Hooked on fishing

Sometimes we should just stick to what we know.  It usually starts with the backpack. For a little dog that means someone is going fishing.  Well not me of course.  But a backpack means a ham roll, a thermos of tea and probably some Jam Fancies if he's in luck.  He was very excited.  They took off early on a perfect morning.  I don't partake in these expeditions.  The whole fishing thing is not for me.  I just know I'd end up with a fish hook being lodged somewhere creative.  I'm ok on boats but prefer something bigger, with an Acapulco Lounge and a ten piece band to see you off. About 8am I sent a text to the crew, 'How's the fishing?'  Usually a report comes back from First Mate Bennie (pictured) about how many fish were biting and how they'd like to stay out a little longer.  Instead, on this day the report was a little different.  It read 'bit bumpy, caught a few then First Mate Bennie somehow got a hook in his nose.  Just at the vets now, he's all ok, but his fishing days are over.  Home soon'.  The First Mate had a first prize nose piercing.  The vet said it was pretty common but mostly it's in the lip.  The hook was cut following a minor anaesthetic and he was soon as right as rain.  But unfortunately from now on he will no longer be the little Gilligan on this SS Mishap.  I haven't told him yet. He didn't even get to stay out long enough for his ham roll.

Who needs a truffle pig when you've got an egg dog.

It's a bold step to respond to anything that would indicate I knew about farming but I will say this.  When there's a report in the newspaper that eggs are in short supply in the local supermarket, I know why.  There was the reasons officially given which talked about supply chain problems, new industry regulations about how many birds you can shove in a phone box or something to that effect, but I know it's gotten cold.  And when it's cold my chooks lay less eggs.  They don't know anything about super foods, consumer demand, and free range is actually very free indeed.  Trends don't matter but winter chills do.  They're in bed before I get home sometimes and I apologize for a late offering of the dinner service.  They lay a couple a day at this time of year with one in the nesting box and the other, well anywhere really.  Lately it's in the old shed.  The one that is being held up by the spider population and when it's windy it creaks.  Or that's the sound of all the spiders yelling 'hold on boys, she's blowing a gale'.  I try not to go in there.  My ever faithful cocker spaniel actually goes in there and collects the eggs for me now.  He's a soft mouth breed trained to retrieve pheasants.  Well we're a bit short on those so he's happy to have a job to fetch eggs.  He places them ever so gently at my feet and gets a big reward.  It took a few goes to get it right and a few casualties on the back step but we got there.  Better than fetching a newspaper, what do they know about eggs.