I’ve had a very lucky escape this week. Very lucky, in fact, I’m surprised my entire family hasn’t been wiped out and it’s all my fault.
I have allowed (I cringe when I think about it) my friends and family to stroke my dogs (can you believe that?) without providing instant hand-washing facilities.
Yes, I know I may have been walking in the Carrs or Macc Forest but boiling water, soap and a Dyson Airblade should be staple accessories in any dog owner’s manual. (I did have alcohol wipes but didn’t want to risk having some poor toddler breathalysed by Cheshire Police.)
Now, thanks to the quick thinking of the Health Protection Agency I not only carry a full range of antibiotic cleansing agents but issue comprehensive instructions on the complex process of hand washing.
I also prevent babies sucking their doggy fingers by handcuffing all infants to their strollers.
My grandmother used to tell me a little dirt wouldn’t do me any harm (turns out she was trying to kill me). Murdered by your own grandma…imagine that.
I visited a petting farm this week to find every wall, fence and doorway festooned with dire warnings should a child’s skin brush the coat of a pony, sheep, pig, goat etc.
The warnings outnumbered the pets by 500 to one, striking terror in the kids who fervently believed contact with animals led to an agonising death.
Judging by the hysterics, few of those children expected to survive their visit.
So please, should your kids wish to stroke Little Syd or any of my pack do ensure they wear a radiation suit and helmet.
We can’t have children exploring the world for themselves can we?
