A Problem Halved, with Auntie Veal : Poor Crampon.

Dear Auntie Veal,
I am at my wits’ end.  My golden retriever, Crampon, has developed a romantic attachment to next door’s Fiat Punto.  Apparently this is clogging the exhaust, and they are demanding compensation.  I maintain that the love between a hound and his hatchback is a beautiful thing.  Please help.
Yours,
Dog Lover of Catbrain


Dear Dog Lover,
Heaven knows I’ve had my share of mischievous pets - in the late 60s I found a sizeable lizard while cleaning up after a cocktail party and kept it for the larks.  I thought he was a jolly old thing but my, how he menaced poor Teddy!  Used to chase him round the conservatory for hours.  Tremendous fun, but we had to get rid of him after he turned out to be a she and eggs starting cropping up in untoward places.
However, it’s clear to me that you are the villain of this piece.  It’s not unheard of for both animals and humans to form sexual attachments to inanimate objects - my own mother reassured me of that on my wedding day.  To let your dog take advantage of your neighbours’ runabout is, however, downright rude.
The wretched mutt is frustrated, man!  If you can’t put him out to stud then it’s time you took the matter in hand.  Dogs are very much like husbands – they must be fed, watered and serviced on a regular basis or it’s the furniture that suffers.  Teddy has gnawed clean through my occasional table.
If you can’t deal with this, my darling, I would suggest you send the dog off to a farm in the country and content yourself with something unthreateningly asexual, like a snail or will.i.am.
You’re welcome!


Auntie Veal


P.S. As far as de-clogging the exhaust pipe is concerned, try a vigorously applied olive oil and sea salt scrub.
If you’re in a sticky situation and need some advice, send your problem to auntieveal@hotmail.com

A Problem Halved, with Auntie Veal

Dear Auntie Veal,

I am at my wits’ end.  My husband has taken to spending long hours in the potting shed with nothing but a copy of The Racing Times and a tub of Swarfega for company.  I feel rejected, and I can’t get this sump oil off my hands.  Please help.

Yours,

Mucky-knuckled of Toller Porcorum

Dear Mucky,

This is exactly why I have always forbidden my Teddy to have a shed.  Privacy brings out the worst in us.  Left alone we will get up to either nothing much or no good at all. Give the Queen five minutes in a locked room and she’ll have her fingers somewhere she shouldn’t quicker than you can say HRH. 

It’s human nature to be absolutely filthy and men will always seek their castles.  Even as I write, Teddy stares balefully from his little sofa cushion fort.  He’s in a bit of a snit because I wouldn’t let him listen to the Today programme, but he knows full well John Humphrys gives him wind.

Darling, you must find yourself a hobby.  Everyone knows Jennifer didn’t get over Brad until she took up competitive toad breeding.  Now she’s known the world over for the plumpness of her Natterjacks.  Develop some peccadilloes of your own!  Why not look around the home for inspiration?  You can do wonders with a spatula and the pet hair nozzle on the Hoover.

To sum up, Mucky, in my experience there are very few women who can compete with a tub of Swarfega. 

You’re Welcome!

Auntie Veal

P.S. As far as the sump oil is concerned, try a vigorously applied olive oil and sea salt scrub.

If you’re in a sticky situation and need some advice, send your problem to auntieveal@hotmail.co.uk