We now have our very own Jethro. He’s a dog, and he’s been named to match Abby’s alsatian. The one who attacked McGee, and was renamed in honour of Gibbs. Though I have to admit that ours is more Ikea toy than flesh and blood. But anyway, he’s here now. The Resident IT Consultant surprised me by going to buy him and especially by getting the right dog. Who’d have thought it?
Jethro arrived with a couple of unfortunate labels stuck to his rear end bearing descriptions of how he wants to be washed and what he’s made of. Honestly. Daughter had to perform an operation almost immediately.
But as the successful shopper pointed out; the vet was coming the very same day. And it’s true. Mr Vet had announced his intention to call in with Miss Vet, who had a hankering to see – and hear – McFly.
It’s not often Swedish vets make house-calls in Manchester, and especially not travelling via Paris. That’s just one metropolis too many. But it wasn’t only Jethro’s new mistress who had a birthday, but Miss Vet did too, and her birthday present was to be transported from her Paris school to the Manchester Apollo. And all for a McFly concert. (Bit small for a vet, coming to see a fly? Even a for a small pet vet. Hey, that rhymed!)
It was only three months since Miss Vet was last on these shores for a McFly concert. But a dedicated fan is a dedicated fan. So it was a 36-hour whirlwind of travelling (attempting to do so passport-less, even) taking in a meet-and-greet for a select 700 best fans, the actual concert, which Mr Vet attended wearing earplugs, and a Sunday morning chase across Manchester city centre to the McFly hotel for a photo opportunity.
It was downhill all the way after that, with a bus ride to our humble abode for soup and birthday cake.
But I believe both McFly and Jethro are OK. Vet or no vet.