The regular readers among you (of which I like to think there are at least, say, seven) will know that I have a dog. Her name is Juno, she’s about twelve foot tall despite being only a year old and generally, she’s pretty awesome.
However, every so often, my mum will go on holiday, leaving me and Sophie to look after Juno. And on these occasions, you’d better believe Juno is thanking her lucky stars that she’s cute. So far, since having the dog, I have been solely responsible for her for about ten days in total. Here are a few examples of what she gets up to when my mother isn’t around to rule with an iron fist.
She scratched my eyeball.
Like, directly in my eyeball. You know it’s a bad day when your first conscious action is to Google “damaged eyeball”. I had resigned myself to a life of partial blindness, but fortunately the blurriness faded. The shitty depth perception is an integral and permanent part of my personality, so I don’t think I can blame that one on the dog.
She threw up, and then re-ate an enormous chunk of bone.
This one was a good ‘un. She strategically threw up all over the shoes I normally pull on to let her outside, scooped up the bone and ran into the garden with it. Cue frantic search for different shoes, lots of cursing, gag-worthy attempts to remove said bone from her mouth and eventual acceptance that she was going to swallow the bone, and then throw it up again. She did.
She ate an entire stick of Witch Hazel Spot Healer.
This is a fairly recent one, so I’m still alternately cursing her for her constant idiocy and fearfully observing her for any sign she might be about to keel over/transmogrify into a witch.
She ate the piece of tissue I used to blot my lipstick.
I…I don’t know. Maybe it was floating around and looked like fun?
She ate a plastic tampon applicator.
I got nothing. My dog is a mystery. And an idiot.
She woke me up at 5am, pretending to be desperate for the toilet, so we could go into the garden and bark at the birds.
For a week.
She threw a cup of tea all over me.
Because I stopped petting her for a moment to take a sip. We weren’t having an extremely British Footballers’ Wives-y spat. Do people even remember Footballers’ Wives? Must get more up to date references to make me sound cool.
She ran away to find a new family.
And nearly gave my neighbours a heart attack when she dragged Sophie face-first along the ground into their living room.
She sneezed directly in Sophie’s face.
This was very, very funny. Ten points to Juno.
She is in the process of digging a Shawshank-style tunnel behind the shed into our neighbours garden.
Not the same neighbours whose living room she invaded. She seems to be cool with literally any family, as long as it isn’t us.
She then ate the leaf. And then spent the rest of the walk choking on it and glaring at me.
She thinks that she’s an appropriate lapdog size.
Okay this one is pretty cute and I like it.
And I work full time. So pretty much all these shenanigans occur between the hours of 5pm and 9pm. Five days until my mum comes back…why do I get the feeling that she’s going to be coming back to either a daughter or a dog?