I am not a dog. Yes, all right, I did bite Sooz this morning while she was roughing me up (heh heh, I should have said “ruffing” me up) out at the washing machine. It’s her own fault – she could have taken noticed of the manical (Kaz’s description) look in my eyes and backed away at any point before her arm and my teeth shared the same time and space. Yes, there was blood, and, soon after, a slathering of Savlon cream … so she should be okay. I hope she is because she is the back-up feeder, tray-clearer and player should anything happen to Kaz.
But, back to the “I am not a dog” thing. There is absolutely no reason for Kaz to insult me by telling me to go get my stringey thing … we’ve done that before – but she has never ever before pointed out to the lounge (where we both know stringey thing is) and told me to “FETCH”. What was she thinking? Oh wait, she really wasn’t. Or she’s gone mad – as in “crazy, insane, loopy”.
And speaking of stringey things, one of them didn’t make it.
It was the home-made one which Kaz had lovingly (she says) fashioned together from a stick (from another past stringey thing), some blue wool she inadvertantly brought home from a baby shower (Do they toss yarn balls at those things? Could be fun.) and some rubber bands. It was a bit unwieldy – the wool was too long and there wasn’t enough weight at the end – but Kaz could make it work and we had hours of fun with it. But it’s gone now … until she gets off her own very big large humongous gigantic bottom (that’s what she gets for the dog thing) and finds the tape and fixes it.
Nigella ... 