This blog comes with a warning that it is not for the squeamish...

Even non-dog lovers have to admit Ned is a good looking dog. Hey I can say this... But look, because he is so smart, handsome, and gorgeous it's easy to forget his origins. Without being too snotty about this, he came from a farm. He's a working dog, from a proud line of working farm animals.
And as I've pointed out lately, that gives us something else in common, what with being workers with nothing to do....ahem, I digress.
It appears that the DEVIL finds WORK for idle Collies.

This morning while I was getting ready to take him out he started making a noise. It was as if he was trying to blow bubbles.
Pacing up and down the hall, blowing bubbles. This would be a new thing even for Ned.
It's not worrying me, because it's quite funny.

So there I am in the hall, down at eye level with him, seeing if he's OK, when, can I put this... he barfs up a half digested squirrel.

Yeah, you read that right.

Yes I am quite sure.

I made myself look at it.
Look at the length of the tail column, still attached, the back legs and innards have gone, but the front paws and jaw are still there.
It's mainly bleached white, but covered in what I'm assuming is last night's dinner.


And every time I look at it it gets worse.
The half digested squirrel guts on my hall carpet.
These are the times when you want your mummy - then realise You Are Mummy. Macy - it's you who is going to have to scoop and dispose of the curdling rodent remains.

The Nedster has been told.
The dirty paw marks and mud smeared across the walls are par for the course.
The humping of every blonde Labrador he meets is a dog thing. Amends can be made.
But the barfing up of half digested vermin on my feet. That gets filed under unforgivable.