My 18 month old daughter, Roisin, has a little stuffed toy dog called Kipper. Last night we went out to the local town's bonfire and firework display (which Roisin slept through!!) and, unbeknownst to us, Kipper fell out of the pram somewhere twixt the car and the bonfire.
Mandie realised this morning when we couldn't find Kipper. All Roisin's other toys were there; Hartley Rabbit, Phillip Dog, Bugsy, PG Monkey and Dongle Rabbit, but alas no Kipper.
I then set off on my bike to get to the showground to try and find Kipper. It was a cold but clear morning, and the legs took a little warming up, but a mile or so in and I was like toast. Hot, sweaty, red-faced and out-of-breath toast maybe, but toast non-the-less. The 5 miles to the showground where we parked the car passed by in a blur, and I made my way the the spot we parked the car the night before.
Blinking into the strong early morning sunshine, I scanned the area where we parked the car the night before.
There, with his little beige legs stuck up out of the grass, was kipper, not damaged at all, and just a little damp to the touch due to the overnight mist and light rain.
A quick hurried phone call to Mandie to let her know I'd found Kipper, before jumping back onto the bike, and riding a longer way home for a cheeky 'training session'.
I got home and presented Roisin with Kipper.
At this point the story really needs a description of the teary face of joy and squeals of delight when she was re-united with Kipper.
Sadly this was not to be. Roisin duly threw him on the floor and carried on riping pages out of a magazine spread on the floor.
Was the ride worth it?
She got Kipper, but I got another 22 miles in the bank!!