to accommodate George and his nightly return to our kitchen, and now, as if he knew the cage was for him, he'd decided that it was time to go. I was both vastly relieved--and bereft. Never again would he bury unmentionable objects beneath the sofa cushions in the kitchen, or slot Schmackos dog chews into the toaster.from Frieda Hughes: The Times: Monday Poem: A dream come true: After four years, Frieda Hughes has finally built her garden paradise
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