<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3200994\x26blogName\x3dDreadful+Nonsense\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://shazzle.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_GB\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://shazzle.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d7615377689624956874', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Dreadful Nonsense

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

Ladies and Gents, you haven't yet had the pleasure, but now that my Dad's new digital camera has fallen in to my greedy hands and I've spent the last two days playing with it and screaming loudly and at length if anyone takes it away from me, allow me to introduce the newest member of the clan: Bobby.



This is Bobby, sitting beside his... um... hang on a moment, until I work out their relationship. Kesh is technically Little Sister Edel's dog, making her my doggy-neice. Bobby is technically my Mother's dog, making him my doggy-sibling. That would mean that Bobby is Edel's doggy-sibling and so he would be Kesh's uncle. Even though he's at least 3 years younger than her. It's like something out of EastEnders.

Skipping over that, then. Bobby is the one on the right. Look at his little face! He's a very pretty puppy. He makes up for this by constantly biting everything that wanders past, throwing up on a regular basis only outdone to date by Smudge, eating shoes, toys, table tops, brushes and the ends of your trousers as you try to walk past and generally being hyperactive 23 hours of the day. The other hour he spends collapsed in an adorable bundle that makes you want to pick him up and cuddle him until he can't breathe.


This is me on Christmas Day attempting to do that. He looks understandably terrified, and is looking to my mother for rescue. You'll note that she's doing nothing to stop this dog abuse.

This entry was posted on 27 December 2004 at 8:31 pm. 0 comments

0 Comments:

Post a Comment