I've got a dog....Billy...(Princess wanted to call him Poppy Lovely Blossom and Jnr wanted to call him Mr Woofy...remember?) Billy's lovely, but a pain in the arse. Billy makes a fish's memory capabilities look extensive, and a pheasant look like Oxbridge material. Billy isn't allowed in the back garden any more because he kept vaulting the wall to play in the river behind the house. The front garden is Billy-proof in terms of escaping, providing my wheelbarrow is left propped in a certain place, blocking the only possible escape route. Yesterday, my next door neighbours borrowed my wheelbarrow without asking. I don't mind, except it meant Billy escaped. Billy went for a walk in the village and was found by Don...an elderly gentleman, who went to retrieve Billy for me. Billy likes Don. Billy jumped up at Don. Billy knocked Don over onto his face. Billy licked Don. I told Don to sue me...I have insurance for Billy. But Don's a proper gent and wouldn't dream of such a thing. The least I could do, I thought, was ensure Billy never got out again. Billy was thrown in his run, shouted at, smacked on the nose (I couldn't find a rolled-up newspaper so I used a cro-bar) and left for a few hours to think about his behaviour.
Later that afternoon, Billy got out again. This time I found him in the caravan park where some complete retard had decided to feed him. What a good idea...feed a dog which has obviously escaped from home with lovely wet dog food. That'll ensure he doesn't come back. I suppose you've got to be pretty stupid to like caravans, but that was astonishing. I called Billy. Billy came looking very nervous. Billy was put on his lead, and dragged home. "You're a stupid ****ing dog Billy" I said as I walked past the school. "Hello Mr Willet" I then said as I noticed the kids' headmaster standing there. Billy was thrown in his run, shouted at, smacked on the nose (I couldn't find the cro-bar so I used a broken bottle) and left for a few hours to think about his behaviour.
This morning, Mrs OON put the kids in the car because it's Babbydoodles' day to go to nursery. Mrs OON drove off, and left the gate open. Billy went for a walk. I didn't know this, because I was inside the house. This morning Billy was at the bustop, licking something nasty looking and generally just pottering about. Billy was thrown in his run, shouted at, smacked on the nose (the broken bottle was in the recycling so I knee-capped him with a small firearm) and is still there now. What I particularly enjoyed was being blamed for this. It was Mrs OON who let Billy out. It was Mrs OON who opened the gate. it was Mrs OON who didn't shut the gate. I was in the house. It was still my fault.