(Brief echoes of Monty Python: “There’s a dead bishop on the landing!” “Wot’s ‘is diocese?”) …Anyway, I think I know where to lay the blame for this. The Cat Goodman is plainly annoyed that we took a perfectly good live duckling away from him yesterday. (This will be dealt with in a later blog, probably to be entitled “Munich, We Have A Problem”). Goodman was compensated with a small can of tuna. The duckling was completely unhurt and was repatriated to the Big Pond in the Back without incident (except one involving the utterly fearless Bubble walking straight up to a horse hundreds of times her mass and tens of times her height to see what it was, and then panicking when the whole herd [the Seventh Cavalry as we call it] came running at her to see what she was). But clearly Goodman decided that tuna was not enough compensation, and that the next example of the local fauna he brought home would be safely dead first.
So, note to self: Clean up remains of coot. Also:
Think about what to do about Regin and forging of sword Gram.
