Thoughts on Gold Foil Stuck to Noses

I have been more than a little charitable to The Owner during his recent "Medical Problems". I am not drawing any conclusions from his experiences and his palpitations occurring shortly after the arrival of his new medical dictionary! There is also a section I have noticed at the back on K9 ailments, which he is reading at the moment, amidst periodic glances in my direction over the top of his glasses (more of which later I am sure), accompanied by the occasional episode of K9 manhandling as he prods and pokes his way to disproving a further life affecting K9 affliction. Look, I am healthy!!! OK?!?!?!? I will of course draw no inference from the fact that the K9 section is at the back! However, after this morning, my formerly charitable feeling of "bon homme" has evaporated. Last night, he was drinking beer from bottles with funny corks in which he delights in firing around the room whilst trying to see how many times he can bounce them off walls, ceilings and other furniture and still hit me on the rump. They also come with gold foil covers over the top. This morning after breakfast and early patrol I had a quick sniff around the living room carpet looking for any traces of Bonio chomps from last night, or other edible detritus left behind, when a piece of this gold foil got stuck to my wet nose. It could be thought of in the same terms as hoomuns wearing mittens and then getting a hair in their mouths. Paws and claws are just not good at getting rid of bits of gold foil stuck to damp noses! The Owner, predictably, has found the whole matter very amusing and keeps laughing loudly at me every time he sees me and, as the foil in question is sticking up at the front of my nose, and in permanent view from where I can see it, keeps asking whether I prefer a cross hair or traditional blade sight. I responded by finding some badger poo for one shoulder and something indescribable in the calf sheds for the other. I was then banished to the boot room until the hose had been dug out of the shed and the yard broom rescued from wherever Small Boy had left it. I was then washed down in rather too rough a manner for someone of my breeding. He has now stolen my comfy cushion and my duvet and both are in the washing machine. The poo I found has been a particularly good vintage and has resisted normal attempts at removal. I am choosing to draw no conclusion at the moment from the fact that he is calling me in an altogether too friendly fashion from the bathroom, after much sloshing of water in the bath. I will report later on the glasses situation.