A Sunny Sunday Sandy Dog Face

Me: Nothing beats a sunny Sunday sandy dog face.

Nell: I’m impressed you were able to say that this early in the morning.

Me: So am I. You are such a beautiful dog, Nell.

Nell: You are very kind.

Me: Even though you were actually concentrating on my fish finger sandwich.

Nell: Someone had to. There were a couple of enormous Beefies just waiting to steal it.

Me: How did those seagulls become Beefies?

Nell: They joined the Plymouth gang. Stephen Seagull only recruits the biggest bullies and baddies so they are a thoroughly nasty bunch.

Me: Timothy is terrified of them.

Nell: With good reason. They particularly dislike turkeys.

Me: That’s a bit unfair.

Nell: They don’t understand the meaning of fair. They aren’t keen on flamingos either. Do you know they threw a macaron at Malcolm?

Me: No?

Nell: Fortunately David caught it and ate it. He said it was definitely one of Malcolm’s he could tell by the texture and flavour.

Me: Malcolm does make a good macaron.

Nell: That’s not the point. We need to put a stop to this behaviour. Timothy is traumatised enough without risking his life every time he goes out.

Me: I agree.

Nell: Time for a family meeting. Could you make sure The Cat is invited and ask it to bring its gun?

Me: I can’t condone violence, Nell. No firearms.

Nell: It’s a staple gun. This isn’t High Noon you know. We aren’t about to have a showdown at the High Chaparral.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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