Thursday, 21 July 2011
We couldn't pry her away from it, until she collapsed, convulsing, moaning, and muttering gibberish. When she revived, straight away, she was pumping again, her face flushed, brow moist, eyes glassy. If anybody suggests she's pumped enough tyres for today, she snarls at them in a most unladylike way, clutching the handle, rocking back and forth, trying to bite anyone who comes close.
I've sent for the veterinary surgeon, to shoot her with a tranquilising dart.