The wooden spoon
So who went home from fun day with the wooden spoon? That question is not as you might think about who was the loser. If you are not in the UK you may not be familiar with the expression, but if someone comes last you say they won the wooden spoon. However, this time that isn’t what I meant. I spent my fun day quietly sitting inside the hall we’d hired, in my crate. It wasn’t fun but it was a change of scene.
Pebbles was outside taking part in the games with some of our friends and having a lovely time. One of the games we play is the ball and spoon race. Our human has to be attached to us by a lead while running at our side up and down a course carrying a ball balanced on a wooden spoon.
Keeping it fair
Mum is all in favour if keeping it fair between those taking part. She has, until now, had three matching wooden spoons. The same length, the same soon size. The balls are all the same too. No one can claim they were not treated fairly. Yesterday, when we came home from fun day we only had two spoons. Mum must have left one on the field where we were playing. Now she has to decide whether to buy one wooden spoon and risk not having three which match, or whether to buy three more wooden spoons. She’s going to leave it for now and look at the state of our wooden spoons before the next fun day. In the meantime they will go back to being cooking utensils. For that purpose it doesn’t matter if they are all different sizes. It’s not as though the pasta or rice is going to complain.
Love and licks
Wilma
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