The regular worming tablets have been duly given to the dog and the cat. Especially needed for the latter as he is a prodigious hunter. This is always a traumatic time for me, and not just because of the need to immobilise said cat and dispense the pill down his throat by means of a pill-popper. Of course it takes two people, plus towel, plus patience. The dog is fooled by a nice lump of cheese, with the pill hidden inside.
Anyway, on to the squeamish bit. I get myself into a state of some agitation as worming time draws near, and put it all down to my beloved mother (who had somewhat gothic ways about her.) I was very attached to my first ever dog – a cairn called Sandy – and he went everywhere with me, including allowing himself to be dressed up in dolls clothes and pushed around in a pram. Gothic mother obviously thought I needed some warning as to the hazards of catching worms from animals. She presumably gave Sandy his worming tablet, then when he had duly evacuated them, the evidence was covered over with a seed-tray and displayed to me with many warnings when I came home from school.
Thankfully, it did not put me off animals, but it has made the worming routine somewhat traumatic ever since. I really should write a book about mother……..she was a one off.