My dearest pals, there is no greater joy than that of finding a mildly festering pile of fox poo on ones daily perambulations. No words can convey the utter joy of body slamming down onto the sweet smelling lumpsome offering, a quick shoulder slide, then an extravagant back stroke through it….then repeat. Then repeat, until the shouting and waving human approaches with a look of impending horror on their sad little faces. Then, we troop back home, me, with a jaunty spring in my step and them, shoulders slumped in resignation, breath held.

What comes next can only be described as a punishment, but for what I have not managed to work out. Bath time. It takes two of them to perform this act, both muttering and retching as they lather me up. All that hard work of working the poo right into my delicate earflap folds and saturating and impregnating my collar and I only had half an hour of benefit.  The last time this happened, I was sulking in my nest after my vigorous waterboarding experience when they dragged me out again as they could still detect a whiffette of Basil Brush.

Eventually, after a good towelling down, we settled back into the parlour, ready for a gentle evening of televisual entertainment, snack scoffing and considered debate. To try and placate me they offered me my bear and my all time favourite nest mate – duck. It was at this point that the second calamity of the evening was discovered. It would seem that my best duck has spontaneously exploded. I have no idea how this happened, but most of its insides were outside now, like wispy little clouds of duck innards.

It is also not the first time. A pang of guilt flitted through my mind as I remembered our last Spindle-duck tussle where it had given me a thorough beaking and I had, in retaliation, amputated its foot and chomped a hole in its head. 

The Tiny Terror inspected it and she said a few choice words…she then had a brilliant idea! So inspired is she by The Repair Shop on the television apparatus, that she will stitch it herself, channeling the Repair Shop’s zen like calm and brilliance of the two ladies who resurrect much loved furry fellows. Ten minutes later she had stitched its beak to her cardigan sleeve.

Yes, it would seem that whilst she can, quite competently, stitch together and make a book, ducks are beyond her remit. Hector on the other hand has a long history of needlework and sewing with his collection of Singer Sewing machines, and he sprang out of his chair, reached for his sewing fez and set to work with that frenzied glint in his eye of a fanatic.

Some time later we looked at the deformed and forlorn creature with some sympathy. We then shifted our gaze from Hector and peered at the duck for inspection. It would seem that Hector does not excel in duck repair either. It had not gone well. Now the duck had all the correct body parts, but they were not necessarily fixed in the right order.

Watching with an interested gleam in his eye, was Nelson. He chirruped from his yoga hammock that he had had a brilliant idea. We all closed our eyes in silent prayer and took a moment to ready ourselves. From our experience this could involve anything from a snack delivering dirigible to an automatic tassel twirling device for his best sequinned leotard. 

He scrambled out of his netted lounging scoop and scuttled off to find his electronic tablet device and within a blink of his beady eyes, Vlad the Tailor was filling the screen with his wrinkly little face.

*For those of you who are now confused, Nelson had introduced Vlad the Tailor  to us during a terrifying tale in the last diary entry, The Vampiric Tortoise, which had upset everyone considerably and led to several bladder malfunctions. Vlad appeared before us, wearing his casual evening cape, rifling through a packet of frazzles. The problem was explained to him, and he abandoned the packet with great excitement. 

He also loved the Repair Shop. There began an hours verbal worship of each expert in turn, there was as they say, something for everyone, and particular attention was paid to Steve and his magical hands. Eventually we remembered the reason for the call and I showed Vlad the duck. Apparently it looked very like an old friend of his, Igor. He rattled off advice and tips which Nelson took careful note of. 

It was a joint effort, but we finally got there. I was eventually handed an over plumped, squinting duck. I gathered it to my loving breast with my paw and held him gently. Duck and I had been through a lot together. 

Silence fell in the room as the opening credits of The Repair Shop began, somehow life seemed far more reassuring when we caught sight of Dom wielding his angle grinder. 

Stay safe and fox poo free my great pals, it only leads to unpleasant water based purification and buffing.