Puzzled looks all round

I did return. The V-E-T is none the wiser. Ginny is none the wiser. I am puzzled at being hauled off when I feel fine - never better in fact. Ginny's a bit annoyed at the waste of her day. She whizzed to the V-E-T in her little red Peugeot 206 - she really should get a job with the motorway patrol. Speed limits hold no fear for her. The V-E-T closes for lunch at 12 noon. We left at 11.50am. The five miles from Aston Peverell to Evesham passed in a blur of lush green fields and pinky-white apple blossom as Ginny's 206 sped along the country lanes. She didn't stop to think that hurling me around in the back of her hatchback might leave her with a bigger V-E-T's bill than the one she paid out for investigation of my smelly urine. I arrived shaken and stirred, just in time.

Ginny described my symptoms but as she'd neglected to obtain a sample she had to hang around the V-E-T's car park waiting for me to perform. When I did she grabbed my front paws lifted me up and caught my sample in a little jar. Talk about undignified.

The sample was duly passed around the whole of veterinary surgery. Everyone had a good sniff. The V-E-T swirled my sample around in the jar, held it up to the light, inhaled deeply, then recoiled - it was like watching a top wine taster trying out Vino Collapso.

They're truly perplexed. The V-E-T looked in his Big Book of Dog Disorders but couldn't find anything about smelly wee in a dog my age. The veterinary assistant said she'd smelt that smell before but couldn't place it. Everyone looked at her very strangely after that. The V-E-T advised Ginny to keep an eye on me and come back if I develop any other symptoms. 'And that will be £18.95 for today's consultation Mrs Philpott.'

Ginny sighed, took out her cheque book and handed over the dosh.

Back at home I was restless. I'd missed out on my walk and now Ginny had to catch up on some work. She let me out into the garden and settled down to her computer. Overnight the vegetable patch had thrown up some more of those tasty titbits. So I had a little nibble then settled down for a snooze in the sunshine.

Later Ginny took me for a walk. We stopped at the farm shop, well more of a shed by the side of the road where the farmer leaves eggs, potatoes and veggies for people to buy. 'Home-grown Gras For Sale only £1.50' said the sign outside. As Ginny was filling her carrier bag Pete arrived - he's the farmer.

'I'm glad you've got asparagus, Pete, mine doesn't seem to have done much this year,' said Ginny.

'It's a good crop. We've been picking for a couple of weeks and there's still plenty more in the ground,' said Pete.

'I can't understand why mine's not growing. We had a fantastic crop last year,' said Ginny, looking puzzled.

'P'raps the roots have rotted,' Pete suggested helpfully.

I was getting impatient. Walks are for walking not chatting about asparagus. I pulled Ginny away and we spent a happy hour playing ball in the field.