Before we start, I love my dog. I love her like she was my own bonafide baby, as if I’d birthed her myself. She was definitely the best Birthday gift I could ever have wished for, and the best £500 we ever spent, but OH MY GOD she pisses me off.
This dog just knows exactly how to push my buttons. Doggy experts are always telling us that we misunderstand our canine friends, that we treat them like people, which is wrong, because they’re dogs. Maybe that’s true for other dogs, but Bonnie is most definitely a 2 year old human in cute, furry form. I don’t care how many times people tell me dogs don’t know when they’re doing wrong. She knows. How else can you explain how she pilfers burnt toast out of the bin with the stealth of a ninja when you aren’t looking, then gallops down to the bottom of the garden to consume it surreptitiously in the bushes. SHE KNOWS! Bonnie is a special kind of evil genius, and I am certain she is plotting against me. Here’s how her actions alerted my suspicions this week….
She’s trying out sleep deprivation torture on me….
Bons is a big girl now. Long gone are the days when her bedtime cries, the ones that said ‘Pleeeeeeeease don’t leave me down here all alone Mummy, I miss yoooooou!’ were heartbreaking enough to make me want to cave and give her some love. Now she’s just being a bitch. I know you’re all going to say this one is my fault for letting her sleep with me in the mornings, but I know for a fact she is faking. Why? Because she never does it when Ollie is home, oh no, just when it’s only me, and normally when I have to be up early or am exhausted after a bad day. She is doing it on purpose, I know it….
She keeps eating my pants….
Most dogs eat weird stuff. Weird, gross stuff. But by far the weirdest, grossest thing Bonnie eats is my pants – she just loves to sneak a pair out of the laundry basket and chew the crotch right out. Ew. This could be misconstrued as a dog just being a dog, but no. Bonnie targets specific pants. Not the washing day pants. Not the comfy briefs you might wear on lazy days. Not even the cheapo Primark ones. Bonnie specifically goes for Elle Macpherson or La Perla, and only if part of a matching set. She knows, you see, that I have a weird obsession with matching underwear, and that going to work un-matched can throw my day right out of kilter. I don’t want to wear the bras now, obvs, but I can’t bring myself to chuck them out either, because they were freaking expensive. Now I have to obsessively search the shops for slightly similar pairs, or trawl eBay in the hopes someone got bought them in the wrong size by a well meaning partner two years ago but never got around to taking them back. She is basically trying to slowly and subtly drive me insane.
She’s hidden my lint roller….
I know you probably think I’m being crazy with this one, but I swear to god it’s her. It’s been missing for days, and I’ve looked everywhere. My clothes, bed and sofa are slowly getting more and more caked in fur, and when I was running around looking for it yesterday morning before work I could have sworn I saw a smirk on her face. It’s a conspiracy…
She co-conspires with spiders….
Two weeks ago, Bonnie did that thing where she sits bolt upright in the middle of the night, of course leading me to believe there is either a ghost or a burglar in the house, neither one of them something I want to experience. Instead though, she alerted my presence to something far worse, a huge, eight-legged shadow making it’s way up the wall. Normally I deal with this by allowing anyone else to deal with it, but in the absence of another, braver, human being, I knew I was going to have to man up and dispose of the spider myself. Just as I plucked up the courage to do it though, and edged nearer to the beast, Bonnie leapt on to a chair to give it a welcoming sniff. This sent me squealing back onto the bed, and the spider tumbling directly into the washing basket. This was a good 10 days ago now, but I’m still convinced it’s in there. I really need to do some washing, but I’m just too scared to start pulling things out. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that some of the non-chewed posh pants were i there, I think I’d just set it on fire and be done with it.
Thing is though, she’s just so cute. I can never be mad at that sweet little face for long. Dammit. I’m screwed.
Love,
Picking the Day 