ow. ouch. sore paw. broken.
Had a lovely time at Mr Beaver and Mr Flynn's Thanksgiving Dinner. Right up to the point where someone - who shall remain nameless - we'll just call her Madame - decided that I would do the Makka Pakka dance and popped the stitches on my right paw. Paw fell off.
It'll get fixed. Sometime. When she can be bothered.
No sirens. No ambulance. No trip to Stuffie Casualty. No lawyers or big cash compensation payouts.
I got a couple of safety pins and a pat on the bonce.
There's no union for stuffies. No health and safety. We're just puppets. Dancing to the humans' tunes. And I don't think that they deserve us.
Except. Mr Flynn and his family - they're good people. And my charming monkey friend Coco has his humans very well trained. They helped him to send me a lovely Get Well card and little pressie.
I suppose I've got this far with Madame. She's probably too old to retrain but I should give it a go. Rightie ho. Must go. I have a training programme to organise.
Wow.
Cats, dogs and llamas are already way ahead of me!
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