Lake Wanaka

Cousteau scared the hell out of me this morning. He was minding his own business, chewing grass - as he does - when suddenly he started to wretch and then vomitted all over the show. He repeated this several times, looking very sorry for himself.

We deduced that there must have been some insecticide on the grass which was next to a very healthy looking rose bush, although the lady that worked at the Motel said they didn't use it.

Canterbury went for a bike ride with A and D and I was under strict instructions to call him on his cell phone if Cousteau didn't improve. Fortunately, he did. I kept poking him for the next hour to make sure he was still breathing.

Happily, we all spent an enjoyable afternoon by the lake. Cousteau, who is normally a wuss when it comes to swimming, paddled around, happily chasing sticks for an hour or so. He seemed a natural, which is good when you think about who he is named after.

To finish things off with a bang, Cousteau then decided to vomit at 6.54 this (Sunday) morning, sending me into a drowsy panic. It turns out that he had eaten some of the sticks we had thrown him and was getting rid of them the only way he knows how.