Down in the former coal cellar, recumbent on the striated bedrock, there is a dead or sleeping mouse. Cute and small. Also inert.
Crawling or slithering up the tiles in the downstairs bathroom were two slugs, small and skinny slugs, pointed at both ends. (I attribute their unwelcome presence to the problems with the drain that doesn’t drain.)
At a particularly festive moment during dinner with friends on Friday night (perhaps while we were discussing Ted Williams’ cryogenically preserved head and the meaning thereof or maybe it was while we were parsing the old trope: “I have had an excellent sufficiency and any more would be a super abundance.”) the doorbell rang. CSB went to answer it and returned a few minutes later, with the dogs at his heels. (Did you know that Shakespeare uses to spaniel as a verb?)
Who was that? I queried.
The police, he replied.
No, seriously, who was it?
The police, CSB said.
No, really. Don’t make me anxious, who was it?
(I don’t recall how long this went on. According to bystanders, too long.)
It was in fact our local constabulary. They had received a call from a certain neighbor announcing that our dogs were barking and that it was too cold for them to be outdoors. CSB pointed out, as he often does, They are dogs. They have fur coats.
Also, they enjoy barking at deer, squirrels, raccoons, birds and anything that moves.
Continuing with our animal theme, St Maedoc of Ferns (a 7th century Irish bishop) could miraculously render invisible a stag being pursued by hounds. This terribly confused the poor hounds. In a similar situation, Daisy and Bruno would also be very confused, but we wonder if they would stop barking.
And then there is the virginal St Ulphia who silenced the frogs without aid of the local police.