My staff have other reasons to feel lucky too, apart from being fortunate enough to be chosen to take care of four guinea pigs. They enjoy the umbrella of protection that I am able to afford them from my exalted position in Piggy Paradise. I have taken it upon myself to see to it that nothing truly nasty ever happens to them, although there is nothing I can do to alleviate the embarrassment they suffer being governed by Prime Minister Abbott. They just have to wait until the next General Election for the silly bugger to be voted out. The "Big Guy Upstairs" (No not Clive Palmer.) has decreed that we deceased cavies are not allowed to interfere with the democratic process on earth, no matter how tempted we might be. Most of all they are fortunate to have so many amazing Twitter friends and blog readers who have taken time out of their own busy lives and have forgotten their own troubles long enough to send my female staff positive thoughts, healing wishes and a steady stream of prayers. My staff and I really, sincerely want to thank you all from the heart of our bottoms or whatever the human equivalent of that well known guinea pig saying is. THANK YOU.
And so life continues; my female staff's operation wounds are healing beautifully, though she has been complaining that it feels as though she has a large lump in her armpit from where they removed the lymph nodes. However, on closer inspection the lump turned out to be Baci. She'd forgotten that she'd hid him there to smuggle him into the hospital because she couldn't bear to be without a piggy for a night. Fortunately being a resourceful piggy Baci had had the good sense to hide amongst the hospital bed sheets when they come to take her to the operating theatre. Then when she was returned and plonked onto the bed by the nurse in an even dopier state than usual he snuggled back into her armpit again. A couple of days later when the "lump" had failed to improve she decided to go to her GP for his opinion on the lump. My male staff thought he'd better attend too to show his concern for his darling spouse, and anyway it was her turn to buy the coffee and cake afterwards.
They were ushered into the doctor's room where they were invited to sit. "Good morning." He said, ominously snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. "How can I help today?"
"Well," said my female staff. "Ive just had some lymph nodes removed and now I have this great big ugly lump."
"Oh dear." Said the doctors looking at my male staff. "I see what you mean, but I'm really not sure I can help you with that."
"No, not that lump. I know there's nothing anyone can do about that. I have another ugly lump under my arm since the surgery and every time I put my bra on over it it squeaks."
"Hmmmm" said the doctor rubbing his chin. "You'd better let me see."
Off came her blouse, up went her arm and there, trapped under her bra strap was Baci, his back legs and dangly bits hanging inelegantly beneath the strap and his head and front feet poking out from above it.
"Wheek!" He exclaimed.
The doctor took a sharp backward step, then composed himself.
"Ah yes," he said. "It's nothing to worry about. It's just a mole."
Eckskyoose me, but I've never bean so insulterated in my intyre life. Stoopid dokter calling me a moal! Do I look like a moal to yoo? Well, do I? No of coarse I don't. Moals are silly blak