Sausage breakfast for Pogo?
The master at playing dead
Pogo on the stairs. There’s a ball in that cavernous mouth somewhere.
The home phone call last week, while on holiday, wasn’t entirely unexpected. Situations, minor or otherwise, rarely go unreported. Today it was Pogo’s turn. Not so minor. He couldn’t or wouldn’t get up. The only good news, if you can say that — we were due back the next day.