At breakfast time,after checking the house from top to bottom,Wilf finally noticed that 'the font' wasn't anywhere to be found. He then spent the rest of the day giving me his most severe admonitory look . From the intensity of the glare I could gather that it was clearly my job to go out and find the lost member of the pack. What's more,as far as he was concerned, I was failing miserably in my family shepherding duty - the ultimate canine crime. The howls of delight when the lost sheep returned from Paris later that evening could have been heard twenty miles away.The rodent man came yesterday. The good news is that the kitchen, morning room and guest bedrooms are free of the little critters. The bad news is that the wine cellar and the attic are not. He has relaid liberal amounts of whatever noxious chemical he uses and will return in the New Year. I gave 'the font' the good news part of the message but omitted the latter.
Discovered that the term 'scapegoat' has an interesting religious connotation. In ancient Israel circa 500 BC , the high priest used to put both hands on a goat's head, confess the sins of Israel over it, and then send the animal off into the heart of the desert, never to return. The physical sin would be carted away into the wilderness to disappear forever. Interesting how 2500 year old Judean farming imagery still peppers our language.
