1st Disability Dilemma of the Year

There's mystery meat dog food on my kitchen ceiling.

How do I get it off?

It's really horrible dog food too. Not food for horrible dogs, horrible food. The vet gave it to us for our poor dog with a sore ear who's just been sedated so he could have his ear cleaned.

Last night when he got home the poor chap didn't know what planet he was on. He stood at the door for no good reason, gently swaying, ears flat, nose pressed against the frame. The vet had thoroughly washed his ear so on one side of his head his fur was all raggedy. It looked like he was using his nose to support his whole body weight. If you've ever seen the zombie flick Dawn of the Dead, you'll remember the hoards of zombies quietly standing outside the shopping mall, unresponsive until they saw something that caught their attention. Last night poor dog was a dog zombie. If we ever fall prey to a Dawn-of-the-Dead type virus out here in the sticks, at least I'll know when the dog's got it.

Just like people who've had a general anesthetic, dogs need to be looked after, kept warm, fed bland food, and be gently indulged when they do silly things. We have four cans of 'post-operative' dog food for poor dog's special recovery diet. When I was a child, after you got your bewildered animal home you didn't get special post recovery food. We just used to give our animals a bit of mashed potato or some rice and a bit of boiled chicken. But what the hell, it's Petplan's money, not mine.

When I opened the can I was hoping the goo inside would slide out satisfyingly like in the old Petigree Chum adverts - all slick and glistening with the lines of the tin can embossed on the side.

I gave the can a little shake. Nothing happened. I shook harder. Nothing. There's a vaccuum between the sides of the can and the meat, I thought to myself. One stick of a spoon will have it out. But when I stuck the spoon in there was no movement and no sign of the wet slurpy noise you get when releasing smelly gelatinous mystery meat from a tin can. The stuff was dense and evil-smelling, and it was at that point I knew I'd have to dig it out.

'This looks disgusting,' I said to poor dog, who looked up at me mournfully, 'maybe you'd be better off with a few biscuits in thin gravy?' But with a very subtle change in expression, the look on poor dog's face reminded me that when something is disgusting dogs like it all the more, so because I was indulging him with his lopsided ear and matted fur, I kept on digging. It was hard work watching me so in the meantime he lay down for a little sleep. I made the best of it but the stuff stuck to everything - the spoon, the sides of the can, my fingers, the kitchen counter. But the stink of it made poor dog look optimistic and a bit less lopsided so I let him gorge on it whilst I set about scraping it all off the places it shouldn't be.

Then because I am still under the illusion that recycling the few things our council is saying it can manage to recycle will actually save the planet, and to try and compensate for the large carbon footprint I generate because I'm a gadget-dependent cripple, I decided to try washing out the can. Big mistake. One of our taps shoots water out at tremendous speed. The jet of water shot into the can and out again at great speed, going ever upward and taking the remains of the mystery meat with it. I suppose I was lucky it missed my face.

But that's how it got onto the ceiling. How I'm going to get it off before Mr Fang sees it or poor dog acquires the power of flight is tomorrow's adventure.