Our dog is the thickest I have ever known.
He’s a whippet, which is about the thickest breed I have ever known.
He eats anything … in fact, there is a story involving this dog and potty-training my son that I shall save for another occasion.
Yesterday, my six-year-old son had some of his friends round after school. My wife cranked up the barbeque, and a ridiculous number of burgers and hotdogs were then consumed.
Kids being kids … quite a lot of those burgers and hotdogs were only partially devoured, the rest then fed to the Bottomless Pit that is our dog.
Evidently sometime in the small hours, nature took its course and the dog felt the need to go.
Normally if this happens he comes upstairs to wake someone up to let him out. However …
We have two cats. Two small cats. Two quiet, small cats.
Like most cats, underneath that fuzzy and tranquil exterior beats the heart of an evil, sadistic, manipulative psychopath. They bully the dog for sport. All they have to do is stare at him and he’ll go and hide under the table.
They were sat at the top of the stairs all night last night. And even in the dead of night, with his bowels ready to burst … nothing would persuade our dog to step around the cats if they’re staring at him, threatening to rip his face off, or merely kill him with their withering feline sarcasm.
And so this morning … we come downstairs. Although we are technically awake, we are walking very much on auto-pilot. Right up to the point where the Dog’s Dirty Deed oozes between my toes. Like Lady Macbeth, I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed …
We spent half-an-hour in our dressing-gowns scrubbing the carpets; the house smells like you wouldn’t believe. No-one could face eating any breakfast for fear of retching.
I’m not sure whether to get rid of the dog or the cats.
Note to self: the next pet we buy is one that you keep in a Vivarium. Or a damn Furby.