Sunday, December 29, 2013

The Dog Ate The Log

You've all met my male staff's mad sister and her long suffering husband haven't you? She's the one that got a little tipsy on a plane and scared the living bush chocolate out of the total stranger sitting next to her by doing her world famous pig impression. She was sitting in the middle seat between her long suffering husband and the unfortunate stranger. It was one of those low cost airlines who charge you each time you visit the toilet and sell you cheap Serbian chardonnay in white plastic cups. After fourteen or fifteen cups of this delicious nectar she thought she'd surprise her long suffering husband who was trying to sleep by punching two holes in the bottom of the cup with a pen and then clamping it between her teeth so that the cup covered her nose and looked very much like a pig snout. She then turned to her right and snorted loudly three times in her long suffering husband's ear. Trouble is, in her befuddled state she'd turned the wrong way, startling the poor man sitting in the aisle seat who was just dozing off. Imagine, sitting there, drifting pleasantly into a dream about what you'd do on your holiday, when you are woken by a blond woman wearing a pig snout snorting at you from six inches away. Not unnaturally the stranger tried to escape by standing up. Being a good airline passenger though, his seat belt was fastened and he found himself strapped in next to the mutant pig woman. However, there was just enough movement in his legs to allow him to tip his diet Coke with ice from his seatback tray into his lap. At least this woke him up properly just in time to see mad sister realise her mistake, turn to her left and do the same to her long suffering husband, who, being used to such behaviour simply ignored her and pretended to be asleep.

Anyway, all that is by the by. On Christmas Eve mad sister, long suffering husband and a few other family members did the traditional thing and went out for a curry. Earlier that day mad sister had made the mother of all yule logs containing about four bars of plain chocolate and a bucketful of cocoa powder. This she decorated with holly leaves, berries and a dusting of icing sugar. It looked wonderful. Then just before they headed out to the Indian restaurant she put it on the table in the lounge and closed all the doors so that her two dogs couldn't get at it. You may know that chocolate is poisonous to dogs and coming home from the restaurant to find no yule log and two dead dogs under the Christmas tree may well have taken some of the gloss off the seasonal festivities.

So, yule log safely locked away off they went to enjoy their vindaloo and chips. Later, at the restaurant mad sister's daughter and her husband decided to leave before the others because their baby girl was becoming restless and probably wanted a feed and a change of nappy. Or it could just have been that they were embarrassed by mad sister's animal impressions. Either way, they said they'd go back to mad sister's house, do whatever was necessary and wait for the others to return home. An hour later, mad sister and long suffering husband came in to find mad sister's daughter and her husband on the sofa quietly watch the television, while their baby daughter slept between them. Mad sister then noticed that that the door to the lounge was open. With a deep sense of foreboding she entered the room. Mad sister's daughter had gone in there and left the door ajar. There was no yule log on the table, but the wooden chopping board upon which it had sat was there with a few crumbs and a smear of chocolate icing on it.  Laying on the rug were two sheepish looking lurchers, their long tailing beating a guilty tattoo on the floor while their eyes were saying "Yule log? What yule log."

Grabbing a mutt each by the collar mad sister and long suffering husband dragged the dogs into the back garden and shoved a hand into the animals' mouths in an attempt to make them throw up the chocolate log. Twenty minutes of this had produced nothing except teeth marks on the humans' hands.
 "Do dogs even have a gag reflex?" Mad sister asked long suffering husband.
 "How should I know?" He replied.
 "Maybe we should get them to a vet." suggested mad sister.
 "At eleven at night on Christmas Eve?"
 "Keep trying. Try to get your fingers in a bit further."
 "If I put my fingers in any further they'll come out of his bum" said long suffering husband loudly and irritably just as their next door neighbour who was putting the cat out peered over the fence.
 "Yule log." said long suffering husband by way of explanation and the neighbour nodded and went back inside, presumably to discuss with his wife whether or not he should call the police or the RSPCA.

Eventually they gave up and let the dogs sleep in their room that night in case there was an emergency. There wasn't. Both dogs survived the ordeal and one of them produced his own chocolate log on Boxing Day, complete with a sprig of holly and three shiny red berries.

Well, that about wraps up 2013 - the year the World lost Nelson Mandela - Madiba. We also lost Peter O'Toole, Mikhail Kalashnikov, Ronnie Biggs, Joan Fontaine, David Coleman, Lou Reed, Ken Norton, Margaret Thatcher, Hugo Chavez, Tom Clancy, David Frost and my pal Badger.

If you're not British there's a fair chance that you will not have heard of David Coleman. He worked for many years as a sports commentator with the BBC. He was utterly brilliant and could be relied upon to put his foot in his mouth on a regular basis with hilarious results. Here are some of his best moments.

"That's the fastest time ever run - but it's not as fast as the world record."

"Don't tell those coming in the final result of that fantastic match, but let's just have another look at Italy's winning goal."

"He's 31 this year - last year he was 30."

"He just can't believe what's not happening to him."

"In a moment we hope to see the pole vault over the satellite."

"He is accelerating all the time. The last lap was run in 64 seconds and the one before that in 62."

"For those of you watching who do not have television sets, live commentary is on Radio 2."

"The late start is due to the time."

"It's gold or nothing...and it's nothing. He comes away with the silver medal."

"There is Brendan Foster, by himself with 20,000 people."

"Forest have now lost six matches without winning."

"He's even smaller in real life than he is on the track."

"The front wheel crosses the finish line, closely followed by the back wheel."

"And here's Moses Kiptanui - the 19-year-old Kenyan who turned 20 a few weeks ago."

"This could be a repeat of what will happen in the European games next week."

"That's the fastest time ever run, but it's not as fast as the world record."

 "If that had gone in, it would have been a goal."

 "This evening is a very different evening from the morning we had this morning."

"He's seven seconds ahead and that's a good question."

 "I think there is no doubt, she'll probably qualify for the final."

 "I have the feeling she (Manuela Machado) is an athlete who likes to get away from the opposition."

 "Nobody has ever won the title twice before. He (Roger Black) has already done that."

"He's got his hands on his knees and holds his head in despair."

"Both of the Villa scorers - Withe and Mortimer - were born in Liverpool as was the Villa manager Ron Saunders who was born in Birkenhead."

"He is accelerating all the time. The last lap was run in 64 seconds and the one before in 62."

Boris' Bit
Zis jahr has been wunderbar. As you can see mein Englische is zo much better zan ven ich started. Now, ich vould just like to be offerink mein deepest sympathy to everyvun who lost ein lieben, human or animal in 2013. Der soughts of Herr Billy's staff, Herr Billy himself, Herr Baci und ich are viz you.


Sunday, December 22, 2013

Sandra Claws

Why on earth did Mary and Joseph decide to have their baby at Christmas time? I mean, no wonder there was no room at the inn for them, it would have been fully booked for the holidays. I have little sympathy with people who travel at the last minute at peak times and then complain that they can't get the accommodation they want and that what they can get costs an arm and a leg. I guess this lack of sympathy comes from having to listen to the strident whinging of my male staff, who as a reverse people smuggler (or travel agent as he prefers to call himself) has to deal with people who try to do this all the time. A week before Christmas people will ask.
 "Are there any cheap deals going for Christmas?" My male staff will sigh and barely resist saying.   
 "Not this Christmas you daft bugger, but if you book now for Christmas 2014 you might get something that's only 50% dearer than the off season." He doesn't say this of course because he needs the money to buy my vegetables and if he insulted every client who warranted a good insult he'd soon have no clients at all.

No wonder the three wise men had to travel by camel. All the flights to Bethlehem would have been fully booked. I bet they were cursing Mary and Joseph for not giving them more notice. Actually a drawing of the nativity that my male staff did for Sunday School when he was about five years old had the three wise men arriving by helicopter and what the vicar thought was the angel Gabriel turned out to be a Messerschmitt 109 intent on shooting down the helicopter, while what he thought were clouds were actually exploding flak shells fired by anti-aircraft gun posts that the vicar foolishly mistook for shepherds with crooks pointing at the sky. Anyway, why shouldn't there have been a helicopter at the birth of Christ? After all, it's no less likely than a virgin birth, though I doubt that as a five year old my male staff would have pointed that out to the vicar. Shame really because I'd love to have known the vicar's answer to that one.

Of course, we animals have our own Christmas traditions which humans are totally ignorant of. We all believe in Sandra Claws. Sandra is a three metre tall polar bear who on Christmas eve circumnavigates Earth in a huge barge filled with thousands of tons of Arctic ice pulled labouriously through the oceans by one hundred of humanity's worst animal abusers. Sandra visits all the world's suffering animals and grants them a wish. If the animal is inside a house she doesn't bother about going down the chimney (No polar bear wants sooty fur.) She just breaks the door down, hauls the animal abuser out of bed and dangles him in front of their abused animal before granting their wish. This is why many animal abusers either have no testostricles or walk with a strange, pained, limping gait caused by having a large, angry polar bear shove a bedside lamp up their bottom passage - often one without an environment friendly bulb.

So, there you have it. This is my third Christmas and so far I have not received a visit from Sandra Claws. I have received Christmas treats every year so far though, and I don't suppose this year will be any different. It will be the first Christmas I've spent without my pal Badger which is rather sad, but I do have Boris and Baci to keep me company. My female staff's mum has flown off to Sydney to spend time with frantic sister, so this year it'll just be us piggies and my staff. Little Baci is very excited. It's his first Christmas and he's had trouble deciding whether to be naughty or nice. Naughty is so much more fun, but nice might get him an extra slice of cucumber. It's a tough decision for a young cavy.

Boris' Bit
Bitte everyvun, you must all be havink ein glücklich, safe and peaceful Christmas. Do not be trinkink as much as Herr Billy's staff are likely to, and don't schnog anyvun you should nicht be schnogging in der broom cupboard at der office party. You should be doink zat beind der wasser cooler.

Billy here again. Now I'd like to leave you with a lovely Christmas tale written by my good friend Katy Page.
Thanks Katy.

Billy's Christmas Party.

It was nearly Christmas and Billy was sitting in his cage. Somewhere in the house he could hear his staff getting ready for bed which meant only one thing; it was nearly time for the Christmas party. Soon the house was quiet and Billy wheeked softly to Paolo the budgie who unlatched his cage with his beak and flew down to let Billy out.

While Billy waddled off to the kitchen to get the snacks ready Paolo also freed Billy's friends Boris and Baci from their cage. Boris hurried over to the secret door to the outside which most guinea pigs have in the houses of the humans they live with. He opened the door and all their friends came in. Billy brought out the snack he's been working on (and nibbling at if the truth be known). There were fresh basil tarts, celery sticks, carrots cut into the shape of Christmas trees and lots of other vegetable based snacks, including Billy's speciality - Green Bean Surprise. The surprise being that Billy had eaten all the green beans.

Soon Billy was greeting his friends. They had come from as close as the garden like Patricia the possum and Peanut and Pecan the guinea fowls, to as far away as America and Europe. He'd just finished greeting his local pals when he spotted his international friends arriving. There was Lola, Blossom, Mable and Clara from England and Puppy, Reginald, Gabrielle and Dobbie-Jones from America.

Before long the party was in full swing and everyone was having a great time. Billy was wearing some plastic mistletoe on a headband which was a gift from Puppy the guinea pig. He'd already managed to catch most of the girls, but was still trying to find Lola who was playing hard to get. Blossom had brought Billy some roller skates so he was zipping around quickly with the help of Baci who was towing him. Once Billy had found Lola and received his kiss it was time for the party games. The first game was musical cushions. It got quite heated towards the end, but Baci won because he moved like greased lightning. Next came charades. Everyone had lots of fun with that, although Boris found it quite difficult as English was his second language and nobody could understand his German accent. Then there was pass the parcel. There were lots of lovely prizes and the middle one was a very tasty treat, though quite frankly all the animals had just as much fun chewing on the wrapping paper.  Anyway, everyone won something and Boris got the treat in the middle.

After the games everyone pulled crackers and put on silly hats. Billy then handed out the little gifts he had bought everyone. For the girls there were little necklaces with tiny snowflake pendants and the boys all received animal sized silver engraved pens with instructions never to let their humans catch them using them.

By the time the presents had been distributed it was rather late and everyone was getting tired. Baci was already curled up asleep in the corner on a pile of cushions and Blossom was dozing nearby. Soon everyone started to leave. They all thanked Billy for a wonderful party and left little thank you gifts. Once all the guests had departed Billy and Boris gentle lifted baby Baci and put him to bed. Billy had just began tidying up when his eyelids started to feel rather heavy. He decided to have a quick nap and then tidy up later.

As Billy started to wake up he heard voices. At first he thought he was dreaming, but then he heard what was being said and realised that it was his staff. He must have slept a little longer than he expected to. His staff had discovered the party mess, and were both somewhat confused to find what seemed like tiny party supplies strewn across the living room floor. Billy smiled to himself and pretended to be asleep.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Qantas Zero Zero One

There has been a worrying development this week. My female staff's mum wants to be an airline pilot. It's worrying not just because she's eighty five, but because her memory is not what it was. It's been years since my staff have had the courage to be passengers in her car, so they have no idea what her driving is like, apart from the fact that she frequently forgets where she has parked and has to walk the streets for hours until she finds it. She doesn't really mind though, it's a good social outlet for her because she stops at every coffee shop she passes for a chat and a cuppa, and to ask if anyone there has seen a crookedly parked white Mercedes anywhere.

Then yesterday while she and my staff were slurping chardonnay on the deck I heard the subject turn to planes. My female staff's mum has always been fascinated by them and simply loves flying, so much so that my male staff offered to buy her a broomstick for Christmas. This earned him a savage glare from my female staff's mum and a bruised arm from my female staff. It was then that my female staff's mum dropped her bombshell.
 "I'd love to be an airline pilot." She said. Actually sixty years ago she would have made a fantastic pilot. She's certainly courageous, she quite happily gets into the car when my male staff is driving and doesn't even close her eyes. She may of course spend an hour praying fervently beforehand of course, but I have absolutely no evidence to support this. I must admit it made my fur stand on end when I heard her say this, and my mind was instantly filled with images of her in command of an Airbus A380 containing four hundred passengers approaching London Heathrow Airport.

Air Traffic Control comes on the radio.
 "Qantas zero zero one heavy. Please descend to flight level one three and maintain holding pattern awaiting further instructions."
 "Oh hello dear. Is that you Barry? How's your dad? Is his gout still giving him trouble? Can you say all that again dear. I forgot to bring my hearing aid. Left my glasses at home too. Honestly, I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on."
 "I repeat. Qantas zero zero one heavy. Please descend to flight level one three and maintain holding pattern awaiting further instructions."
  "Okay Barry dear. You sound busy. It must be nearly time for your tea break. Does your mum know that you're still smoking. You really should give it up, and you can't be getting much fresh air stuck inside that control tower of yours. It can't be could for you." Now, what was it you wanted me to do?"
Deep sigh.
 "Please descend to flight level one three and maintain holding pattern awaiting further instructions."
 "Sorry dear, you'll have to speak up. Did I tell you I forgot my hearing aid?"
Barry shouts  "Please descend to flight level one three and maintain holding pattern awaiting further instructions."
 "No need to shout Barry, I heard you. You're getting tetchy. Are you sure you're not working too hard? Okay, so you want me to descend to flight level three one, is that right? Wait a tick dear that can't be right. I'm already well below flight level three one. Are you sure you don't mean flight level one three? You really should concentrate dear. Anyway, I'll descend to flight level one three for you and maintain a knitting pattern. That's what you wanted wasn't it dear?
 "Whatever." Then there's the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, some muttering and a door slamming."

My female staff's mum turns to the First Officer. "Okay Roger dear, set the flappy things to fifteen degrees please."
 "Roger, flaps to fifteen."
 "That's right dear, that's what I said. Are you teasing me now you naughty boy? Call the tower for me please will you please Roger. Ask Barry which runway he wants us to land on. I think he's a bit cross with me at the moment for some reason. I must send him some of my date scones"

The First Officer gets on the radio and has a conversation with the tower.
 "Well, what did he say dear? I hope he's concentrating better now."
 "Barry wasn't there Captain. They said something about a terrible accident, apparently he fell off the tower. They're not sure how it happened. He's been rushed to hospital."
 "Oh, that's nice. I'll take him some flowers and grapes when we land, I'm sure he'll be pleased to see me. Now then, which runway did they want us to land on?"
"Runway zero nine left Captain."
 "Jolly good Roger. We're getting quite low now, better lower the erm......the erm......don't tell me, it'll come to me shortly. Oh look! A cow, and a man walking a dog. Tsk tsk! Oh look. He's let his dog poo on the pavement, how disgusting. Sorry, Roger, what were we doing? Ah! I remember...........the wheels, better get the wheels ready. What's the correct term? I always forget."
 "Lower the under carriage Captain."
 "That's right. Remind me which button it is will you. No, wait don't tell me, let me guess. Oh look that man nearly fell off his bike looking at us, he should watch where he's going he could cause a nasty accident. Oh Roger, we've landed now. Did you press the wheelie thing button for me while I was nattering? That's disappointing dear, that's my favourite bit. never mind probably just as well.

Boris' Bit
Ich haben never liked flyink. It's just not natürlich für eine guinea pig. If guinea pigs could be flyink everyvhere ve vould be nussink more zan bats.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Boobs, Shoes And Too Many Humans

Writing a fresh blog every week can be challenging for a rodent. There's only so much one can say about vegetables, herbs and poo before one starts repeating oneself. It's vital the we animal bloggers pull out all the stops to keep our human readers entertained week by week. We all know that humans have a very limited attention span and if there's nothing in the first  few lines to grab their attention their minds wander off, perhaps to shoe shops in the case of women, and more than likely boobs in the case of men. In fact I imagine that nobody at all is reading this now because it took me five lines to get onto the subject of shoes and boobs. If some smart human would only invent a pair of nice shoes to fit snugly and fashionably on ladies boobs I could concentrate the minds of 99% of humanity in one fell swoop. Meanwhile I sit here in front of a blank screen, pensively chewing on a piece of poo that I have just pulled from my own bottom passage with my teeth, wondering what I should write about this week.

Did you know that at the time of the birth of Jesus Christ (assuming such a man existed) it is thought that there were fewer than thirty million humans on this earth. Imagine how easy it would have been to find a car parking space. I believe that is about the population of Mexico City as it stands today. Now there are over seven billion of the buggers, and at this time of year it seems like they are all at our local post office whenever my male staff wants to buy a stamp.

Seven billion! How frightening is that? In 1958, the year my male staff was born there were less than three billion. That's just fifty five years ago, a mere blink of an eye in historical terms and as far as I know he hasn't personally added to that total, so don't blame him. How on earth can the world continue to supply all these people with food and water? It has long been thought that the next major war will be fought over water supplies - never mind oil. In another fifty five years the United Nations estimate that the World population will reach approximately ten billion. Imagine how far you'll have to walk from your parking spot to get your rationed daily cup of water then. At least you won't have to worry about going to the supermarket because there won't be any food. Climate change will have seen to that. Only the super rich will be able to afford to eat. Women's magazines will be full of photos of obese models dressed in the latest fashions, so that the average skeletal woman in the street will have something she can aspire to.

Did you notice anything interesting about that United Nations projected figure for the year 2068? Yes, that's right the rate of population increase will slow quite dramatically. Why? Drought? Famine? Loss of libido caused by the ever increasing consumption of anti-depressant medication? A decrease in the popularity of Catholicism? It doesn't really matter because by then the damage to the planet will be almost irreversible. There will be virtually no wildlife left because it will have been crowded out by the spread of the human population. The massive increase in cattle and sheep populations brought about by the need to feed so many people will have left many parts of the world dust bowls due to over grazing. The Sahara Desert will stretch from the Mediterranean Sea in the north to Zimbabwe in the south. The great forests of West and Central Africa will have gone the same way as the Amazon and the rain forests of South East Asia - levelled to make way for farmland and building materials.

Melting ice caps mean that many low lying Indian Ocean and Pacific Island nations no longer exist. Rising sea levels have inundated them causing their populations to flea in boats to become refugees, turned away from every nation they approach because there is not enough food, water or compassion to help even their own citizens. Australia is particularly badly effected by climate change. The southern half of the island continent below the Tropic of Capricorn is one enormous desert, while in the far north powerful cyclones whipped to a frenzy by warming ocean temperatures smash back to the stone age what remains of large coastal settlements like Darwin, Cairns and Townsville. The Great Barrier Reef had died by 2030 thanks to the warming ocean and poorly regulated use of fertilizer which is washed from the sugar cane plantations lining the Queensland coast into the Coral Sea by the huge rainfall delivered by the increasing cyclonic activity. Such run off feeds huge blooms of crown of thorns starfish which then eat every last square metre of live coral on the reef, while the silt washed down from the rivers kills the sea grass beds vital to fish, dugong and turtle breeding and feeding.

So called world leaders were warned about all this by scientists as early as the 1970's, but greed, corruption and short term gain got the better of certain politicians who dismissed the science as "Absolute Crap" in the case of Australia's own Prime Minister Tony Abbott. He and others either sat back and did nothing or actively made things worse through misguided policy choices.

If you think all that is bad enough, wait until you hear this. I had to go to the vet at the weekend to have a rock hard lump of my own poo removed from between my toes.

Boris' Bit

Heilige scheiße! Ich vish Herr Billy had not bozzered writing ein blog at all zis woche. Now ich bin sehr depressed und vil haf to haf some of Herr Billy's male staff's anti-depressants. Ich hope ich don't lose mein libido. Not zat ich habe any use for it at ze moment, but if der chance arises ich vant to be ready.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Flamingo Dancing

If you've been paying attention you will know that my female staff teaches belly dancing. Now she has taken up something called flamingo dancing too. She's not teaching that at the moment, just learning, but give her time. Before long she'll be out at Lake Nakuru teaching the flamingos to foxtrot or something. So anyway, on Saturday night my female staff's mum, my male staff, Boris, Baci and I were crammed cheek by furry butt into the Hyundai Getz for the ride to Palmwoods Memorial Hall where the flamingos were due to dance. The benevolence of Lady Luck never ceases to amaze me, and despite my male staff's best efforts to ram the Getz at one hundred and ten kilometres an hour into a variety of obstacles - trucks, petrol stations, cattle, police vehicles, we arrived at the venue in one piece, though Boris did have a slight bladder accident during one particularly close call, which involved a tree, a large Hereford bull and a fire engine.

So, while my female staff went backstage to change into her flamingo costume, the rest of us settled into our seats. I sat on my female staff's Mum's lap, contentedly depositing bush chocolate on her white skirt, while Boris and Baci sat with my male staff. Boris on his lap and Baci on his left shoulder. Being the smallest of us my male staff said that it was only fair that he had the best view and it had the added advantage of allowing him to wiggle his bum at the people sitting behind us. Then the house lights dimmed and Boris, thinking it was time for bed went to sleep. Not for long though because a moment later the music started. Now I'm not a great fan of music. My staff aren't allowed to use their sound system at all and I make my female staff close all the doors between the piano room and me. She is the only piano player outlawed by the Geneva convention. I've said it before - "If music be the food of love, I'm going on a diet."

My female staff, front and centre on the stage and not a single flamingo in sight.

This was something else though, someone was playing a guitar as though he had just consumed twelve tins of that awful caffeine drink stuff. What's it called? "Dead Bull" or something. It was deafening, and then a singer started wailing as though his testostricles were being assaulted by a pack of African wild dogs. Then the stage curtains parted to reveal, not a flock of flamingos as had been promised by my staff, but a whole herd of middle aged female humans dressed in what my male staff called traditional Spanish attire, with long flouncy skirts colourful tops and half a florist shop stuffed behind their ears. My female staff was up there too, swishing her skirt around and oh the horror, showing her knees! Naturally I was outraged and tried to reach up from my spot on my female staff's Mum's lap to cover young Baci's eyes. But he wasn't there. He'd disappeared from my male staff's shoulder.

It then became apparent that the stage was infested with bull ants or something equally bitey because all the ladies started leaping up and down and stamping their feet wildly and very loudly, while frantically waving their arms in great circles and clacking together what appeared to be half walnuts strapped to their fingers, so what with the manic guitarist, the yowling singer and the herd of middle aged ladies stamping their feet and clacking their nuts I was starting to regret attending this event. Then things started looking more promising. My male staff stood up and started howling like the singer. At first I thought he was just joining in to show his appreciation, but then I noticed a wriggling lump under the front of his shirt. It appeared that Baci had slid off my male staff's shoulder into his shirt to escape the din and all the stamping coming from the stage had frightened him so much that he had latched onto my male staff's right nipple with his razor sharp little teeth. Another reflex had loosened his bladder and the resulting deluge warmed my male staff's stomach, which was good, because he had been complaining that it was a little chilly in the hall.

Meanwhile, my male staff's agonised leap to his feet had catapulted Boris from his comfortable repose on his lap onto the top of the head of the gentleman sitting in front of us. He in turn then stood and glared at my male staff, who was still yelling while desperately trying to fish Baci out from the front of his shirt with one hand and mop up the hot pee with a grubby handkerchief with the other. For a moment I thought the man was going to say something unpleasant to my male staff, but when he saw the wet lump under my male staff's shirt he obviously thought he was about to witness an "Alien" moment and thought better of it. Before he turned to face the front again he plucked Boris from the top of his head and handed him back to my male staff, but not before my female staff's Mum had looked up at him and said to my male staff. "Ooooh look dear. It's Donald Trump." Then once Boris had been removed, "Oh sorry dear, my mistake." I wonder if we'll be invited to the next flamingo concert.

Boris' Bit
Ich don't sink zat der mann vas enjoyink havink me on top of his kopf, und ich sink zat he enjoyed havink to shake der poopies from his hair vunce he had handed me back to Herr Billy's male staff even less.