Bertie's been in the wars -- he has a bad cut on one back leg, plus lots of little cuts and scrapes. It happened on Friday night, I think he ran into some barbed wire. He didn't "say" anything, it was only after we got home that I noticed. I called the vet for advice, she said wrap it up as best you can and get it seen to in the morning.

She also said I should let him sleep in my bed so I could check he wasn't licking at it all night. So after I'd bound up his wounds with torn-up sheeting and an old sock, I patted the bed invitingly. Huh? I lifted his front legs up onto the bed. I'm sorry? I heaved from behind (he is very heavy when confused), and finally he lumbered up and stood there wobbling, looking puzzled. You want me to sleep here? Oh, ok.

When I prised up the duvet and squeezed into the tiny space left, he rolled his eyes, gave a huge sigh, struggled to his feet and jumped back down to the floor.

He got a nice purple bandage from the vet the next day (plus biscuits and lots of fussing), and he's been very good about it, so he doesn't need a bucket on his head thank goodness. He's confined to staid on-leash walks, not riotous gambolling.

Another shock today at work: my card wouldn't give me access to the parking garage, even on a Sunday -- so presumably that means I've been banned. Huh. What a pain. I will definitely be getting a bus in and a taxi home then, courtesy of the company.