St Francis of the Bunnies Day

Pets controllers
And so the traditional carnage that is our Pets Blessing Day comes to its usual, predictable, terrifying end.  Our annual return to visual jokes that were last seen on the Vicar of Dibley.

Needless to say Rodrikc's stick insects escaped, which at least provided some entertainment for Young Keith's monitor lizard. That was before it slipped its lead and went off to start eating some of the Lickle Bunnies of St Francis that Aelwife had brought along.

Mrs Hnaef's new mongrel, "Lennox", had some fun as well. Although, when she noticed that her pedigree Great Dane bitch had received some - hem hem - loving attention form Lennox, Mrs Roseby was less than amused. Daphne claimed that Lennox was more to be congratulated on his ambition than scolded for his lust. After all, being half Jack Russell he only has little stumpy legs. Yet somehow mention of the words "Jack Russell" just made Mrs Roseby even angrier.

And then there was Oskar's new pet. We've been really pleased to have Oskar with us - he having joined almost immediately after we re-opened. But who in their right mind keeps an eight foot alligator as a pet? I thought it was odd how the muntjac deer kept disappearing in the night. And there was no way I was blessing that. Oskar's been told the alligator's not living in the pond any more.  He's to hand Harriet over into the keeping of any zoo that will have it - or at least leave her quietly in the reptile house. Mind you, he was last seen trying to wrestle her into the back of his VW Polo, so if he asks anyone to lend him a hand - bear in mind that may be literal.

Go and do thou likewise
The second part of the celebration was that where, every year, we go all serious and think about the demands of St Francis himself.
Apart from his habit - ho  ho - of walking around with budgies on his shoulder and ickle wabbits gambwing awound his unshod feet, Fwancis - sorry, Francis - was seriously into giving money to the poor and needy. In fact his friars were prepared to give away all their worldly possessions for the sake of their souls. Every year I encourage the Beaker Folk to do likewise, in aid of the Society for the Preservation of Archdruids. And every year the response is less than encouraging. This year was a record - I managed to hit twelve people with my cricket bat before they escaped from the Moot House - but still we only raised a pittance.