This morning my computer went to the veterinary hospital. That’s what I told my dog anyway. How else does a person explain to her chief supervisor — Ms Labrador — the removal of such an important fixture from the house?
This is my interpretation of how our conversation went.
Dog: “My vet is a woman. That nice smiling man at the door who‘s come to collect your sickly PC can’t be a vet.”
Me: “Remember we met Mrs PC Fixit yesterday. She told us she needed to take my computer to the surgery for full diagnostics and treatment. You washed her face as your seal of approval.”
Dog: “What if this man at the door doesn’t bring your computer back?‘
Me: “Of course he will. It‘s the same as when you were an in-patient at the vets after that Alsatian bit you and the poison needed draining out of the wound. You were there overnight and then allowed home.”
Dog: “But will the PC be in pain and have stitches that need cleaning twice daily with a stinky pink liquid that smells of hospital?
Me: “No, but it will be dusted more regularly and I won’t ever again go fiddling with code in its terminal, giving it a mega dose of worms.”
Dog: “Will it need worming tablets once a quarter?”
Me: “Talking of tablets — thank heavens for small mercies. At least while I‘m computer-less I can still actively engage with the blogging community via my Asus tablet.”
Dog: “That explains it. Your PC is sick because it gave birth to a puppy out of the wrong orifice.”
Me: “Ms Labrador, I think your ears need cleaning. I did not say an**.”