Harry’s first heart attack was a nonevent. He found out about it when he went to the doctor to discuss his habit of gobbing and snorting which The Lady Smock found so distressing while they were gardening. Birdsong hushed and snail trails flooded when he spat with a guttural grunt. Spring was the worst. An allergy perhaps?
The capillaries around his sweet Lady’s nose blanched and her skin regained the perfection of youth when he told her. He knew then that she loved him.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said. It was quite minor, but still, gardening became bearable again.