The Torture Of Domestic Duty

Who could resist that cute little face? Well, city wife and missy the cat for a start… and one of them is a mass murderer leaving a trail of blood. Excuse my own villainous thoughts.

A CANINE has infiltrated our household. One with as much dexterity as a blindfolded toddler. To be specific, Pickle appears to be both borderline ADHD and overflowing with jazz hands enthusiasm. The hound greets everyone like a long lost friend and finds wonder in all aspects of his day from chasing leaves to responding with gusto each time I call his name. Oh, and there’s his preoccupation with chewing skirting boards or foraging in waste paper baskets. The Golden Retriever’s coordination is more Tourettes than Crufts and he regularly clashes with Missy the Feline’s escalating air of superiority. When taking a break from snubbing her new companion she is sneering at his, to date, futile attempts at bladder control.

Our new pet accompanies me on a soggy dawn ramble, pausing for copious comfort breaks around the fields. Still, that’s no match for the thrill of returning home to pee everywhere; the muddy puppy is splattering the floor with spots of excitement when City Wife calls.