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Dreadful Nonsense

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

Dad has been threatening for about the last week to get rid of Bobby. Bobby can't stay in the house, he fumes. That dog is untrainable. He's badly behaved. He's destroying everything around him, and he's not house broken, and all he does is bark, and he's impossible, and he's got to go.

This is all because my Mum had to go away last weekend, leaving just myself and Dad in the house. I got caught up in something else altogether, and wasn't at home for most of the weekend, which meant that Dad became sole carer of all animals in the house, and finally saw first hand the kind of destruction that Bobby has been wreaking all around the house for the last month, but that me and Mum had been hiding from him.

The destroyed duvets. The eaten shoes. The copious amount of poo evenly distributed around every room in the house, given half a chance. The clothing (mainly socks), the fetish he has for hiding bits of food under the kitchen cupboards, his inability to eat from his own dish and insisting on eating from everyone else's, the constant torturing of the cats, the barking, the howling, the eating of the labradors - Dad finally witnessed it all first hand, and he wasn't impressed.

Ah, but we got away with it. The little imp, while carrying out all of the above, does it with a gleam in his eye that is almost human - if you catch him in the act of any of the above, he virtually gives you a Colin Farrell type wink, as if to say "Ah, I'm a rascal, but you love me for it, dontcha?" And lord above, but you do. And if the Colin-wink doesn't work, he'll roll over on his back and show you his lovely pink tummy, and I don't care if you're man, woman or child, your little heart will melt and you'll chuckle and rub his tummy, and then clean up the mess and hope no one else saw it so that the little devil won't be in trouble.

Today, though, he managed to eat a postal order worth E40 that he climbed up on to the table especially for. So Dad's started singing the old song again: That dog has to go.

This entry was posted on 19 January 2005 at 1:37 pm. 0 comments

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