Braining a Walking Carpet

I am a truly terrible person. Honestly, I should be locked up. Have you ever thought to yourself 'well I'm not perfect, but at least I am kind to animals.' Now I can't even claim that.

I am working from home this week, and as I am resident at the family home while flat hunting in London, that puts me on doggy duty. I won't lie to you, I am of course fond of our family dogs, but I am not really a doggy dog person, and the younger, Shauna, and I have always had something of a tempestuous relationship. Her penchant for chewing on my slippers, while I am wearing them, for example, doesn't especially endear her to me, nor mine for ignoring her plaintive barks for a third meal of the day does me to her.

She is a big dog though, and without at least a walk a day will be bouncing off the kitchen walls all night, so yesterday - despite the drizzle - off we went. Me in my mum's welly boots - too big for me, they make me walk as though I've spent rather too much time on a horse, sweats - and I am not talking cute, pastel Desperate Housewives sweats, but proper, baggy, saggy-in-the-bum tracky bottoms, the coat I bought when I lived in Canada which makes me look like the Michelin Man, and Shauna sporting, well her usual fur coat and the collar that due to the fact she is a collie therefore has no head is utterly useless.

Once in the woods, the drizzle turned, on cue, to driving rain with a dash of hailstones for good measure: that typically British, horizontal rain that has my hair on one side plastered to my head, and on the other just frizzing in confusion. But on we trundled - at least, on I trundled, the dog sheltered under a tree and looked at me as though I was mad - through the mud and driving rain. I started to grumpily abuse the dog - verbally, don't look at me like that - as she skipped happily around me, and what started as muttering under my breath shortly became yelling over the wind, "this is your bloody walk you great useless walking carpet, why am I the only one walking? Why am I even bothering to exercise you when, if you steal my lunch one more time it'll be the sausage factory for you - don't give me that look ya eedgit, you know fine that I mean it..." and so on... until I suddenly realized that the rain had stopped and the sun had come out, and there was a man working in the field that borders the woods listening to every word I said. As I quickly changed paths, Shauna gave me a look that plainly said 'that'll teach you to talk to me like that.'

In the interests of further ridding her of excess energy, I scouted around for a stick to throw, and found one big enough that she wouldn't swallow in excitement. I waved it around to catch her attention, she helpfully yapped and scuttled in circles, I threw the stick... she jumped up to catch it... and it clunked her right on the head. I heard the dull thud as wood collided with - well more wood really, given that this is the dog who has gotten herself trapped - twice - in the cat flap trying to chase the cats out it, and once in the washing machine trying to hide from thunder. She yelped and pawed at her face, looking at me in a wounded, 'what did you do that for?' sort of way and as I squelched across the mud, slithering in my haste to check she was okay, I caught sight of... the very same man who had just heard me call her 'a great useless walking carpet' staring at me in horror.

Just in case you are worried, I apologised unreservedly (to Shauna) she forgave me and in the few hours since has displayed no less brain activity than she did before (not that that is saying much) but in case this blog is never updated again, you will know that that man called the RSPCA and I am serving 5-10 for accidentally braining a walking carpet.