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The Prodigal Collie — 7 Comments

  1. I knew Sandy would enjoy that book on existentialism I loaned her.

    Your pipe is in your pocket. Or in the fridge.

  2. No. I tried my pockets, the fridge, the bread bin, the coal bunker and the attic [even though I haven’t been up there in weeks].

    Still no sign.

    I have gone around the area, changing all the little posters I put up, from “Lost dog” to “Lost pipe”.

  3. Which pipe was it?

    I saw a pipe on Wednesday, but its owner didn’t have a beard, leading to two possible conclusions:

    (i) the owner was you and that your beard is a disguise;

    or (ii) that the owner wasn’t you and that the pipe therefore wasn’t yours.

    The last churchwarden in our church used to do police style reconstructions to find lost things. It was very bizarre, but it did find my church keys.

  4. It was my brand new all-singing all-dancing pipe that I bought from Elie in Belgium [see – some good does come out of there].

    I like the idea of a reconstruction – I can wander up and down the road with a pipe in my mouth and the police can stop cars and hand out leaflets to job peoples memories.

    Most of Wednesday, I was in a drunken catatonic state on the lounge floor, so it’s unlikely that was me you saw. Unless you were in a drunken catatonic state on the lounge floor too?

  5. Say a prayer to St. Anthony.
    That’s what my Mom use to tell me. Nah, I didn’t listen to her either.

  6. Found It!

    It had slipped off the passenger seat in the car when I did a handbrake turn in the middle of the Main Street.

  7. I don’t know about the women you know but I don’t wedge myself behind the couch when I have PMT! Oh no .. I’m out there with all guns blazing!

    Noice doggy! *bless*

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