A blog about dogs and cats, books and television, knitting and sewing, films and music.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
There's always some poxy bloody thing
So, it turns out that my dogs are not the well-behaved little angels all day long that my neighbours on either side of me have always claimed them to be. I have asked them, on several occasions, to let me know if the dogs were making excessive noise, and they have always shaken their heads and said words to the effect of "you wouldn't even know they were there". Well, my neighbour over the back fence tells a different story. And he came round and told it to me on Friday evening. Now, in fairness to him, he was very polite, and he could have been rude and upset me by simply sticking a note through my door, which would have been unfair and unneighbourly and unkind, and would have made me cry, and equally he could have tried to bully me in some way, which he did not. He simply explained that he works shifts, and he tries to sleep during the day, and he has a new baby coming into the house on Tuesday (that's today) and that the dogs have been driving him mad now ever since I got them and could I please do something about it.
So now I have to keep the dogs indoors, and because I can't afford to hire someone to come and let the dogs out during the day when I'm not here, it means I have to get up at 5.50am, bring them out for half an hour's walk, come home, have a shower, throw on clothes, dash to 7.10 train, come home on 4.15 train (which is not Mister Monkey's train home, might I add, even though he very kindly comes in with me in the morning), so as to be the first one home, in case there is any disaster. And I came home today and there was no disaster, but when I went upstairs to get stuff from my room, Dweezil ran in under the bed, and he got stuck on something and couldn't get out, and when I lifted the bed a little to move it and see if I could get him out, my back went SPROING and I dropped the bed and I think I've broken the frame. And now I hate my neighbour and his stupid breeder of a wife because of this. Sorry, breeders. And I do not love my dogs either, because of this. Sorry dogs. I'm sure that will go away eventually, but right now I resent them enormously.
And now my ranting is over. Thank you for your time.
By the way, that is not a photo of my own bed frame. I did not take one.
Posted by Trish Byrne at 6:03 pm
Labels: cats, dogs, poxy things
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Fortunately the bed frame wasn't broken, merely partly disassembled. A quick lift and shove and all was right with it again.
Hmm. Maybe your neighbour could come round to North 'batter and akl our neighbour to do the same with his dog, 'Tyson'.
I bloody hate people who call their dogs Tyson. It's a sure sign that they will be arses. And I don't mean a Persian king, amirite?
I hope your back's better.
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