Now if I’d have been trying to break the shed window, I’d have probably hit the cat. Even that didn’t really cause my downfall – it was the swearing that followed it that did that. If the new neighbours hadn’t heard me already through the kitchen wall, I’ve have been very surprised it they didn’t hear me chasing the cat down the garden. I have a very wide vocabulary when it comes to swear words, and I was well and truly pissed off with the cat. She dropped the bird and shot over the fence. I picked the bird up and the sodding thing died in my hand. Talk about ungrateful. Himself was far from happy with my language and insisted we go upstairs - where his hand had a fair few well chosen words with my backside.
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That’s the trouble with animals – they rarely understand that you’re trying to rescue them. It was just same with the crow – yes that's right, a few years ago I helped save one of those. We had a ginger tom at the time which unfortunately got killed by a car, but that’s another story and I’m not going into it now. Anyway, I went up the garden to let the ducks out one morning and found the cat and crow in the duck run. The crow was putting up a good fight and the cat decided that it would be better to wash himself instead. Now in case you don’t know, crows are fairly big birds and this one had hurt its wing. Not broken, but it was causing him a few problem with its take off. So being the kind hearted person that I am – I decided the best thing to do was carry it to the field and put it in the hedge. That was fine in principle, what I hadn’t taken into account was the fact that the bird didn’t recognise me as its saviour. As I picked it up, it stuck it’s claws into my hand and attached its beak to my finger – and I can tell you now it drew blood. Lots of blood, and it bloody hurt – but I’m nothing if not determined. I was rescuing the flipping thing it whether it like it or not – so with it still attached to my hand I walked across the road to the field and set it free. I then went home, washed the blood from my hand and stuck a plaster on it. It made everyone laugh at work – notice I said laugh and not surprised. They know me well. I was the one that went into the workshops everyday over Christmas the one year to feed and water a pigeon that had flown inside and refused to come out. Which it did enventually do, the first day all the kids came back - the holiday was over as far as it was concerned. Simon, our first aider, asked when was the last time I’d had a tetanus injection? How the hell did I know, years ago probably. Well I should go and get one, he said. Nah...I’d be fine – I don’t like injections - who does? But he kept going on and on about it, so in the end I agreed to ring the doctors and check with them. I explained to the lady on reception what had happened. I could hear her telling someone else in the background – who was laughing by the way, what had happened. She came back to the phone – Yes, I did need to come in for a tetanus injection. I could come straight away if I wanted. I didn’t want to at all, but anything to shut Simon up, I just insisted that he come with me – I then made him hold my hand while the nurse put the needle in my arm and I can tell you now I gripped his hand very tightly – that would teach the bugger to think he was the male version of Florence Nightingale.
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It took ages to get into work today - there was a major gas leak in town and the roads were in gridlock - everyone trickled in late. We all rely on cars to much I'm afraid. Not that we have much choice, the public transport around here is awful. Oh well, back to it I suppose.
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