No sympathy
Mum is showing us no sympathy and we’ve only got ourselves to blame. After spending all that lovely time outdoors I started the problems I was sick by the side of Mum’s bed at 4am. Yes, it was something I’d eaten. Who knew that sticks could be so hard to digest? I’m well trained, I was at least sick on the rug that can easily go through the washing machine. Oddly, Mum still wasn’t impressed.
The situation wasn’t helped when we went out first thing and Aristotle has completely liquid poo. Yes, it was also things he’d been eating in the garden. It turns out there is only so far you can push the whole rotten apple thing before a problem occurs.
Hungry
After or respective clear outs we were both pretty hungry. You would think Mum would double our breakfast ration in understanding, but no, it wasn’t to be. Ari repeated the pooing incident at lunchtime too. It meant he missed out on gardening in the afternoon and I was under strict instructions that I could only help if I promised not to eat anything. I was torn, but on balance I would rather be outside so we struck a deal. It worked out quite well as with the others indoors I was allowed a game of ball when Mum finished the grass cutting she was doing.
Ari was even more fed up as he had to help with the decorating instead. That was the point he tried to claim he was ill and should be excused. Mum wasn’t having any of it. Apparently when it is totally self-inflicted she won’t accept it as an excuse. I’m going to remind her of that one day when the same thing applies to her. She will change her tune then!
Love
Wilma