Since leaving my employ (forcibly, by the ejector seat), Belladonna my ex-maid, is still living out rough on the village green. She's also now making the headlines, thanks to a bit of naughtiness on my part (I bribed a newspaper editor).
Meanwhile, I have been plaguing the local council with phone calls and letters, re-citing the common byelaw that any dog seen without its owner on public land is deemed a stray, and that Belladonna should be rounded up by the dog warden, for her own protection. But they have, to date, failed to act, no doubt due to the fact they haven't got a van big enough to transport her in.
"I dunno, Fanny", I chortle to myself over a soothing cuppa of basking-shark tea, "Reliable live-in staff are as rare as hens' teeth, aren't they?".
"Yes, they are, Fanny" I reply, solemnly, putting the cup down.
