I've been robbed and assaulted. Jack and I were dozing in the front paddock, enjoying the sun after a weekend of snow and high winds. It's still quite cool out so there are no flies yet - in other words, a perfect situation in which to catch up on my rest in preparation for the big event. We dozed on for a while and Jack eventually got up and went to stand beside the fence.
I had my eyes closed, running through the speech I've prepared in case I'm asked to address the throngs, when I became aware of a certain disturbance in my tail. It felt as if it was moving on it's own, followed by a sensation like a pin being jabbed into it. I would turn around and - nothing, Just some birds fooling about in the distance.
Eventually Herself, who had been watching from the house, bustled up with her camera and said, "Sheaffer, does your tail feel...a bit odd?" How did she know? She pointed to a black avian with a sheen like oil on a puddle (one of those lower-class hoodlums who travel in gangs and steal things). It was in the very act of sidling up to my tail to pull out yet another hair! It seems the blasted thing was in search of house building material and decided I was some sort of renovation depot. Honestly. I'm not overly blessed in the tail department and here it was being removed a hair at a time. Can't even close my eyes these days without some sort of trauma.
On a happier note, I believe Jack and I have discovered that Herself is a secret drinker! I've always suspected her of having a weakness despite her protestations that half a glass of wine with Christmas dinner is her limit for the year. She was babbling away in the barn this morning, asking us what sort of champagne she should purchase for one of the baskets she is making up for the auction. It was a cover. She returned mid-morning with a bag containing a spirits bottle that may or may not have been empty, clasped firmly in hand. Jack and I peered through the fence and there she was, staggering toward the house. "Pie -eyed", said Jack gleefully. "Sloshed", I said. "Drunk as a skunk!"he said! " "Snockered! I said.
She noticed us and said "What are YOU TWO looking at?" She had obviously sped through the jovial and melancholy stages of inebriation and entered the beligerent phase. Either that or the large bag of Penny food and container of Violet washroom material, in addition to the suspicious spirits bag, was weighing her down and causing her to be testy and unbalanced. Jack and I are firmly on the side of inebriation rather than preoccupation with party planning and pet supplies. Jack wants to stage what he calls an "interference" (I believe he means intervention). Good luck, I say. Right now I'm just busy protecting what's left of my tail.