Osama Bin Scrub

Actually it wasn’t a bad week, but the loss of Scooter was sad.

Last year we lost 3 of 5 pet lambs and were told by farmers that the loss amongst pets wasn’t unusual, as you can’t substitute a mother ewe. We had kind of decided against further pets this year, but following Cleatus’s lost lamb, Kate had asked I’d get an orphan from a local farm with the hope of bonding it to Cleatus. It was unfortunate that the lamb wouldn’t suckle as Cleatus looked as if she might be receptive enough to accept the lamb. However the lamb wouldn’t suckle and in line with Kate and my agreement, Kate became mother and the lamb became Scooter.

Kate was a fine lamb mother and Scooter showed all the signs of thriving, despite not having a mummy who she could stab with her nose and suckle from.

So it was such a shock when this week she went from top of the world to dead in the mere space of 13 hours.

As I left for work, Scooter was outside the door, lying on the floor. As usual she went to get up and make my exit awkward. However on this occasion, it was her movements that were awkward. Kate took over as I had to leave and despite and worrying hour, by the time Scooter had arrived at the vet, she was back on top form.

A mere £14 provided for a few days recovery for her and she was back in the garden happily tripping around. She seemed as normal when I got home and we only put her back in the cellar at 8pm for our peace of mind, as she was still happily on the trot.

So it was quite a surprise to find her dead by 9.30. We’ll never know what caused this, though the vet had described her as healthy example less than half a day earlier.

Moving onto a lighter note.

On Friday Kate rang me at work to say that she “was in trouble”.

Odd I thought but probably nothing to worry about.

Apparently the “police had paid her a visit at home”.

Ok, I’m at least listening to her now.

“International terrorist”.

I always said her eyes were a little too close set.

Obviously at this point I felt that my duty should take over. “I’m sorry,” I Said, “I have no idea who you are.” It was obvious we were being bugged and why should I seek to protect Osama Bin Scrub from the full weight of our perfectly reasonable legal system.

“Sorry the lady at the back has something to say!”

“Well yes, lady at the back, that is a very good point. As my wife, I may have felt an obligation to act in her defence. However I return you to her eyes. A little close set?” At this point I produced a photoshopped picture I’d prepared to help protect me from further trouble. I have to say that at this point the international terrorist I had known as my wife was on her own.

I’d always told the puppies she was evil and they’d always said that her smell, at the very least, most certainly was, so we weren’t too worried about life without her.

However, I’m a reasonable sort of a guy, so I thought perhaps I ought to at least take a second to hear “Kate’s” story. I could sell it to the News of the World for a bomb. Turns out to have been a poor choice of word.

Apparently Kate, or Osama Bin Scrub as MI5 now know her, had sold a mixture of citiric acid and bicarbonate of acid on ebay as a bath bomb mix.

Not really a problem; she’s sold this before through ebay.

However in the past she’s designed her packaging not to start leaking in the Royal Mail sorting office at Team Valley in Gateshead.

Even so far from September 11, it seems that unions will still jump on the opportunity to get everyone out at the drop of a hat.

And when I say out, I mean out. Apparently the younger ones had covered the best part of 2 miles by the time that the first of the 7 fire engines passed them on the way to the sorting office they had just left.

No wonder that the police felt they’d need to something special to surpass the efforts of the fire service. So it was that one of them turned up at our place shortly after.

You have to admire the skill and ability of our police service in being able to trace the originating address of that package with nothing more to look at than a light brown jiffy bag. They can’t have been helped by the confusing handwriting on the back of the envelope either.

Anyway, Kate found a policeman in the back yard holding onto Basil’s collar. I’d like to say that Bails was standing over his prone body, however it seems that he quite lamely apologised for parking his dog chew in such an inconsiderate manner and offered to help the young man throw Kate down the stairs.

Basil’s nothing if not consistent. He offer’s to help me throw Kate down the stairs on a daily basis, though it seems the policeman declined his offer as well.

As it was the youngster in the blue uniform wanted to know what was in the package, so Kate helpfully told him it was a mix for “bath bombs”, which the lad duly reported to his colleagues at the sorting office.

Apparently this was greeted by a brief silence and then an apparently concerned query.

“BOMBS!!!!”

You’ve got to wonder how far the younger ones got before the young lad at Kate’s end was able to repeat “bath bombs”, “they go in baths.”

In fairness, for all the hassle that Kate had to put up with, and the damage that the parcel suffered, the delivery was rather good. Though that may be because the police delivered it rather than the royal mail.

The poor lady in Cornwall who bought Osama’s package was greeted this morning by a crack armed police response team. Well a man armed with a slightly broken package anyway.

I suppose they have to check that the other person was expecting a package of white powder. Could be rather embarrassing if they delivered the white powder and then discovered that it wasn’t bath bomb mixture.

I told you her eyes were too closely set.