'But there's no more room' the MD moaned.
I shoved a trowel in his hands and pointed his unhelpful ass towards the front door.
'Just do it' I said through gritted teeth 'I am fed up with coffins lined up by the back door.
This was a slight exageration. It has been sometime since we last had to bury a body in the consecrated front garden and yesterday I was keen to get this one over and done with and get on with some serious writing.
'Under the mint,' I suggested 'I don't think there's anybody under there.'
I waited until a suitable hole was dug and then carried down the last remains of Simon, now comfortably residing in an old birthday card box.
'This will have to stop you know' the MD said as we laid Simon carefully in his final resting place.
I knew it did, but some habits are hard to break.
I had been gardening on Saturday when I found him. His fat body, that had so cleverly wedged itself in the smallest of holes, was there in the border by the rosemary. Simon, the porkiest toad you have ever seen, now buried in a garden that was already full of treasured pets.
I say pets, but there was only Possum, my darling old ginger cat and Harry, the hamster, that could really claim this title. Most of them were roadkill, or catkill, that the kids had needed to bury in order to have closure!
The MD retired to nurse his cup final hangover and I sat on the doorstep and surveyed the graveyard. Yes, it will have to stop, the feckers don't care anymore. They no longer bring home the dead and dying to be sent off in a custom made coffin accompanied by the theme tune from Thomas the Tank Engine.
Ah well, things change. Just hope that whoever buys our house one day will ever get the notion to dig the whole lot up because they're in for a few surprises!!