You won't believe what happened on the way to work...
I've had some interesting excuses for turning up late for work over the years, but this week I topped them all. I had to bury a hedgehog. Beat that, if you can.
We had rescued him a couple of days earlier, although I use the term 'rescued' lightly. What we in all probability did was simply delay Sonic's impending death.
Sonic wasn't my choice of name, by the way. It was suggested by my 17-year-old son Joe.
Older son Sam, 19, mumbled something (he always mumbles) about how it was a rubbish name. It was like calling a cat Tiddles or a dog Rex, he said. Soooo unoriginal.
Actually, it was more like calling a cat Felix or a dog Scooby-Doo, but I let it go. My wife, playing the feminist card, chipped in with Sheila.
Since we were all incapable of determining our spikey friend's gender, why had we assumed it was male? We're all so sexist, she told us. The boys looked at me.
I looked at the boys. Sheila The Hedgehog? Don't be stupid, we told her.
We'd almost ran Sonic over just outside our house. I got out the car to move him along, but instead of scampering away or curling up into a tight ball like most hedgehogs do, he just looked up at me listlessly.
Over the next couple of days he became a house guest of sorts. I surfed the net for tips on how to feed him and spoke to a nice lady from the Hedgehog Preservation Society.
She suggested sloppy Weetabix with grated cheese on top. It sounded disgusting but Sonic, in a departure from his normal diet of slugs, earwigs and the like, seemed to enjoy it.
We were hopeful he was on the mend and - on his second night at Chez Oxley - we tucked him up for the night with a hot water bottle and a small plate of cooked chicken. . .as suggested by the Hedgehog lovers' website.
We awoke the following morning expecting to find a reinvigorated little creature. Instead, we found a stiff.
As we slept, our nocturnal guest hadn't sprung back to life thanks to our TLC.
There was no Sonic boom - just, presumably, a faint wimper and a final few shallow breaths.
He was as rigid as a board by 7am - like one of those wooden hedgehogs you see at garden centres for wiping muddy feet on. I let the thought go. Besides, he'd start to smell soon.
So I buried him in the garden, under the large tree that blocks my satellite signal. Now, whenever the picture on my TV freezes or breaks up, I'll stay calm and think happy thoughts of Sonic. . .
Hi, Ken! Thanks for dropping by my blog.
Aww, poor hedgehog. Though yeah, it's very interesting to use burying one as an excuse for tardiness. (Especially here in this part of Asia where hedgehogs virtually do not exist, hahaha!!!)
Anyway, I don't know what to say to you as regards blogging. I just feel my way through each and every entries. At best, let's just keep on posting whatever idea, mundane or otherwise, comes up. I'm sure you would have cues from the op-eds you do. Also, they say that quarterlife is pretty much like midlife in most aspects, so let's just enjoy the ride :-)
Keep your entries coming!
A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
I would like to see a continuation of the topic
One afternoon, I was in the backyard hanging the laundry when an old, tired-looking dog wandered into the yard. I could tell from his collar and well-fed belly that he had a home. But when I walked into the house, he followed me, sauntered down the hall and fell asleep in a corner. An hour later, he went to the door, and I let him out. The next day he was back. He resumed his position in the hallway and slept for an hour.
This continued for several weeks. Curious, I pinned a note to his collar: "Every afternoon your dog comes to my house for a nap. "
The next day he arrived with a different note pinned to his collar: "He lives in a home with ten children - he's trying to catch up on his sleep."
I cried from laughter
Sorry, if not left a message on Rules.
i cant imagine that was belived by the boss ...mine didnt believe me when I said my cat had kitten she said your full of "stories" sorry if her life these inconvinences dont occur!
That's a sultbe way of thinking about it.