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In our house we are rather partial to carrots.

That’s all of us who live in our humble abode. Me. Mrs P. And especially George The Dog.

Now, I’m not entirely sure how the
four-legged resident of our place developed a liking for the crunchy orange delicacy.

I suspect it may have occurred around the time he was a puppy and was into grabbing whatever and running off with it in the hope someone, anyone, would chase him.

I know for a fact he would quite often nick a sock while I was putting the other one on and disappear with it into the little bushy area at the back of our place.

To illustrate his prowess I can tell you I have several pairs of odd-matched socks now.

From socks it was a natural progression to stuff he could eat.

Such a habit wasn’t helped by Mrs P playfully exclaiming “Oh no I’ve dropped (insert favourite item of food here) on the floor!” while preparing food in the kitchen, to which George would respond with an enthusiastic avalanche of whirling legs, quivering tail, floppy ears etc as he slid round the corner like a cartoon canine chasing a cat.

I’m sure you get what I mean.

Anyway, fast forward nine and a half years and George has quietened down a lot.

He’s too old and sensible now to go racing around playing silly bugger chase me games when he knows he’s going to get well fed twice a day regardless.

Or so I thought.

There I am in the driveway with George the other day farewelling Mrs P as she departs for an overnight stay at the home of the Boomerang Child for more grandmotherly duties.

As she prepares to reverse down the drive she tosses me a carrot. It seems it was one that had escaped from a bag Mrs P had picked up from our local organic store just recently.

At the time I wasn’t aware of this important fact and made a big song and dance of juggling the carrot in front of George before I dropped it.

Sensing a bit of mischief to be had George swooped, grabbed the carrot in his jaws and ran off with it.

That’s when the fun started.

I actually heard two screeches.

One was Mrs P slamming on the anchors as she reversed. The other was her, shall we say “excited”, voice informing me, quite succinctly, the carrot was organic.

Now, for the uninitiated among you, organic carrots are basically like oddly shaped bars of gold in our house.

I won’t bore you with all the details save to say medical issues mean organic, which is non-sprayed and natural, is much, much better for one of our household than not.

Unfortunately, organic comes at a price that is significantly higher than your average ordinary everyday vegetable so, as I say, they are like gold.

And definitely not something to be tossed to the dog for a laugh.

Yes, I could save the money by growing them myself but basically, and there’s no point trying to pretend otherwise, I’m hopeless at gardening.

I envy my mate David The Pom who looks out over his horticultural paradise, usually over a tipple or three while his friend Alexa warbles in the background, and telepathically invites all manner of fruit and vegetables to poke their head out from beneath perfectly manicured soil.

Anyway. As I say. Carrot chucked out of the car. I’ve accidentally on purpose dropped it in front of the dog for a laugh and he’s run off with it.

It was about then I worked out what Mrs P was saying.

It turns out the carrot was the last of a ridiculously expensive bag – if I said you could buy four bags of ordinary everyday carrots at the supermarket for the same price – and she’d thrown it to me to put in the safe, oops I mean fridge.

Now I was apparently required to run after the dog and make sure I could get the vegetable back in one piece.

I started to run but the general absurdity of the situation suddenly overwhelmed me and I stopped.

Sure, I might catch him but if past experiences with my socks was anything to go by I might end up playing a game of tug o’ war with the dog first.

Even if I won there was the likelihood Mrs P’s prized carrot would have bite marks and dog saliva on it which would, I felt, technically mean it was no longer organic, particularly as I’d seen George licking his private parts earlier in the day.

On that basis I ended the pursuit and sheepishly turned back to face Mrs P, who had now driven back up the driveway.

Naturally, I offered to buy her another bag of organic carrots, even though I knew I would be a bit miffed at shelling out $12, especially when I reasoned it could buy one perfectly good new golf ball with change left over.

As it turned out $12 would have been a lucky escape.

As the drama had unfolded in front of Mrs P she had neglected to watch where she was going and had been late in braking.

She’d hit our fence and cracked a rear tail light which I’m expecting will most likely cost megabucks to replace and install.

It would be fair to say I’ve gone off carrots, organic or otherwise, for the moment.