On Friday, Buster, Squirmy and I drove up to Ipswich to see a man about a dog. Well, actually it was a lady and we didn't just see a dog, we picked up a dog. Don't get carried away, we didn't get to keep said dog, we were merely dog couriers.
Busters older brother and his family have recently acquired a red
German Pinscher called Jerry and decided that they needed another wee dog (but black and tan) to complete their family. As they live interstate, we were coerced (well, they rang and asked) into collecting the dog (whose name for the purposes of this pointless post shall be Not-Jerry) and then meeting them halfway between the dog collection point and their home. The halfway point, luckily, turned out to be Ikea (which I meant I could look at the kids table and chairs for Squirmy).
Anyway, to cut a short story even shorter, Not-Jerry turned out to be nearly fully grown and wouldn't fit in the carrier we had brought with us so we ended up tying his lead to one of the child restraints in the Golf so he didn't jump around too much. He had just enough length in the lead to rest his little paws on the baby seat and kiss Squirmy McBaby's feet thus making him giggle almost the entire trip.
Not-Jerry was duly delivered to his new family and is currently be loved to death.