On Saturday I planted some bulbs.
Half an hour later, I found that Jed had dug up every single last cotton-picking one of them. He had also gnawed a few. I’m seriously thinking about giving the little bugger away. Do let me know if you can think of any bad homes.
Most of Jed’s brain is given over to determining the digestible qualities of potential foodsources and figuring out how to get on the sofa without being smacked. However, there must be a portion of his brain – cold, manipulative, devastatingly calculating, chilling in its canine cunning, small perhaps yet brilliant in its powers of deduction and reasoning capacity – that, when he sees me planting bulbs, thinks . . .