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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I was rushing out the door today, to meet my mother and her mother who were picking me up on the dual carriageway to bring me to the farmer's market, where we would be buying organic vegetables and feeling middle class and eco-friendly. It was later than it should have been, since I'd become mesmerised by the Hollyoaks omnibus, in that way that only happens on Sunday mornings (and it's the first time you've woken up in about a week without a throbbing hangover). I was rushing around the house in the manner only usually seen by ladies getting dressed in Richard Curtis movies, and was being followed all around the house by my beautiful dog Honey, who was desperately trying to convince me to give her a piece of the toast and marmite that I was all but ignoring, since I couldn't find my shoes and my granny would be waiting. My beautiful dog Honey is quite right in thinking that marmite is one of the best things in the world and she, like me, harbours deep suspicion about anybody who thinks otherwise. In fact, Honey has been noted in the past as saying that she would never marry a boy labrador who doesn't like marmite, and I'd have to agree wholeheartedly with her.

I eventually found a pair of shoes suitable, and now had to round up cats and dogs, gathering them all in the kitchen or outside - our house is a democracy, and it's very much up to the individual to choose where they want to wait until our return. The best way to get my beautiful dog Honey moving is the promise of food, and so I held out the final piece of toast and marmite I had left in order to coax her back in to the kitchen. She's a bright dog, that one, and realises that if she stays in the hallway, she'll be more likely to be taken out when people are leaving for adventures outside the house walls. So she's never that willing to go to the kitchen when asked. However, she will do absolutely anything at all for food. Any food.

I, in my Curtis-style haste, had failed to consider this. Dear reader, my beautiful dog Honey came bounding as if a dog of half her size and age, and took a great big chunk out of my hand.
There will be, you'll be thrilled to note, some pictures of my pets online by the end of this week, as I've been doing some paparazzi style stalking of them around the house this week, so you'll see with your own eyes the size and age of my beautiful dog Honey. It's not an inconsiderable thing to have hanging off your hand, let me assure you. And those teeth, though old, can cut right through to bone given half a chance.

Bless her, but she had the grace to look embarrassed about what happened, and apologised profusely by collapsing to the ground in that manner she has and offering her belly to me to rub. I did so, but swearing quite loudly, which caused Butler the other labrador to start apologising too, and also bringing me teddy bears. I left the two of them to discuss the event, and went to rendezvous with my mother and her mother.

I'd forgotten how much it hurts to be dog bit. I'd forgotten that, two hours after a dog bite, it hurts even more. But my beautiful dog Honey is still offering her belly every time she sees me, so I've forgiven her.

This entry was posted on 03 October 2004 at 11:40 pm. 0 comments

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