Animals don't need placebos!

Animals don't need placebos!

I Bought Rosie, the dog, a big bone from Barbara. Barbara has a bungalow cum pet shop a few doors down and over three hundred species in her yard. Chickens sit on the till. A turkey called Winston chases you. A host of mimicking lovebirds repeat the unrepeatable. Goats try to eat your children. It's straight out of Dr Dolittle and all rather Dickensian. She is this henna haired potty woman that runs an aromatherapy school for all types of animal. Her theory is " What can't talk can't lie" and unlike us hypochondriac 'herberts' animals don't have psychosomatic symptoms and respond much better than we do to holistic treatment.

Christ. Dogs will be hugging trees soon instead of pissing up them, eh? She is a sweetie but as batty as a box of frogs. She once tried to sell me a week old lamb for £18 so she didn't have to sell it to Sainsbury's. Truth!

Beth, my daughter, spends hours there and in her element. She had ALREADY named the lamb Susan and wanted it to live on the gazebo. Tears and tantrums. I was a murderer if I didn't save this creature from the supermarket shelves. It took me three weeks to convince her that lambs grow into filthy old sheep that will poop in her Wendy house and will give Bella the cat foot-and-mouth meaning it will have to be dipped in the pond at intervals killing the fish.

What kills me is Beth still loves eating roast lamb and simply states "Well, at least a fox didn't get it first."

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If you wish to use anything either text or graphics please ask permission