In the event of mice falling from the sky, we were told to buy cats. If the reverse happened, then we were to buy dogs. There was, however, no plan to cater for a storm of poodles. They fell like balls of cotton wool with teeth, yapping and snapping, licking and lapping. The populace fled. […]
For sale: lazy goldfish. Won't swim.
When our dog flew out of the window on gossamer wings, I dropped my spoon in my breakfast. He didn't even bark a goodbye. I shot outside and stared as he showed off by doing several somersaults amongst the rain clouds. Mongrels! You never knew what they were crossed with.