There has not been much progress with my eye. It still weeps and causes pain, so yet ANOTHER trip to the vets (though this time thankfully without the added humiliation of the lubricated finger) is planned. This is infuriating, and it isn't even the original problem eye - it's the secondary one. However, my rage has been dampened due to an accident of even greater proportions, which befell my poor self last week.
I very nearly lost much that was dear to me. Yes, sweet blog, Little Jasper - my willie - was nearly sheared clean off by some low-lying barbed wire. Can you hear me wince, even as I type these simple words?
As ever, the accident was NOT my fault. But once again I pay the price. 'Twas ever thus. I was at Abbotstone, in hot pursuit of an agile rabbit. I was gaining on the supple critter, and close to victory: I could almost taste it. A sudden tugging sensation caused me to lose concentration momentarily and my quarry just made it to the safety of his burrow by the skin of his unnecessarily long and frivolous ears. I turned to trot back to my partner, trying not to look ashamed at yet another hunting failure, when I was aware of a hot, stinging pain "down there". Closer inspection nearly caused me to faint away. A nasty, ragged cut had appeared, which is only just now beginning to heal properly. I shall not go into finer detail but, suffice it to say, that had the wound been more than six millimetres to the right, I would not now be typing my blog, but instead a carefully worded letter of condolence to my wife Isolde (a springer spaniel). It breaks my heart to think of that sweet young angel having to receive the news that, although I survived, Little Jasper was no more. And that I'd probably have to spend the rest of my life weeing through a special tube.
My partner thinks I am being paranoid but I maintain that, as I crept gingerly away from the scene, the sound of many rabbit voices united in laughter echoed from beneath the unforgiving soil.