I’ve never been a fan of large dogs (or even small ones really) until we got our first one. She was 2 year old rottweiler/ridgeback cross – 40kg of love, affection and loyal perimeter protection.
She’s lovely, but apart from liking to play tug of war, she doesn’t do the usual dog stuff. Won’t fetch or catch, hates the beach, impossible around other dogs (she’s too excited). She was a little lonely I think, so after a few years, we got her a pal. A rescue puppy, we thought, would acclimatise better to the house dynamics, would grow up with the cats and might even be their friend. Read More
You are a sweet little pooch, ever trotting around the house following one of us about with your little tail wagging happily, scampering around the garden and sleeping curled up in the sun resting your chin on a shoe. Your fussing over the guinea pigs and mothering them when the girls bring them in to play with them is adorable and your begging expression and big brown eyes staring up at me whenever I eat toast is very cute, although ultimately utterly futile. I even have a cute photo of you (although I don’t carry it in my wallet, that would be freaky wouldn’t it?)
Tia the doggy
But at 11pm, 12, 1 and 2am when you start yapping at something outside I would like to turn you into a dog shaped glove or perhaps a cushion or a stuffed dog. You’re the most annoying creature on the planet.
I’ve had this conversation with you during the day, often going something like this
This happens often enough that I know you must realise how much the barking annoys us all. Our displeasure, the shouting, the water spray, the being removed from the front room on the receiving end of my big toe, the being shut in the laundry when you just wont stop – it has to sink in, surely?
So why then, little pooch, do you yap for 1/2 the fucking night? You must know we’ll be pissed off?
Sleep – ever heard of it?
Well its clear you haven’t. And as I result, I haven’t either, because at 6:30am this morning you forgot again, you irritating barking little creature. 6:30am after going to bed at 2:30am! What the Fuck!
You don’t appear to need a wee as you laid restfully in the already warm sun on the back patio when I let you out. There’s clearing nothing bothering you as you’re sitting by the window happily dozing again already.
So what the fuck is wrong with you, Tia? What the shitting fucking bollocking hell is going through your walnut-sized brain?
Why, on a weekend when I really could use a lie in, when the girls are round at their father’s, when I have the most unbelievable sleep-depriving series of flights to do in just 6 days time, do you think I will be happy with 4 hours sleep?
I really would appreciate your urgent attention to this matter and taking some time to shutting the fuck up in the middle of the night and early in the mornings.