Not her finest hour...

So, this dog thing... still a good idea? I'm having my doubts.

This evening, my mum popped round to see the boys and me (Mrs M is away in London on business). When the doorbell rang, Bailey made her usual frenzied rush for the door but I calmed her down and made her sit well back in the hall. The boys opened the door and in came their Gran bearing gifts (satsumas with a pip warning, bizarrely). I continued to hold Bailey. She knows my mum a bit, though not well. When all seemed safe, I released my grip and Gran and Bailey did the 'nice to see you... have a pat/lick' thing.

Except that Bailey didn't. She jumped up and sank her shiny new canines into Gran's hand, piercing the skin right between the knuckles.

Ouch. Blood.

 

(Reconstruction)

So that meant a sharpish trip to A&E for a dressing and a tetanus shot. Luckily at 19.30 on a Tuesday evening in Glasgow the casualty dept wasn't yet full of bampots. It damn near meant a trip to the vet and a somewhat stronger injection for Bailey...

OK, I know, I know - she's just being territorial, protective and/or puppyish, and I need to do some serious door-space training. It's not her fault.

But knocking over a cup of tea later on was her fault and not the smartest move given my mood. Then after that, just as I'd poured myself a large one of these and was having a quiet pee in the downstairs toilet, she tip-clawed up behind me and - I swear I'm not making this up - forced her head between my knees and injected a long, pink and eagerly lapping tongue into the flow. I laughed so much I dribbled on her nose. How's that for a golden shower?

Comments

[Graham]

Inject it and shoot it. Be done with it.

[Will]

So it turns out you still have the ability to make me laugh out loud while reading your copy. Ah, it takes me back to the Advisors days...

[Kyle]

Hey Will

Nostalgia indeed. Gizza job?

[Kyle]

Graham, she'd shoot me back - she's a gun dog.

Boom boom.