Conversations with felt animals

This evening I am home alone. HWSNBN and Vlad have gone out drinking together and sometimes it is more fun without me. I have a book and the Internet to keep me company. And, funnily enough, a lot of tidying to do; it being the story of my life and all that.

Yesterday I made an evil flying pig out of felt. Perhaps I should put a photo of him on here. Hold on a minute...
There he is with his friend the Wonky Sheep (whose legs do not sit at each corner like those of a Normal Sheep, but which sit in different places, like those of a sheep specially adapted to stand on a very specific bit of rough terrain), asking two questions:*

1. Why did I just stick a wire up his bum** to make it look like he was flying in a photograph? It hurt and he was not impressed;
2. Given my photo-taking exploits of the past few days, why can I still not make the camera focus on objects which are close to me? Is it an innate deficiency in my brain, do I need more practice (he begs that I do not practise on him while he is impaled in an unfortunate place), or do I need a new camera? Being in rather a bad mood, he suspects that it is the former. He is bitter and resentful that I did not make the photograph I took, in which he was so carefully impaled as to look as though he was flying, count. I had better not publish it here; it is not very good.
   

The Wonky Sheep does not know the answers to his questions, of course, despite being many days older than the Flying Pig, and thus having so much more Life Experience. Wonky Sheep does not have eyes, you see, and cannot conceive of a photograph, nor why it would be useful. He does, however, opine that perhaps I should get out more.



*The two questions to which I refer, of course, are the ones at the beginning of each bullet point. Which is shaped like a number just to confuse me.

**Well, where would you stick it? The hole that it left is entirely appropriate in context. The pig is glowering at me. Perhaps I should not have given it eyes. Also, given that he was made by a process of stabbing a ball of wool with a needle repeatedly, you would have thought he would have built up a tolerance for such things by now.