One snowy, shivering, Siberian sunset, I discovered Dainty Daphne lying frozen on our deck. So, I quickly brought her inside to rest and recuperate, snug as a bug, on my soft sheepskin rug.
Well, what a blistering brouhaha blows at breakfast time with mammy running up and down like a fiddler’s elbow screaming, “Da come quick, that horrible heathen hound has gone and murdered baby Bambi!”
Granda ‘mad as a ‘box of frogs’ grabs his shotgun but luckily forgets where he hid the cartridges.
