undergoing potty training. I’m not quite sure why she requires extra tuition as she’s completely mad already.
For example, whilst on holiday, Becca developed an unnatural fear of snails. The merest glimpse would result in hissing and screaming. And that was just the snails. Becca would become virtually catatonic.
I don't know why they instil such terror but I assume that it’s not their pace or their penchant for springing surprise ambushes.
Naturally, I was very sympathetic and decided that aversion therapy was her best bet. However, initial results were not promising.
One morning, I collected all the snails that I could find and lined them up on the patio. As Becca emerged through the back door, I gave the order for them to charge.
Becca froze on the spot. Her stare fixed firmly on the line of advancing molluscs. She could see that she would soon be surrounded.
Three hours later, two of the more athletic specimens were beginning to bear down on their objective. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a shady spot to the left of Becca.
My experiment had failed. Becca’s phobia is now worse than ever. But, on the upside, I now have the garden to myself.
Matthew.
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