An elderly friend came round with her dachshund this morning for coffee and reminiscence with my mother-in-law. I took refuge in the sitting room, leaving the door to my study open; the dachshund, which didn’t seem to like me, trotted off upstairs and crapped on the study floor.
My mother-in-law, upstairs for a pee, was led by the smell to the scene of the crime, which she immediately scrubbed and tidied without saying anything to anyone. It would have been frightfully embarrassing for her visitor, whom she finally drove home. At the end of the journey — still nothing said about the dog — the friend thanked her, and said, in a conversational tone. “You know I was telling you that my sister visited me last weekend. Well, she died on Tuesday.”
No more was said on the matter.